"unladylike" poems
If men had a curfew lives would change in many ways
But there’s some setbacks to the attempt of fun outside
When I’m not with muscular friends past a certain time of day
I’m told to cover up my bra strap because the boys become distracted
Since “boys will be boys” reigns and girls pretend to be attracted
What if I could eat a burger in a bar without the need to feel guilty about my diet
And when I’m asked if I think I’m fat I say no, because it’s fishing for compliments to deny it
I’m told that I should be complacent and dress nice by a man three times my age
And scolded by society because it’s unladylike to be in a fit of rage
I could go outside and gaze at the dance the stars know so well
But I sing along with the peculiar song of that familiar cautionary bell
What if I could go out with friends past eight PM and explore the bright! Happy! world
Stagger through life in heels with our wit sharpened and eyelashes curled
No, I have to spend my time hidden “safe” inside
From men who think there’s no more to me than what they can see with the naked eye
This has happened ever since I turned the ripe old age of 13
Because there’s some people out there on the streets
Whom it would be an injustice to only be described as mean
I could walk out to my car without my hand poised with my keys as if they were a knife
And not have to worry about how a short low-cut dress could harm my life
(Me too) It could be worse! They say, for some reason with such force.
But since when was my safety
A cause for discourse?
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 8:03 PM UTC
I feel beautiful
but only when I'm hungry
Only when I can hear my stomach begging me to eat something
Only when I can feel myself losing weight
Only when they say, "you're getting to thin, you're doing great!"
Only when I'm drinking a bottle of water in the span of a minute so that I can be full
Only when I'm starving but I push the plate away.
I feel beautiful
But only when I'm counting calories
Only when I'm running that extra mile to stay slim
I feel beautiful
Until I'm looking down at my thighs and I see that they touch
Until a girl says how curvy I am when I'd just like to be flat and slim
Until I step on the scale and it laughs and says I've gains a few pounds
I feel beautiful
until I look at myself in a fullbody mirror and think, "GROSS"
I feel beautiful
when I haven't eaten for 3 days and no one notices
When I'm popping a rubber band to my wrist saying, "you're not hungry your just bored" over and over again
And my stomach replys, "I'm dying, why are you doing this, feed me"
I feel beautiful
Until the girl next to me is thinner than I am
Until daddy tells me I'm getting fat
Until I hear the boys in the distance say that they'd never, ever, ever date big girl
I feel beautiful
But only when I'm dying of starvation
Only when I'm literally empty on the inside
I felt beautiful
Until I realized that fat is an insult
And i wondered why
Do we not glide the same why?
Do our stretch marks make us inelegant?
Are we unladylike because we eat?
I feel beautiful until I don't anymore
Until beauty is too much in the eye of the beholder
Until I am not allowed to be the beholder
Until beauty is a category of waist size double zero
I feel beautiful
Because I'm allowed to
Because the number on the scale does not define Me
Because I Define me
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
When someone tells us we're beautiful, why don't we believe it?
Is it because we learned to never see the beauty in ourselves?
Because we are told that is "self centered"?
What if that is exactly what someone needs to do?
They need to look at themselves in the mirror and think,
**** I look good."
But the were raised on the notion that that is not okay.
That thinking they look good was "unladylike"
Selfish. Self-centered.
Not right.
So she grew up knowing the fact that she will never be beautiful.
Or gorgeous. Or pretty. Or anything remotely flattering.
That she will always see those few extra pounds on her hips.
Those few extra hairs on her face.
But what if she met someone that changed all that.
Someone that made her see herself through their eyes.
See her reflection as she stares into his eyes, she sees herself change.
Sees her imperfections fall away, like feathers of a dove.
As he assures her there is nothing that matches her beauty, she laughs and rolls her eyes.
But he doesn't give up.
He knows she doesn't see any of what he does.
And she knows he will never give up until she does.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I still miss you just as much
I just don't say it anymore.
Because when I do
The look on your face
That mixture of pity and uncomfortableness
Makes me want to *****
And I can't throw up with an empty stomach
And heaving is just unladylike.
-bcg (i miss you)
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 11:40 PM UTC
turn on the shower
hot, hot, hot,
unbraid my hair on the scale
119.9, 2 less than friday,
too much
for my 5 foot tall body.
sit on the shower floor
breathe in only steam,
rest my chin
lipstick marks on my knees
like blood.
my roommate's dark hair
tethered in the grooves of the shower floor,
sweeps back and forth
I twirl it around my finger
force it down the drain.
stand up
too fast, too fast, too fast,
dizzy
sit back down,
try again.
orange face wash
to keep my skin bright
washes away perfectly sculpted
cheek bones and nose
lips pale pink,
I bite them.
charcoal scrub
to clean out pores
blackheads are no good
only smooth skin
will do.
purple shampoo
to keep my hair blonde
purple conditioner
blonder, softer
gentle waves.
pink razor
removes unladylike hair
soft, delicate,
for surface use only
don't cut, don't cut, don't cut.
coffee scrub
to lighten scars
soften stretch marks,
eliminating the reminders
of what my skin,
my body,
has been through.
face in the water,
wash away my tears,
naked face like a child
wet hair dripping down my back
hands and feet pruned.
turn off the shower
twist my hair in a towel
soften skin with lotion,
coconut
boyfriends favorite.
vaseline lips
soft, kissable, desirable,
float to bed
the sheets are clean,
folded in the laundry basket
on the floor.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC
This game
I can't deal with it again
When is it going to sink in
that I am not something to win
I am not a reward for good behaviour
I don't have a ******* tick sheet
I don't give a **** about what you have
and haven't done, but don't you dare
look at me as an object to be 'won'
I miss you
The you who kissed my forehead
and told me I was too gorgeous and intelligent
to cry or be sad,
I miss you staring in my face and looking truly
glad that I could be with you
That I could love you.
I miss the you
who wasn't suddenly a lad.
You know who I am.
You know everything, before now
you said you didn't give a **** about
stuff I wore, or if I swore or
was 'unladylike' because that was me
I thought you fell in love with me
But apparently even your love can feel
un-sturdy, I feel like you've lured me in for a ****
You're eating me like a last meal, when
you have so many more years to give,
You turning on me is like a shiv through
the ribs
There's nothing left that I can give.
I've played the conditional game before
It burnt me til I could not trust
Then the lock was hit with lust, and then
you were the one to find a key.
Please
Please
Please
I don't like this new guy
It's you I want to see
I swear that I am still me
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
I’m nothing if not persistent
I’m stubborn and silly.
I can’t take advice, even when I know I should.
I follow my heart as it leads me to misery
I overthink everything
And I get scared of nothing.
I hate to disappoint more than anything.
I’m afraid of being a failure.
I’m average in every way- not gorgeous, not ugly. Just average.
Not brilliant or stupid, just average. Not enough, but always too much.
I’m awkward and unladylike.
But I love to dress up for something special.
There are parts of me missing- I give my heart away too freely.
I give, and I take.
I care so much, I can’t stand to hurt others- or see them hurt.
So, really. I’m human. I am me.
And sometimes that’s enough.
But not today. Today I want the world and I want to retrieve the missing pieces and I want to be beautiful and funny and loved-
So today, I am sad,
Because I can’t have any of those things.
But I will hope for someday.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
I curse too much
If you ever hear me speak in person
I'm terribly sorry
I am such a ***** mouth
Literally every sentence
That comes from my ***** mouth
Has the word **** in it
It's horrible
So very unladylike
And I'm sorry
I have to ****** your ears like that
One year ago
I almost never cursed
I would get mad at others
For doing so
Then I tried the word
It tasted new and spicy
I tried it again
And again and again
Now the word is a permanent part of my language
And I have no use for it
Perhaps the reason
I use these disgusting words
Is to weigh my words down
Make people actually listen to what I have to say
It turns heads
It gives my words power
It makes me feel powerful
But it harms my reputation
I'm supposed to be
'A good little Mormon church girl'
Yeah I bet you never guessed that
But whenever I tell people that
They're surprised.
"There is no way in hell that you're Mormon!"
They always say
But that's beside the point
I curse too much
I'm sorry
And I do try to change my ways
Not hard enough,
But I do try.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I'm not one for conventional
stereotypes.
But when someone says
"That's not lady-like."
I start to take offense.
See, for years women were shamed
and had to be humble servants to men
We were hanged for "witchcraft"
or merely looking at our neighbors the wrong way.
We were told we would never get to vote or
be in a position of power.
We are asked "Well, what were you wearing?"
Like it's our fault, like the men couldn't control themselves
So when you say to me
that my dress should go past my knees
that I shouldn't curse
that my hair is too short, my waist is too big
that I am "unladylike"
what I hear is "go back to the servant woman who didn't speak, didn't vote, didn't do anything besides what she was told."
And that to me
is unladylike.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 3:17 PM UTC
I will not be silenced.
No matter how many times you tell me I'm too argumentative
No matter how many times you tell me it's "unladylike"
No matter how many times you scoff at my words because I tell them with force
No matter how many times you're contemptuous of my passion
I will not be silenced,
Not now, not ever.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
In this world I am taught that if I am weak no one will love me
That if I search for it, it may or may not find me
Love, or otherwise
I am taught that to speak loudly or roughly or brashly is unladylike
I must cross my legs and keep my mouth shut
In this world I am told that when I turn sideways I should disappear
That a pile of flesh beyond my hip bones is too fat
That if my bones don't pull against my skin and show I'm not fit
I feel like in this world I have to sleep with anyone who offers just to be touched
To rely on everyone possible because I'm scared to be alone
To say everything, spill it all, to avoid missing a connection
I feel in this world that my brain is too big for my body
My thoughts are lead weights, pushing
That even when silent there is too much noise
and if I wrote down every thought I had, the book would be too long for anyone to read in a lifetime
I wish I could take a flame to every thought, every person, every place that haunted me
enchanting and blessing my brain with a new scent,
a new thought to replace the toxic one
most of these thoughts repeated mean the same thing the second time as they do the first
like on rotation; a rotary
"what can I think of now?"
must keep her occupied
nothing must be blank
think e v e r y t h i n g through
once, twice, three, maybe four times
continue to analyze and dissect and ****
until it is a slab of meat with slices, cuts and bruises over it all
and yes, I meditate
and yes, I breathe
and yes, I gaze
but that does not mean that behind every moment are those thoughts
"what did he mean by 'no feelings'?"
"how can I afford all this?"
"what do I do when I get over there?"
permeating
like black gloves reach from nowhere
take me out of one moment
brilliant and strong and vibrant
and drag me into another so sordid
and destructive
and bleak
back into my head
to the continual rotary of destruction
again and again
"you are not thin enough"
"he won't love you, you're damaged"
"she doesn't like you because you're a *****
knives and swords
how can a skull withhold all these punctures?
how can a soul, either?
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 2:12 AM UTC
If I'm itching inside my own skin,
If there's a bit of wild carrying on in,
around,
or perhaps behind
perhaps over, around, somewhere besides my eyes,
If I seem unseemingly unladylike today,
I'm sorry.
Scatterbrained? Surely, certainly, you've noticed.
If you know me, you know this.
I carry on, convincingly
all the while my mind careens away.
Dangerously, it careens away.
Away, attacking the menacingly mundane,
away to a place much more pleasant.
Plesently, myriad of melodrama unfold.
I tell myself stories untold.
I'm so sorry I'm scatterbrained, darling.
I do know.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 2:21 AM UTC
Tonight,
Like the feathers on the water,
We’re floating until our strands get
The same way my body gets
Under the sheets.
Why do you always have dirt under your fingernails?
I want to chew them
Between my bones
And taste them on my swollen pink tongue.
I imagine your tongue on my cheek.
It makes me tingle
I think saliva is disgusting.
The water looks good from where we’re sitting
And you just cut your hair
And left it in the snow
Why were so many people there?
I watched my dog shed for years.
Batting eyelashes over layers and layers of body
Sounds silly to me
And hardly seems worth the effort
When there are so many productive things to do
Like curling up in bed
And letting sleep touch you like a lover would.
If I spit into this river
Would it sink or stay
Long enough to hear you scold me,
Yes I’m unladylike
And the river doesn’t need a shoeshine today.
New York is a scary place because there are so many people willing to make your shoes look pretty while simultaneously aching to watch you hate your reflection
If you’re one of the living.
God knows how the undead
Flock to the cities for a 9 to 5.
You cough and your skin erupts in goosebumps
Maybe the wind is better in bed than I am.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 8:36 PM UTC