Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Fly Vida Jul 2011
I think you are less than adequate to handle it-
my womaness, I mean.
Like a lioness, my womaness will bring home
dinner to the family and run ****, trust me.
I am the queen of my concrete jungle
& as I pass by passerby's will bow.
I may be a queen, but there's no need for 'your Highness',
just call me 'your Flyness'.
Because I am fly,
even when you try to deny me and my fellow woman.
We are all meant to be queens by our own means.

But we can't be queens without our kings.
We'll take you to be the co-pilot of our kingdom
if we think that you can handle it.
"What does that mean?" you ask.
Gentlemen, it means that
you can keep your pride in check with checks and balances,
let me do my job while you do yours
& handle me, with love and care.
Respect the boundaries that I have set
for our pride and ride the tide with me.
There will always be trials and triumphs.
But That's just life, baby.

But you can be my king so long as
you can let me be the queen that I am.
My womaness is my greatness in my step
from my thighs to my lips
from my hair to my fingertips,
the wisdom of my intuition and the depth of my soul.
This is the finesse of my womaness.
We are just too fabulous to describe.
Do you think I'm crazy?
Maybe so, but like I said:
something told me you're less than adequate to handle it-

my womaness, that is.
DeZoli Feb 2017
Noticing My Womaness

Developed and personally driven,
I see the womaness inside of me
I notice that I have grown
Traits that I had not recognized before
Growing into becoming more
Wanting more
Is it because of you
My king, my crowned one?
I am stimulated ,
Inspired ,
Trying to improve in order
To give the best of me to you
My king
To enhance what I thought
Before to be beauty
But now to be more elegant
Illuminated with another kind of excellence
In every area of my womaness
Even my scent has evolved
Into a fragrance just
Suitable for you to inhale
And no one but you
My king will have the
Pleasure to explore
My smile has even brightened
Rooms are even filled
With more radiance not as
Profound before
Other lights shatter due
To the new light
For my king to enjoy
Garments worn
Even flow differently somehow
The breeze moves
Them softly like pedals
Falling from the trees
In autumn
Creating a pathway for
A king to follow his queen
Into her noticed womaness
That only he is suited for
Does this mean
I am feeling myself or
Am I just noticing the
Womaness
Presented to my king
And only he will
Gently care for?
by DeZoli
His drunken fingers fumbling

And the slurring of his 

Demands to be quiet

Make me sick.

Take it like a woman.

I am tougher than anyone.

**** it up, 
Grow a spine.

So I stuffed it down.

I swallowed the bile 

And clenched my stomach

Every time I smelled

The stench of his odor

Passing by me.

That’s what is
expected of me.

**** it up, 
Grow a spine.

What’s done is done.

Keep your eyes forward,

Keep going,

And move on.

I am a woman

And when I say no

The mans word trumps 

What I want.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.

I live in a mans world

So I have to keep it shut

Or I will be the next ****

Because the mans word is truth.

There is no

His word against mine.

Just his.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.

It’s my womaness at fault 

Even though I said no.

When a woman says no,

It really means yes.

When a woman tells the truth

It really means fallacies 

And delusions.

It means she wanted it.

**** it up,
Grow a spine.


So I did.
I told the truth anyways.

I stood up for myself anyways.

I fought for myself anyways.

I ****** it up,

And grew a spine.


by Kyra Jones
Jade Feb 2018
She is a wild thing.



And I say “thing”

and not girl or woman

because She is neither;



She is both,

caught somewhere in between

the liberated innocence of childhood

and the maddening corruption of growing up.



And this is precisely what makes Her

wilder than the rest of us.



Some will argue that She is woman and woman only,

leaving little room for,

what are considered by many to be,

girlish trivialities.

But these people have only ever viewed Her

from a respectable distance,

a distance from which She appears to occupy

both the form and the essence of a woman

what with Her full ******* and

the manner in which She writes poetry–

with a sort of opulent brutality.



What you will not see

is the girl

(if that is what you choose to call it)–

the lovely child-beast

that dwells inside of Her,

antlers entwined with garlands

of succulents and autumn leaves,

eyes veiled with an ethereal mist.

A deluge of stardust drips from its lashes,

raining down upon the dry expanse of Her bones,

planting dewdrops in the barrenness–

honeyed globules nourished

by free-spirited ambition

and a nonsensical imagination.



And If it weren’t for you,

child-beast–

if it weren’t for your

incessant howling to the moon

and the sweetly curious expression

you get on your face when you’ve been daydreaming,

then this “woman” would be just that–

a woman and nothing more,

the same way you, lovely beast,

would be a girl and nothing more

if it weren’t for the overpowering

womaness of your host.



Do you recall

how you two first met–

the night She had first made your acquaintance?

How, that next morning, you woke up to find

your Hello Kitty ******* stained red,

a sharp pain stabbing at your belly.

You yelled for your mother

in a panicked shock;

you were convinced you were dying

(and perhaps you were, for this was

the very moment you began to grow up.)

But mama told you that there was nothing

to fret about– all females bleed, after all.



But you have come to realize that

while some bleed by nature,

there are also some who bleed out

of their own free will.



At first, it was Her mere nature that

had caused you to bleed.



And, after that, Her wildness.



But She did not mean to hurt you,

to burden your wrists with the

gravity of Her sorrows.



And so you must understand this,

my beast:

like you, She is a wild thing.

The only difference is that

She is a wild thing with a broken heart.

And there are some days where She

would do anything to quiet

the melancholic fervour of her thoughts.



I can see how this alone has destroyed you,

how you have been leached of your innocence.



I watch as you deteriorate

antlers withering to stubs

eyes weeping

stardust congealing

around your tear ducts

mouth frothing with whiskey

shards of broken bottle

embedded in your palms

your body degraded

blouses with alarmingly low necklines

skirts long enough to cover up

the scars on your thighs

but short enough that they feel

the need to whisper “*****”

when your back is turned

because maybe this

lovely beast

is the only way She knows

how to feel okay.



And maybe you have simply

found yourself caught in the

insatiable crossfire of Her darkness;

because the light you possess

was never enough to save yourself,

and it was certainly never enough to save Her.



No.



The wild in you

was never a match

for the wild in Her.



And it is here

in this state of unadulterated wildness

that everything  you are,

everything that She is–

Woman and

child and

Beast alike–

will eventually

be forced to surrender

to the chaos.



This is the place,

wild thing,

where you will be forced to

eat yourself alive.
Sadia Jan 2019
I was created by Him
and in turn will become a vessel for His creation
Half of you was born the same time I was
Grew up with me
Lived a whole life with me
Held on long enough
To the insides of my womaness
to one day look at me
And I love you for it
I have loved you before it

You will never need to earn this love
It is always here
never will you have to climb a mountain
or reduce your hurt
or love of life
It’s here for your taking
Your needing
Your feeding
Here for you even to throw away

The love I preserve for you
Does not live in my heart
Or in my being
Cause if it did
It will die the same time as I will
I will love you even after the fact

No matter the suns position
This love follows you closer than your shadow could ever hope to
Closer than the love you have for yourself
Almost as close as the one your Lord keeps for you
It exists always

On days that I do not like you
I love you
When you hurt me
I can’t help it than to
Remember I’d rather be hurt by you
than
If you weren’t able to hurt me at all

I have seen My Mother fall
Past sadness itself
And find residence
atop the brittle canopy of grief
Surrounded by an abandoned museum
Of bottles, blankets, bedding and expired milk

Finding her on some nights
Curled up in a ball of herself
After prayer
Giving thanks to Allah for the chance at another
And the health of her others

And then losing her again at Fajr
When the heaviness of her *******
Remind her
Return her inside another agonizing re-run

An itinerary of loss
Beginning, middle and end all blurred
Like someone slowly dragged their *****, unkind hand across a wet painting
Whose colors had not yet held firm
Whose picture had not yet formed
Who itself was not ready to be displayed

I bet she thought of all the care
she could not give
and wishes so fiercely that she had
And the surplus of love
That now goes unneeded
Feeds no one
Like an ocean of salt water
Near a people dying of thirst
This scares me the most

You are my protection from this sadness
And I love you for it
I have loved you before it

You too are a vessel that carries,
A horcrux
For all the love I hold for myself
I give to you
Even after you are no longer a clean slate
Even after you have sinned a thousand times over
Both villain and hero

You are my unborn best friend
Best decision yet to be made
Best part of me that I cannot wait to one day
Share this poem with

— The End —