Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Natalie Mar 17
It’s not one man running at the speed of light
But a group of them
none of them knowing the other

We know it’s not all men
But every woman has a story
How come?

You put 100 women in a room
97 will fall unlucky
HOW  come?

It’s not all men
But it’s some
And it is every women
When does it end?

It never ends
HOW Come?

Don’t dress provocatively they said
And yet even your not
It still happens
They ignore the no’s and the pleas
To continue for their gain
HOW COME!

so the fight continues
To be a woman:

To be a woman is to bleed.
From between our legs, as young as nine, when the only worry in our young minds should be about scraped knees from riding bikes and scooters, the visceral meaning of womanhood begins to leak through the soft cotton amour of childhood.
The impending doom of what could be warded off by a child's imagination has cracked and no longer can be repaired.
This is the fate of a woman.
From that day we bleed.
Shoving gauze of soft smiles and politeness into bullet holes bore into our bodies by men.
Anything to stop the bleeding and remain a fragment of the person we once were.
We’re blithe in the presence of grown men that become aroused to the notion of humiliating us.
We try to feign ignorance and keep a straight face in times of turbulence to maintain modesty.
Our nails embedded into our palms, we bleed.
And a storm has formed.
Through the storm we seek the same refugee we watched our mothers seek. Always thinking that the outcome will be different.
This one is not the same.
We’re not our mothers.
Our love is different.
It’s respected.
It’s mutual…
as long as you’re the one doing the laundry and the cooking and the cleaning and you pay your half and you look after the child that you nearly bled out for.  
Nurturing, tending, cooking and cleaning and ‘whoops’ watch the knife…

bleeding.
Always bleeding.
It’s equal love though, isn’t it?
It’s what you wanted, right?
When you bore two children and you’re raising three, that’s what you wanted. That’s what you bled for.
That’s what you bled for?

Who has he bled for?


He walks into the kitchen, boots scuffing the linoleum on the way.
Dumping the scrapped leftovers of love you gave him in the early out of the morning into the trash and tossing the containers into the sink.
He pats the heads of the people he pretends make him whole and goes to the shower to rinse off the 10 hour shift of hard labor that didn't involve his family.

You don’t expect a kiss at this point because you learned that asking for what you deserve could come with a broken orbital socket.
So you let your heart bleed.
You bleed it into your kids.
You let them know that they are loved.
You pretend that everything is okay.
You go to work, you come home, you bleed and you bleed and you bleed.

Hopeful that your daughter doesn’t see.
Malia Mar 4
This is the law that supersedes all
Other laws:
Thou shalt not complain.

Thou shalt have a successful career
𝘢𝘯𝘥
Shalt be a perfect mother.

Thou shalt be innocent and experienced,
Rebellious—
But not too much.

Thou shalt never need help.

Thou shalt never age
Yet maintain a veneer
Of self-acceptance.

Thou shalt not be overly
Emotional
But thou art not permitted to be
Robotic.

Thou shalt be assertive
But lo upon the woman
Who dares express anger.

Thou shalt have infinite patience.

Thou shalt be progressive without
Challenging the status quo.

Thou shalt carry thy burdens with
Immeasurable strength and without
Disintegration or failure.

And ye shalt do these things, that
Ye might become the 21st Century
Woman.
kathleen Feb 27
I’m a girl, but the voice in my head that says, "You're worthless" is Bruce.
Because the evils women have put in my head are minuscule compared to the utter horrors men have put—no, carved into my skull.
Because men have created this torture chamber disguised as a body, and I’m trapped inside with the harsh muttering of Bruce in my ear.
Raven Star Feb 25
I have some questions,
Who the **** do i hold accountable?

And I know we've come so far,
We can now vote, drive and hustle on our own.

But,
Why we couldn't do it in the first place?
Why we still gotta cover ourselves?
Why do we still shame our women?
Why do we still **** our women?

Yeah, we have a long way,
Now we can go to uni and bars and sway.

But,
Why do we still slutshame our women?
Why do we praise single dads,
And i know it's good that they stay;
But why do we still mock single moms,
When they nurture the same?

And yeah, we've come so far...
But are we sure we're not going
Backwards after all?

Because what do you mean Afghani women can't become doctors?
What do you mean you say they can't get treated by men,
They can't get treated at all, their life's become vain?

What do you mean they can't speak in public or show their skin?
Why are we after our own kin?

What do you mean you've banned abortions?
And contraceptive pills too?

You say it's just a mistake,
That he's just neurodivergent,
And honestly that's just insulting towards them,
And i can already hear the sirens.

You say Musk did the Roman salute,
And not the **** one,
As if fascism makes it better .
What do you mean it's all good,
Until a billionaire is getting criticism?

You say everything is fine,
As if you don't keep banning books.
We all joke about "going places",
I think you're going Germany, 1939!
And what do you mean I'm more worried,
When the country isn't even mine?

You say 'Make America Great Again',
As if it was great in the first place.
Because what do you mean you all
Voted for a felon with with a straight face?

You called her Nirbhaya 2.0
As if Dr. Moumita was a movie sequel,
And not one of the million victims of ****.
Why does it seem you all don't really care,
And it's like a trend formed everywhere?

At least some things are still consistent,
Like how equality and justice isn't served,
To neither Dr. Moumita or Atul Subhash in India,
And India cares more about India's Got Latent,
After all it brings more TRP to media.

I am so exhausted of all this ****,
And how it has become so recurring.

And millions of my questions are still unanswered,
Who the **** do i hold accountable?
This has been in my draft for a while...here it is.
IdleHvnds Feb 21
The outbursts of angry women,
the most beautiful thing to witness.

We fight to be heard —
Another cycle, that will never end..
It is only a wish to watch the fall of men.
I no longer wish to shrink myself for the sensitivity of men.
Anger is an emotion all women should express and the song of anger is finally being sung.
Sara Barrett Feb 11
The most substantial burden women have ever endured was not the weight of motherhood, nor the physical toll of childbirth, nor the exhaustive list of responsibilities, including appointments, bills, meals, and future plans, that they often undertook alone.

The most substantial burden women have ever endured was the weight of a man's ego.

Fragile as glass, yet razor-sharp, it constantly required polishing, yet was incapable of shining independently.

A man who made promises he failed to keep, who spoke of sacrifice but never made any, who relied on women to do the work while he took the credit.

A man who needed constant reminders, coaching, and guidance, yet claimed to have accomplished everything on his own.

And when women sought truth, held up the mirror, and dared to say, 'You are not who you pretend to be,' his world crumbled.

Not because it was untrue, but because he was exposed.

And that was the real transgression.

For men can deceive, fail, and break promises with impunity, yet a woman who speaks the truth is vilified.

She is cruel, vicious, and ungrateful for all that he almost did.

And still, she carries the weight of everything: the household, children, meals, laundry, bills, plans, his future, failures, and lies.

While he claims it is hard for him, asks if she cannot simply be nice, and reminds her that he works hard for her.

But what does a man work for if his home is merely a place for a woman to serve, to build his life while sacrificing her own?

And what could women achieve if they never had to bear the weight of a man?
A raw and unapologetic piece about the invisible weight women carry—not just the physical and emotional labor of life but the crushing burden of a man’s ego. This poem exposes the hypocrisy of male entitlement, the way women are expected to build, serve, and sacrifice while men take credit, demand kindness, and call it “hard work.” But what if women were free from this weight? What could we become if we never had to carry a man’s failures, lies, or fragile pride?

For every woman who has ever been told to be “nicer,” to “appreciate” what was almost done, or to shrink herself so a man can shine—this one’s for you. 🔥
Samuel Feb 8
Did Eve truly fall to temptation?
Or was Adam the source of manipulation?
Tilting the tale, shifting the blame,
A narrative forged to shield his name.

Was it Adam who conjured the snake?
A plot to see Eve’s freedom break?
Bound to home, she is confined,
A life of serving cruelly designed.

She serves him meals, her dreams erased,
She is subdued, her purpose displaced.
Her light dimmed, her laughter restrained,
A life once hers, now cruelly chained.

Was there truly a serpent’s hiss?
Or Adam’s scheme beneath all this?
Will he repent, will truth ever prevail,
Or will his story forever be under a dark veil?

Will Eve ever find her own way,
Or live in Adam’s shadow, day by day?
Confined is her will, but not her desires.
With enough will, she will burn bright like fire.
She is a phoenix, born from its ashes
She will definitely be free from Adam’s latches.

He voice will be heard, her truth will be shared
She will re-write history, her presence declared
She will have it all that she had left
But will her soul still feel bereft?
Sara Barrett Jan 31
Four centuries pass, yet echoes remain,
A woman’s cry met with silence again.
Laws were written, inked with good grace,
Yet bruises still bloom in the same hidden place.

The chains are less visible, but still they confine,
A whisper, a threat—unwritten lines.
Justice pretends to be blind and fair,
But turns away when she’s gasping for air.

She flees, she pleads, but where can she go?
The system still asks what she should have known.
“Why did you stay?” they say with a sigh,
As if love was her crime, as if she chose to die.

Four hundred years, yet history repeats—
A woman still fights to stand on her feet.
On January 31, 1641, the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s Body of Liberties declared that a married woman should be “free from bodilie correction or stripes by her husband.” It was one of the earliest legal protections against domestic violence in what would become the United States—a recognition that a woman’s body was not her husband’s to wound.

And yet, four centuries later, how much has truly changed?

Four Hundred Years and Still is a reflection on the persistent cycles of abuse, the systemic failures that allow them to continue, and the way society still asks women to justify their survival. It speaks to the echoes of history, where laws may evolve, but the lived reality for many remains strikingly familiar. This poem is for every woman who has been asked, “Why did you stay?” instead of, “Why did he harm you?” It is for those who fought, who fled, who survived, and those who didn’t.

Because four hundred years should have been long enough.
In the ethereal realm, where Themis holds sway,
A cosmic ballet of justice, a metaphorical play.
Yet, in our earthly sphere, reflections intertwine,
Empower women—the catalysts of progress divine.

Like Themis, with scales, a celestial display,
Let women’s worth twirl within the sunlit ray.
Respect and recognition, whispered dreams unfold,
A symphony of progress, a story yet untold.

As Themis adorns the sacred tapestry of mythic lore,
So too can women ascend, their voices galore.
Grant them the stage, society’s sacred decree,
Witness progress soaring, untethered and free.
Next page