Tagged: women

The Bureau of Emasculation

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play off reflection, I caught you staring in the mirror,
playing through a bit of high,
but I work hard enough,

it won’t be a problem

always starting at the same time,

always starting too late
the grip feels good in my hand
the rubber against stiff fingers
we wouldn’t want the Callous
they’ve hollowed out the underside
to take away feeling
stuffed with sawdust and formaldehyde
I never could be full enough
good enough for you
sew it shut
sand down the veins
and pare mushroom tip

it wasn’t so long ago
foreskin charms
phallus necklace
earrings always
dangle

Addiction

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Isn’t it just like a man?
Sitting, watching the swaying hips
each conniving turn.


She slithers
through the blue cigarette smoke.
I do things differently,
doorways for suckers.
I brace for impact,
through layer after layer
clearing out foundation after foundation
taking years to establish
but moments to dissipate.


She pulls at the meat
twirling it between her fingers
throwing it from her talons
into the air
to her tapered beak.

Could we all be monsters
demon lurking in the night
loitering under street light
looking to the painted faces
and the saber tooth heel?

What could I feed her?
What cherished memories sacrificed
for the next high?

 

 

(I do not support; strongly condemn the type of misogyny in this poetry,(though it is a perspective in society that needs to be addressed) she’s intended to be terrible because of what she represents, NOT because she is a woman.)

Bastards

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“I can fuck any bitch I want”

Rattling off foul consonances and vowels

The terrible mantra boys

Chant off in the school yard

Like throwing mud on the third

Grade sweetheart

That makes their mother so ashamed

Ironic

They can say these things

Off the cuff

When the father

They’ve never met

Sits at a bar in Mexico

Says the exact same things

About their mothers.

We know how it feels to sit

On top of the world

And spit on the creatures below

Like birds on a telephone wire

Waiting for the one wearing

The worst day

To add insult to injury

Meninism: Closer to the Truth

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I still see your face everywhere I go

The sordid expression

Menacing whispers of pain

If I didn’t have to hurt

Would you remain so

Armed and guarded?

Ready to take the tip of the tongue

From any sweet talking man?

Would you remain

A warrior christened in blood?

Rotten Old Bukowski (Explicit)

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Rotten old men

Standing like their

Rotten cocks

Erect

They watch the mothers

And children play.

Some watch the mothers

In skirts, tight, amorphous

Bending over

Their great asses

Blocking out the sky.

The daughters cowering behind

Oval shadow

Others watch the children

Thumbs perked up

Wriggling between two

Moist, pursued lips

Blowing their

Boo-boo’d thumbs.

The Enigma of the Grey Page

stock-photo-wood-textured-backgrounds-in-a-room-interior-on-the-forest-backgrounds-114391438Tripping over the sprouting roots

Peeled

And sprouting from my psyche.

Looking for meaning

Within the incessant questioning

Why?

Mother’s crying behind bruises

Why?

The flair of fish belly

And the ocean is a barren

Toxic desert

Why?

Work, Class, Love, Work, Class

Through the wrong lens

Liberty is prison

Why?

The hand that once nurtured

Strangles smothers

The flowers are all dead

Why?

It doesn’t get better

We just keep asking

Why?

A Feminine Ball of Yarn

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*Written from a woman’s perspective.

 

Tufts of thread out of the palm of his hand. A spool of yarn slowly undone down curling dirt roads. Our steps are not our own as we’re dragged down the trail littered with pot holes, but we refuse to let the yarn hit the ground as we grow smaller and the man’s smiling face is far, his only sign a taut string following the curves in the horizon. I know I must be minuscule before I can gather myself to that smiling man for I am unwound. The strand frays and I struggle to stay inches above the cakes of mud.

To Choose Life

Times without number, taken in fluted reed Could be the dancer who Swore she would no, could not, hang up her shoes Neglect that spirit within who urged to move Still now, decades pass She has lost her edges, she is a filament of someone who Once danced in fury in all her youth and […]

via So quickly we forget the steps — thefeatheredsleep

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And he can’t tell if those are callouses at the end of her toes

Or bloated cherries, boils oozing puss

At the end of each of the fifths of her tapering feet.

He shames her from progress

As she grows strong

Towering over the people

The industries, infrastructures,

Sizing up sky scrapers,

 

He’s shrunk

Feels as a stain on the sidewalk

For the ego kept him strong

Termite infested crutches

Fire licking away at

The wood’s soft center

And he doesn’t have

A leg to stand on.

 

The footprints

Left across her malleable frame

We send Mother to the camps

Get her working in the lines,

Heaven knows if ma

Gets out of hand

Gaia will swallow us whole

 

They carve away

Beneath the surface

Rotting jack o lantern

Toss the slop in the trash

Her vital organs.

We’ve progressed

From butcher house cutting board

To scabbing through

demonstration

flanking Planned Parenthood

for the surrender

The only thing worse

To make the choice

“Life,”

Not death

Condemned

For loving the little she had

Malingering Justice

We talk daily about stemming the spate of violence against women. We pay lip service about punishing offenders, but when is justice really served. When a judge sentences a privileged white man to six months in prison for brutally raping a woman what message is that sending to others like him? The Judge in the […]

via WHEN WILL WOMEN GET JUSTICE — MARVA SEATON BLOG

Thank you. There aren’t enough people talking about this. There aren’t enough people angry about this and it may feel that it doesn’t matter, but it’s another step, and womyn’s rights are getting somewhere.

 

Malingering Justice Picture

 

Brandished wildly

Desecrate by

The same dumping ground

You’re still, silent

But you’re howling

Ice cubes melt

From your face

Frigid, moist

Engulfed in tides

 He is

Submerged

Moving one with the

power, one with

Hate.

He thinks about what

It’d really be like

To dominate

He holds the devil

So close when he dances

I can’t tell man

From beast

To live in that strange,

Dark continent

Watching, waiting,

To sprinkle the sand

over her eyes

He’s embraced her dark corner.

He violated those dark corners

A dream of what

Could have been

Burning in the oil fire

Convention begets violation

From the law

To chivalry

To the gilded athletes,

Devouring, dissipating

Our children’s survival;

Our future

But it’s convenient

To stay in your

Burning home

When it’s cold

Outside.

And the judge doesn’t bat a lash

Sewing the stitches

Through the labia

Of woman’s humanity

And releasing

Mad, parched dogs,

After a night in the pen.

For the growl is heard

At all hours of the night

And her figure is ravished

Perforated teeth mark turf

As he chews on her

Under the guiding hand

Of “justice”

How to Pick up Women

after a few pots of coffee
I shit like machine gun rounds,
My ass sags like rumple stilts skin
Putrid burning mass graves
Producing poo more impressive
Than poetry
When I meet a woman with a scandalously
Intentioned smile
I become
The fluffy bunny
Doing back flips
For a carrot
And a stroke

I read her a line or two
Prove my artistry
Probe my brain
Probing with chocolate finger
Frantic fanny
“that’s not even that impressive
You should see my shits
Gander the goods.
People come from all around
Towns from the far side
of the world
to seize this masterpiece ”
And when they do
The long tapering snake making its way
From the toilet bowl
Down the hall
And out the front door
That’s what gets me laid.