"womankind" poems
"The female body is a beautiful thing."
How dare you suggest such a thing?!
The female body is not designed for romantic beauty - no
It is designed for pleasure,
The pleasure of every man out there.
Even if the woman eyes out women rather than men,
Man will still take pleasure,
But as a fetish - as a kink.
*****
The bigger, the more painful.
But who cares?!
The bigger the better.
With ******* designed for flicking and ******* on in order to "turn her on"
Do you forget what their initial purpose is?
Do you forget the pain she went through to birth her children?
And the struggle of breast feeding?
Of course not.
You just don't care.
"The female body is a beautiful thing."
Yes it is beautiful - **** even.
Designed for the pleasure of men.
Shaved as smooth as the women men watch not so secretly.
*** is not supposed to be enjoyed by the woman - she is the enjoyment, the entertainer.
Womankind is not designed to be loved nor cherished.
Womankind is designed for *** and nothing more than that.
Let me tell you something: everything that you just read is not true - and yet this is what today's young people are being taught.
Girls believe that they cannot be popular without being sexualized; they wear revealing clothing, send nudes and will even go as far as having *** just to feel beautiful.
And even then she will be called a ***** a **** a *****
Girls are being taught that this is normal - that it's okay.
It is not okay.
Girls should not feel that they have to give their all to everyone and keep nothing for themselves.
Girls should be able to feel happy and positive on their own - without being told that they are **** by some ***** middle aged man.
So here is my message to every girl out there:
You are beautiful and don't let anyone tell you differently.
Don't let society pressure you into doing, saying or wearing certain things that you are uncomfortable with.
Don't let men use and manipulate you.
**Your body is your property and nobody else's** and it is not designed to be sexualized by men.
One day you will find the love of your life who will protect and cherish you and treat you the way you deserve.
But always remember:
Be true to yourself and be happy.
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
Love and the gentle heart are one same thing,
Even as the wise man in his ditty saith.
Each, of itself, would be such life in death
As rational soul bereft of reasoning.
'Tis Nature makes them when she loves: a king
Love is, whose palace where he sojourneth
Is call'd the Heart; there draws he quiet breath
At first, with brief or longer slumbering.
Then beauty seen in virtuous womankind
Will make the eyes desire, and through the heart
Send the desiring of the eyes again;
Where often it abides so long enshrined
That Love at length out of his sleep will start.
And women feel the same for worthy men.
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the green and waxy confusion is your cape and covering
topaz wings strum and flutter,
branches snap
beast and bug
geranium and dogwood
woodear spore and wolfsbane
flower and firm hedge
all wear goosebumps:
the whole army of generation, the waft and release
ready to conceive, to love and make root
to spill and ****
daylight, moonlight
well-fed and hungry
west and further west
a brush against your thigh flattens you
climbs your spine like a curse
robes you in purpose
to be and be alone
there you are: croucher, scuttler,
position known only to yourself
subclade of womankind
treasure in your soul
(in purses and pouches;
taking in, taking in)
it is private here and musty
you own your hands, your knees,
the dirt under them both,
the roots beneath that,
everything on the wind and below the blue sky
everything dark, and everything light:
kingdom of your own discovery
shroud and mountain and cache of mystery.
A door far away slides open
an echo of busy house, busy bones on the air.
Something in the oven.
Something in the heart.
What is the voice calling?
Who wants you home, child?
And if home is a warm meal, a bed,
a bath, a glass of milk,
a known touch,
then do you own your skin?
Aren't you small and lonely?
You are not.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser
If on womankind he might his anger wreak,
And thence a law did grow,
One might but one man know;
But are other creatures so?
Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
Are birds divorced, or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night?
Beasts do no jointures lose
Though they new lovers choose,
But we are made worse than those.
Who e’er rigged fair ship to lie in harbours
And not to seek new lands, or not to deal withal?
Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbors,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
Good is not good unless
A thousand it possess,
But dost waste with greediness.
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*I keep the treasure guarded,
in the fortress of my mind.
Shrouded from on-lookers;
protected from prying eyes.
It is not just an image,
or a photo,
so sublime.
It is a casket full of wonderment;
a jewel of womankind.
It evokes a feeling from me:
Rawness,
un-refined.
And it leads me to a place,
that others would gladly die,
to find.
I am humble in its presence,
and would never question the design,
for the treasure that I hold so dear,
is the thought that you are mine.*
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 4:09 AM UTC
I think all I have ever created
is compensation
For being such a fool.
I had him;
ensnared him with my womanly ways.
I never realized he was always mine
And turned away
thinking I was doing the right thing.
I sought someone else;
I found him.
I was horrified when I discovered
It was the love I always wanted—
And the love that undid me.
What I wanted was fleeting,
was overwhelming
in-the-moment
out-of-body experience.
Now all I want
is the metaphorical dog and house and white picket fence.
But it’s not those material items I crave;
It’s the permanence that accompanies
that dedication and level of love.
I don’t want it to only last a moment
and disappear
like sand sifting through the hourglass;
I don’t want to feel out of my body
Any more.
I just want someone I love who wants me too.
This is the curse of unrequited love.
This is the gift of Eve to womankind.
I was tempted, and I have no more
what I could have had for eternity.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Masterpiece of curvaceous precision,
Artwork sculpted and delicately lined,
As beauty’s natural definition,
She is the mold for all womankind.
The redness of cherries based on her lips,
Honey envies the sweetness of her tongue,
Waves aspire to the curve of her hips,
She’s more seductive than any song sung.
The trees model fruit on her perfect *******
While sunlight was made to mimic her smile,
She’s sensuality that never rests,
Longing for her dwarfs the length of the Nile.
Butterflies wings are no match for her eyes,
Her embrace is lighter than clouds above,
Her perfect beauty makes me realize,
She entered my life so I’d fall in love.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
If we stop learning moon names at Callisto
and Ganymede, where are the other sixty-three
whoop, there goes gravity
If Themisto stubbed his toe, how could we
teach everyone else to cringe?
We are growing,
Elara, we are learning how to reach
higher with the hands we’ve got,
how to be tiny dots full of not-quite fire
in a world so much bigger than desire.
The best advice you gave me,
Elara, was when you silently tied back
your hair and rolled up your sleeves,
cleared your throat and decided
It’s not the fire after all, it’s the light.
And I might have burned out by now
if you hadn’t just rolled up your sleeves
like that, not flaming or fuming or
running or burning but steady,
ready for the rest of forever.
You are fire and water at once,
Elara. You take my hand and we walk
calmly upward, one step
for me and one for you makes two
for womankind.
Stepping over the black hole
of expectations and into the revelations
of well-lit night. You and me,
Elara, now we’re ready.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
puffing out smoke like the entangling of long hair
with my portable hookah of acid apple palette experienced;
then eyelid the softest skin the warm puff puff experienced
when unable to see the gaseous
entangle of thus compared:
cut off the eyelids and become
serpents, rather than circumcising
exchanging loss of masculine
additives with excess of feminine
pin points of skin like the bloating
of the throat: larynx region with a thyroid
cancer bubbling and blubbering:
circumcise and make men eagerly warring...
and women prone to consecrate approval
as if dreaming... a naked sword without a sheath...
but instead of circumcision, the cutting off ********
cut the eyelids! what then? i'd begin revision
of man by cutting off the eyelids rather than the ********
**** me, why not both?! cut the eyelids
and cut the ******** then narrate what excesses of
womankind are worth disregarding:
feminine ******** and perverted religion,
hey, excess skin of man was the culprit once,
now the woman's chance to equate kippah with
a monk's hairstyle, with her own slit of
niqab and postbox of forcing through a hole
as narrow / as tight so that an object capably sat on
can be delivered.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 4:25 PM UTC
Cyrus was a butcher,
the ladies thought him sweet,
and when they spoke,
the gals would joke
about old Cyrus' meat.
But soon the missus told 'em,
her one and only beef-
forget the size
or how he'd rise,
Old Cyrus was too brief.
His brother, Clive, the baker,
a young and heavy lad,
was paid no mind
by womankind
cause of the weight he had.
But soon the missus told 'em,
with a twinkle in her eye,
Forget the size,
or how he'd rise,
that boy could eat a pie!
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
Arms.
Arms that held me.
Arms that welcomed me
into the realm of womankind
Hands that held mine
with the intent of "for all time."
Hands that were oftentimes
the guiding light.
In these arms I was reborn.
In these arms I was taken
Arms that made decisions
Made choices not my own
These hands shaped me
Shaped me into a stranger.
The debt of joy and grief owed
To these hands and these arms
Has left an indelible mark
These hands and these arms
Hold a place that is mine
Irrevocably mine.
Whether I choose it
Or not.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 7:04 PM UTC
Infinity
How does one cope with being a seed of religion and growing into a scientist? Its a simple balance really. To me, god represents man and we all know real men answer to a good woman; so, naturally the universe would then represent womankind! So to me, to believe in both god and the universe, its simple to think that God is the Universe’s angel, and the Universe will always surround her angels with everything they need for always and infinity.
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
I'm sorry that I am inadequate
I am sorry that I am absolutely confident
I'm sorry that I'm happy
I'm sorry that you're miserable more than half the time
I'm sorry that you only start loving me once you've broken my heart and I have left
I am sorry that I am not rich or possess glamorous material
I am sorry that these are the type of people that you would settle for
I am sorry that where I come from there is no ego, smallness or bigotry
or watch dogs to keep stars in check so they're humble for there is no extreme self-ansorbtion
I'm am sorry that you cannot feel and I am not there to heal once your conscience starts to breathe
I am sorry that I have failures and dysfunctions
I am sorry that you feel small and inadequate when I achieve
I am sorry that when you are angry; everyone around you must be just as angry
I am sorry for the weakness in you to hurt others because you are constantly hurting and cannot contain it
I am sorry that I am not perfect and may not be everything you have ever dreamed
I am sorry that I have to be crucified for the mistakes and faults of previous lovers
I am sorry that I don't have a *** appetite when I am feeling down and low
I am sorry for being direct and sincere
I am sorry that there are certain things that I do not feel anymore, pains that just cut the broken pieces of my heart
I am sorry that wars have turned me into a recluse and gave me no choice but to grow
I am sorry that I resonate to vibrations that radiate positive energy
I am sorry that I found solace in solitude and understanding myself
I am sorry that womankind has been scarred by men who had failed to understand the feminine energy within themselves
I am sorry that I am to blame for your emotional instabilities
I am sorry that you cannot run as fast as the best athlete
I am sorry that I cannot drive as fast as the best Nascar driver for I do not have a car
I apologize for low tolerance for ******** lies and fakeness
I am sorry for my emotional scars
I am sorry for intelligence when it cannot reach you
I am sorry that you cannot understand how wounded I am, if you did you'd stop trying to hurt me for you'd only be hurting yourself
And lastly I apologize that you lack self esteem to realize the magnanimous potential within you
but see it is self-esteem, work that you do on yourself with the support of those who serve goodness and your best interests
I am sorry that the world is filled with the filth of hell
but what the heck I cannot be sorry for searching for heaven in the circumstance.... So I'm not sorry for divinity.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
God made queens out of women,
Women maketh beast's out of themselves,
Due to man's degrading's to maketh womankind what they want them to be!!!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 7:27 PM UTC
Womankind never treated me too kindly
I speak without a word and I look on so blindly
But all you sweet girls with all your sweet guys
Speak all your sweet talk and tell all your sweet lies
The spaces between us reach farther from the start
Need only a hint of electricity
To light up the corridors of a heart gone dark
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
To use a quote that encapsulates my feelings right now,
“I'm tired of this back-slappin' "isn't humanity neat" ******** We're a virus with shoes.”
― Bill Hicks
The Poem
Originally I thought I suffered from irritability,
irritability of the human race.
Then I realised whilst looking at my face, it was hate.
I told the Doctor I'd thought of suicide, then realised
I wanted to commit mass homicide.
Become a hermit.
Mankind, womankind I hate you, people think me nice, fair,
and kind, I know the truth, I am a ******* so you must be too.
We as a race need a cull.
Do I like the human race? No. What's to like?
I even dislike people that purport to be friends.
I intricately step my way through this world of vermin.
We defile what is beautiful and true, hate because we
are taught to. Ruin, start wars, cause pain, then moan about the rain!
We as a race are quite crudely put, a pile of ****
but even **** has purpose, a role.
What role do we have? To hate one another?
If so please make it equal and adhere to political correctness,
by that I mean, Hate Everyone equally.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
writing a poem (on my iPod: feels like cheating)
while greyhounding back homeward---
(weekend red stripes in guelph & waterloo)
it hasn't much t'do with anything,
save perhaps this mournful banjo
in my ear and grey toronto
and the plateglass houses of the
great rich masses set back on
manicured hills. . .
. . . it is overcast again
---tho t'always is on busfilled
travel sundays---
when you've nothing else to do but
leave all the weekend's joy in the dusts.
preachers screamin' in fastidious belled churches
while my head splits (from th'very thought)
and O the women i leave behind!
the tight snaky barworn dresses,
smudges (lipsticks)
on ***** cranberries ...
ah! (ah!)
all the numbers and names half-collected,
waiting for next trip down
---or maybe just black oblivion.
. . .
but enough of cloudy thoughts!
i have Spring and all (WCW)
waiting in the pack &
afterall
... poetry
is the only thing of any importance.
the gardens of bedroom bliss
the freckled map of womankind
the rippling cascade of golden hair
must wait...
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
"who taught you to look so good?!"
says a thought [shot] in the dark.
--- this to no woman in particular but to
all womankind i suppose.
outside there is a dog haranguing me,
saying WOOF (that is, "where d'you get those old clothes?")
i tell him the sally ann but good luck
getting in there, dog . . . he takes off, complaining ---
but i pay no attention to the bellyaching of an old mutt...
"nay," says i there's not a ******
thing of any real importance in this
universal dustbin/save the dharma.
yea i could live in a woodsy cabin
deep down a valley-ay shoutin' "HOOO-EE!!" out the open door
to anyone who comes by and
be thought a crazy young ('ventually old) ******
off his rocker in the trees.
--- and why not!!
chop logs/cook bread 'n brew potsa tea
'n otherwise lead a silent but meaningful old existence
out there with weekend friends/girls/wine/talk.
--- tell all that to a bookish pal
who scoffs:
*"some dharmy of yours, boy. all that work.
where are the café sittings & sunny youthy days of
readin' sutras on a lawn somewhere?"*
"bah," i says. "bah..."
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 3:10 PM UTC
Frustration.
It's not a child's game.
Frustrated.
She's messed up inside.
Realisation that love is decried.
Swung from the sky on an elastic noose.
A scaffold of porcelain holds it *****
She's ready to snap.
Her feelings are brittle.
She's ready to crack.
She wants to love him.
He can't love her back.
She swings on springs.
Adorned with legacy of heavy regret.
Dinner of dark chocolate warmed to the core,
Luscious delicious, but making her sore.
Desserts so just, just so not deserved.
Waited nearly a lifetime for one with such passion.
Like an old movie went clean out of fashion.
Once was a need to find a good reason.
The time is not right.
Love's not in season.
She hurt him.
We hurt him.
All womankind.
Fears all things will hurt him again and again.
This frustration bleeds and it's causing such pain!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
science now has shown it plain as plain
that clouds and coastlines share an abstract bond
as do trees - indeed each green or grain
yes, every leaf and every twirling frond -
the large may be divined within the small,
an ocean in a single drop of rain -
minute the variation to recall
complexities of evolution's chain;
no need to travel far as either pole
to plumb the depths of man or womankind
and while there is uniqueness in each soul
our kindred nature's easy there to find
we all tell truths - yet none are free from lies
thou seest all in every person's eyes
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
Hiding emotions from prying eyes
Burying thoughts deep inside
True feelings never did flow
Afraid my weakness wud show
Fear of being shunned
Made me scurry behind
Pathetic excuses
Waste of womankind
Yearning to fly high
Soar high into deep blue skies
Longing for the inner bird
To find it's soulful song
Then I found u
Hello poetry family
I know I am home
with my very own
Accepting, non judgemental
Where your feelings be
Sweet words, encouraging
Sharing pain, tears and grieving
Lifting your spirits high
Different! yet so much at harmony
Here I feel at home
Among my very own
Feel u'll understand
Jumbled words
Tumbled mess
Comedy of errors
Don't distort the meanings
behind the pain
At the end of the day
I'll have someone to listen
Sharing beautiful thoughts
Leaving encouraging words
like treasures in my trove
Some one who'll listen
Some one who'll pray
Some one who'll pass my way
Some one whose heart I ve touched
Some one whose life I've lived
Some one whose pain I have made mine
Some one who'll bear mine as well.
Emotional creatures that we are
Connected by one goal
Bound by one language
the language of poetry
Is where we all shall be!
Hello Poetry
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
( Sonnet )
And she so blithely calm,
Perfection amongst nature,
So beauteous, so precious,
Dearer than faint rapture.
How, we new men are lost
Without words, without wit,
Unbeknownst of times' cost
Bearing, bereft, without pill,
Woman in all her temptings,
Hair, longing to be shackle,
Eyes, mirroring dire heavens,
Lips, that drowning fish tackle.
How, to be a man without fear
When all womankind is near?
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:57 AM UTC
If you deduce he's nonregular-hot french guy,
Strike One!
If you're in crave to bliss,and he promised.
And you mistrust?
Strike Two!!
If you have reservations that he's modest- brainyass
and suspects that
he only knew making "longest Ohhh" to women,
You're definitely OUT!!!!!!!!
He's a host.
A divine and responsible one,
He worship womankind.
May I rant an Irish gal,
with strange bed trip?
Anyway,
He's John Michel.
If I'm his girl,
I'd love to call him JM.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 2:29 AM UTC
Whispering endearments, you play your part.
Smoothly getting girls to let down their guard.
For a man of your oily charm it isn't hard.
You know how it will end right from the start.
Making sure that cupid you always outsmart,
by in the end always playing your wild card.
shattering their love in to tiny shards,
protecting the moving target of your heart.
One of these days you surely will be shot.
With an arrow right through that big bulls eye.
Then once and for all you will be caught,
yet by then, all womankind will then be wise.
Thus, you will languor, your heart in knots.
With only your wounded ego as your prise.
Jun 1, 2010
Jun 1, 2010 at 4:07 PM UTC