Poetry competition CLOSED 17th February 2021 8:19pm
WINNER
LunaGreyhawk
LunaGreyhawk
angry women
anna_grin said:hashtag very fucking sadly relatable mags x
ah sorry to hear anna
even when I get rid of all the first class arseholes out of my life and settle down to my blissful single life, I still get that one living above me invading my space (not so much these days because my intent gets stronger with age) x
ah sorry to hear anna
even when I get rid of all the first class arseholes out of my life and settle down to my blissful single life, I still get that one living above me invading my space (not so much these days because my intent gets stronger with age) x
Magdalena said:
ah sorry to hear anna
even when I get rid of all the first class arseholes out of my life and settle down to my blissful single life, I still get that one living above me invading my space (not so much these days because my intent gets stronger with age) x
aye as we listen less and less to the voices that tell us to be nice, be quiet, be a lady, we become what we are meant to be. it's just a shame those voices were ever in our ears
ah sorry to hear anna
even when I get rid of all the first class arseholes out of my life and settle down to my blissful single life, I still get that one living above me invading my space (not so much these days because my intent gets stronger with age) x
aye as we listen less and less to the voices that tell us to be nice, be quiet, be a lady, we become what we are meant to be. it's just a shame those voices were ever in our ears
Wind In A Cloudless Sky
"Enigma" was the best one , though
"frightening " was perversely pleasing --
words used to describe me, like "unflappable ".
My thoughts are subatomic.
Darkly ordered, where I always come out,
the bruised heroine
(but not without imagining a handful of ways
to watch a few choice people, die, while
I eat popcorn)
Sometimes, I think Jesus weeps
at the convictions
I put upon myself, for
(shyly) anticipating evils that should
befall on those who deserve them .
(But then, again , He laughs at satan
so why shouldn't I?)
If I smoked cigarettes, I'd be taking
a long, slow, drag
right now
while gale-force zephyrs from nowhere
(but I know, where...)
breach everyone's senses with
"How can this wind, be, with no clouds
in the sky?"
Just wait for it, it's coming--
everything that's in my head
that I know to be true; the world
will be set right, again
and some won't have to lift a finger, just
nod in agreement .
"I told you, so."
"frightening " was perversely pleasing --
words used to describe me, like "unflappable ".
My thoughts are subatomic.
Darkly ordered, where I always come out,
the bruised heroine
(but not without imagining a handful of ways
to watch a few choice people, die, while
I eat popcorn)
Sometimes, I think Jesus weeps
at the convictions
I put upon myself, for
(shyly) anticipating evils that should
befall on those who deserve them .
(But then, again , He laughs at satan
so why shouldn't I?)
If I smoked cigarettes, I'd be taking
a long, slow, drag
right now
while gale-force zephyrs from nowhere
(but I know, where...)
breach everyone's senses with
"How can this wind, be, with no clouds
in the sky?"
Just wait for it, it's coming--
everything that's in my head
that I know to be true; the world
will be set right, again
and some won't have to lift a finger, just
nod in agreement .
"I told you, so."
Written by MadameLavender
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Why do I feel like I should apologize for this??
I must have been 12 or 13
Mom was acting in a play
I helped her learn her lines
got to hang out with the cast
and I felt like the coolest kid ever
sitting on a bar stool.
Of course he was drunk,
this hilarious man I’d seen on stage
celebrating a performance well done, I guess.
My memory of the room is fuzzy
though I’ve been there often since
I only recall, “do you have pink, underdeveloped nipples?”
*
???
*
And I don’t know what happened next
nothing dramatic, nothing physical
he probably laughed and moved on
But I did not.
I was a child, unsure of the developing body
that garnered such unwanted attention
unsure of the answer to the literal question
and terrified by the implications of its asking.
And perhaps if that had been the only time
I could quiet the rage that surfaces
at that memory
but there have been countless
men and boys
who have felt entitled to reduce me
to the lumps on my chest
or the sounds they imagine I might make
or the assumed colour of my pubes.
And the world hasn’t changed
and I haven’t changed it
for those who come after me
and I’m so ashamed
that my daughter still faces it --
Questions that trigger
acute vigilant awareness
of surroundings and my smallness…
Comments that require
infinite, minute calculations in an instant…
To laugh and play along is to be complicit
(She asked for it)
To speak up is to invite ridicule
(Bitch can’t take a joke)
To fight back is to egg him on
(Oh, feisty! I’ll show you who’s boss)
To stay silent is to betray us all….
Freeze and stay silent,
almost always my choice
(Fear)
Swallow the humiliation,
absorb the hatred of this vessel I walk around in
(Shame)
Question myself for not doing better,
try to forgive my failure
(Regret)
Some days, it just crops up
and kills me inside.
How do I carry all this rage
and still be a woman
who likes to flirt a bit,
who finds masculinity attractive,
who sincerely enjoys the company of men?
I love all you good guys,
truly I do
And I can take a joke
and dish it out too
But if I go tight-lipped
and don’t enjoy that movie or song
just know there’s a lifetime
resurfacing in my head
that might have nothing to do with you
And some days it’s just fucking exhausting
Mom was acting in a play
I helped her learn her lines
got to hang out with the cast
and I felt like the coolest kid ever
sitting on a bar stool.
Of course he was drunk,
this hilarious man I’d seen on stage
celebrating a performance well done, I guess.
My memory of the room is fuzzy
though I’ve been there often since
I only recall, “do you have pink, underdeveloped nipples?”
*
???
*
And I don’t know what happened next
nothing dramatic, nothing physical
he probably laughed and moved on
But I did not.
I was a child, unsure of the developing body
that garnered such unwanted attention
unsure of the answer to the literal question
and terrified by the implications of its asking.
And perhaps if that had been the only time
I could quiet the rage that surfaces
at that memory
but there have been countless
men and boys
who have felt entitled to reduce me
to the lumps on my chest
or the sounds they imagine I might make
or the assumed colour of my pubes.
And the world hasn’t changed
and I haven’t changed it
for those who come after me
and I’m so ashamed
that my daughter still faces it --
Questions that trigger
acute vigilant awareness
of surroundings and my smallness…
Comments that require
infinite, minute calculations in an instant…
To laugh and play along is to be complicit
(She asked for it)
To speak up is to invite ridicule
(Bitch can’t take a joke)
To fight back is to egg him on
(Oh, feisty! I’ll show you who’s boss)
To stay silent is to betray us all….
Freeze and stay silent,
almost always my choice
(Fear)
Swallow the humiliation,
absorb the hatred of this vessel I walk around in
(Shame)
Question myself for not doing better,
try to forgive my failure
(Regret)
Some days, it just crops up
and kills me inside.
How do I carry all this rage
and still be a woman
who likes to flirt a bit,
who finds masculinity attractive,
who sincerely enjoys the company of men?
I love all you good guys,
truly I do
And I can take a joke
and dish it out too
But if I go tight-lipped
and don’t enjoy that movie or song
just know there’s a lifetime
resurfacing in my head
that might have nothing to do with you
And some days it’s just fucking exhausting
Written by brokentitanium
(k.)
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Related submission no longer exists.
Related submission no longer exists.
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/409724-as-the-moon-breaks/
(-Written as a spoken word-)
As The Moon Breaks
I see the truth
lying here in the dark
as my roots crumble,
as my spine melts
into the canvas
of bedsheets
screaming into
ink
black
nothingness
lay another log
on the fire of my heart
my bones have buried
my corpse in a tomb
from which I cannot break,
only claw into
because sometimes
the world turns
pleasure to shame
and I cover my nakedness
in the soft blankets of modesty
when every inch of my skin
cries woman into the
void
because fuck that—
my body knows poetry
I have sculpted every verse
into my lovers, howled
against the mouths
of equals
sometimes,
they howl in return
because here, as the moon breaks
I declare that I am Goddess
I writhe to the drumbeats
of hands that crash against
my burning flesh
I have felt the fire
of a thousand souls perish
at the will of man
who murdered us
to keep us small,
cowered at the power
we summon from our blood
as we paint our lips red,
our locks cascading our backs
like dense forests, because
we have not forgotten
who we are—
we have not forgotten
that our wombs are temples
in which to bring death
back to life
and let it be known
that you hold no power
over wild things
that my hair is not yours
to control, that my freedom
is mine to own, that my cunt
is free to exclaim itself
deliriously in churches
of longing
because you—
you will never own
a piece of what has learned
to say
no.
(-Written as a spoken word-)
As The Moon Breaks
I see the truth
lying here in the dark
as my roots crumble,
as my spine melts
into the canvas
of bedsheets
screaming into
ink
black
nothingness
lay another log
on the fire of my heart
my bones have buried
my corpse in a tomb
from which I cannot break,
only claw into
because sometimes
the world turns
pleasure to shame
and I cover my nakedness
in the soft blankets of modesty
when every inch of my skin
cries woman into the
void
because fuck that—
my body knows poetry
I have sculpted every verse
into my lovers, howled
against the mouths
of equals
sometimes,
they howl in return
because here, as the moon breaks
I declare that I am Goddess
I writhe to the drumbeats
of hands that crash against
my burning flesh
I have felt the fire
of a thousand souls perish
at the will of man
who murdered us
to keep us small,
cowered at the power
we summon from our blood
as we paint our lips red,
our locks cascading our backs
like dense forests, because
we have not forgotten
who we are—
we have not forgotten
that our wombs are temples
in which to bring death
back to life
and let it be known
that you hold no power
over wild things
that my hair is not yours
to control, that my freedom
is mine to own, that my cunt
is free to exclaim itself
deliriously in churches
of longing
because you—
you will never own
a piece of what has learned
to say
no.
coarse goodbye
there are times
i can think of
nothing but you
though it's obvious
your love was
far from true
i can't kick you
out of my bed
for our lovemaking
was all made
in my head
(like you always in
the back of your mind)
so i shall rise
above spite
but in the heat of
the night
while entangled in
her amorous embrace
i hope (against hope)
your performance
is dead-weight
i can think of
nothing but you
though it's obvious
your love was
far from true
i can't kick you
out of my bed
for our lovemaking
was all made
in my head
(like you always in
the back of your mind)
so i shall rise
above spite
but in the heat of
the night
while entangled in
her amorous embrace
i hope (against hope)
your performance
is dead-weight
Written by faithmairee
(Faith Elizabeth Brigham)
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