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#female poet
talkingtothewillow · 9 months
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Seeing people talk about Ken being a metaphor for little boys who grew up to be porn obsessed, objectifying teenagers who then grew up to be misogynistic, angry men in power who you will always miss as the innocent little boys they once were whilst they don’t notice a single thing about their progression hits so much harder when those little boys weren’t just your playground friends but your older or younger brothers who grew in the same house that you did, experienced so much of what you did, lived by your side for years only to still become those men.
And it sucks cause you blame yourself for not noticing, for not having a bigger impact, for missing the times that you could’ve changed something but it’s not ever actually your fault because you were just a little girl too and you were too busy playing with your dolls or texting your friends, just going through your girlhood to ever notice their change.
But even if we did notice, would it have mattered? Because shouldn’t having a sister be enough for them? Shouldn’t that be enough for them to understand? Even in the slightest?
Shouldn’t having a mother be enough?
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eefrostpoetry · 1 year
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i was so desperate to be loved that i didn't see you were incapable of loving me
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lunaruels · 6 months
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To be loved is a beautiful thing and I’ve felt it firsthand, not from the men that wanted to touch my body but from the women that wanted to touch my heart.
- via lunaruels
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abitbrokenpoetry · 9 months
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I learned more from you.. in the words you never spoke.. than the words you did.. i learned how to become invisible.. not seen, not heard, to blend into walls.. Like camouflage, to hide beneath covers.. I learned sadness is a hereditary disease.. I learned indifference cuts deepest of all.. I learned anger is the monster that lives in the closet.. it can control, and transform, and completely destroy.. I learned people never change if they see nothing wrong.. I learned indifference is deeper then hate. i learned the very first relationships we ever create in life.. are the deepest and most complicated ones.. so I walked away.
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shayriara · 5 months
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#Shabd
आधे शब्द मेरे अश्कों में बह गए
बचे आधे शब्द मेरे गुस्से में ढह गए
किसे अपना हाल-ए-दिल बताती कृष्णा
कहे शब्द को लोग बदतमीजी कह गए
Aadhe shabd mere ashqo me bah gaye
Bache aadhe shabd mere gusse me dhah gyeb
Kise apna haal-e-dil btaati krishna
Kahe shabd ko log baddtamizi kah gye...
- Krishna Sharma (कृष्णा शर्मा )
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giulianafavello · 4 months
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Breaking Bread Together
by Giuliana Favello
Bread, the scent of life,
Rushing through the air!
Beyond the bakery's warmth,
Empty bellies ache,
And souls yearn for reprieve.
The aroma of bread,
So rich,
Fills our senses with delight.
Yet,
To those who starve,
It becomes a taunting reminder.
The world carries on,
As the scent of bread lingers,
Mocking the empty plates.
Oh!
To awaken the slumbering hearts,
In a world that does not care.
Fight the famine,
Break the mold,
Sow the seeds of compassion,
Until the scent of bread no longer signifies
The divide between abundance and despair.
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junflower123 · 4 months
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I didn’t know what was going on back then
I just noticed a shift in you
Every once in awhile
The same soul
But, a different mindset
Up and down
Head spinning all around
Yet, everyone is expecting you to keep on moving forward
You feel as if you’re hanging from a wire, moving
Up and down
Up and down
Either wanting to die
Or doing things that could kill you
Chemical warfare
Dopamine, living the dream!
SSRIs, helping mania take flight
The plane crashing as depression takes ahold
Booze, weed
Then finally, antipsychotics!
A new battle begins
Findings the right meds
Maintaining access to the right meds
Battling the side effects of the meds
…would it be better to fight chemical warfare without chemicals?
Always fighting, no matter what!
Up and down
Thoughts spinning all around
You must be exhausted.
Up and down,
And all around!
——————
This poem is about me watching my friend deal with bipolar disorder and her trying to navigate getting help for it and trying to manage it the best she can.
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domemescountaspoetry · 9 months
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[Photo credit: Winston-Salem Journal, “A mother's work is never done for cardinals,” Michael Hastings Jun 18, 2020]
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allisonspoems · 11 months
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all you ever did was make promises and chose to not keep them.
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noiseunheard · 6 months
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Today I noticed for the first time how his hair dances in the wind
And it looks exactly like the grass on the side of the road,
In the middle of summer,
When it’s just long enough that a speeding car blows it back away from the asphalt.
I miss being the wind.
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daydweam · 2 years
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“You are my sanctuary, you are the doorway to my warmest memories. These words are carved into the laughter you bring me. They are born from every tear thats fallen into your hands. Tattooed to my virtue. Without judgement.”
-Daisy Chain (me, daydweam)
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eefrostpoetry · 1 year
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we painted our love all over each other until we forgot what colors we were
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lunaruels · 7 months
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I’m so hurt I can hardly eat, everything tastes like pain.
- via lunaruels
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abitbrokenpoetry · 4 months
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I had declared war on myself.. Bloody battles raging for years.. I sat in the middle of the killing fields.. savage; dirty weapons in hand.. victims lying around me.. but deep down I was broken.. people would come& they would go.. & I barely noticed them.. until you came wondering in my path.. you crawled through the landmines.. & dodged my grenades.. & you patiently sat with me as things exploded.. you were fighting your own battles.. you gave me your coat.. and wiped away my tears for awhile.. & it wasn’t nearly so lonely there anymore.. I never thanked you for that.. for keeping my company.. when I was trying so desperately to destroy myself.. I hope wherever you are now.. you have fought all your battles.. & won your war.
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shayriara · 10 months
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#Nazariya
पुरुष ने औरत को जब भी लिखा उसका हर रूप आम से खास हुआ
औरत ने पुरुष को जब भी लिखा उसका हर रूप खास से ख़ाक हुआ...
Purush ne orat ko jb bhi likha uska har roop aam se khaas hua
Orat ne jb bhi purush ko likha uska har roop khash se khaak hua...
- Krishna sharma ( कृष्णा शर्मा )
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giulianafavello · 5 months
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DDD
by Giuliana Favello
It is mourning.
I rise, but my body remains crippled,
Weighed down by invisible chains,
The ghostly grip of degenerative decay.
So many pills,
Swallowed with hopeful desperation,
A gift from the gods of temporary relief.
Ever so fleeting.
Each step- agony.
My mind- distracted by the relentless ache.
This body- a haven of destruction.
I wear a smile like a painted mask,
Hiding the tears that threaten
To spill.
The world demands strength,
Who am I to deny?
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