Women poems that are original and profound. Explore a brilliant collection of women poetry that you can’t stop reading. These poems on women are published by poets from all over the world and are sure to keep you High On Poems!
Today, my friend, You mirrored those hurts, Those painful struggles, Those heartbreaks, sighs and cries, Yet, you hid your tears, Smiled, And even laughed, Cracking jokes, As if I don’t know What you helplessly tried, Dear dear friend, I know
When I walk out in broad daylight, I am immediately handed with “Stand up and fight” brochures, persuaded to download the Vithyou app, begged to join self defense classes to combat the raging thirst, of uninhibited audacious beasts. I am
Who am I? A pure soul who’s supposed to witness slaughtering of dreams and souls but never reveal for the sake of graffiti Who am I? A beauty to be shown off and endure every pain without a single drop
the watch tore the hair from his wrist he could smell coconut shampoo as in the time he’d been left to his sisters’ tender mercies they’d gone after him tweezers and paint prettied him up like a trout that had
She gave us life. She will be someone’s wife. She is a girlfriend and someone’s best friend. She is a sister and a survivor to the end. When you struggle she pull you through and help you again. All of
The way rapists minds have taken shape- A girl is to blame for her own rape, To these animals so lecherous What are we girls-strictly diurnal creatures? Rapists say,“Girls can’t step out at night, A girl attacked should quietly allow
A beautiful portrait of lovely ladies hangs in front of me in my workplace gazing at them I often wonder- – Where, where have we come from being them? ? Bejewelled, bedecked, beautified – -an epitome of adornment coy, silent.demure.humble
For ages, her life has been A journey of endless strife Most of the times unrecognised Generation after generation Beautiful as a part of nature itself In whose lap she is born and brought up She grows up to attain
The full Moon is on wane Shedding her last attic glory on Earth And every aspects of Earth’s being Scorched too much in blazing Sun, Enjoying the Moonshine bath like budding spinsters Drenching in swelling teenage mirth. The air is
You’re making eyes,while I make up my mind. Thinking of ways how I’d make you mine, You play that little game where you keep me guessing, You leave me wanting more so you’l keep on teasing, All i need is
My name is Richa… Does it really matter?! It could’ve been Mala …Seema…Sita..Nirbhaya or even Chabili.. In the end I would’ve been married to a much older man.. or abandoned after impregnating in a forest.. I wash utensils …clean floors..
now she is blackened ink bled over starched canvas her cursive forms whisper elusive words too many nights wasted on uncomfortable men her eyes roll mouth breathing nicotine air she beckons to me through locked doors
Child Marriage: Plights Before Me. Innocence in me, society betrayed, joy in me- society destroyed, wonderful future ahead of me society truncated. Child Marriage: Plights Before Me. Innocence in me, society betrayed, joy in me- society destroyed, wonderful future ahead
The women on the stage have become a Shaker community I like especially how they make me believe in their imperfections when they talk act together softly squabble each with a unique inner light I’m enchanted by seeing who they
Leaves will grow out your chopped skin; Petals that peel off from that cut in between your legs, whispering fragrances through those shattered lips – Those bones knocking at the edges of your transparent envelope. Bird eyes, tainted livid –
The Butterfly has awoken And rightfully emerged from his cocoon What makes it so beautiful is Not the wings or image Of itself But the beauty of its flawlessness Mindset in this breath Taking shattering world It already being so
Just because your turn has not come, Doesn’t mean there is no future. Even though everyday feels wearisome, You haven’t seen the bigger picture. Don’t compare your race with another, Everyone has a different finish. Switching tracks, shoes, trying to
When I was a young man I chased them by the score. They were fast, young and lean. Conquest was my aim, seduction was the game. Procreation, I was playing with biology’s rules. I cared very little about much more.
Dear son, African American warrior, Reincarnation of the people of the Sudan. I hope you understand why I am writing you this letter. And hopefully, by the time you read it Race relations in America are a lot better than what
When I close my eyes at night there is darkness. When my eyes open in the morning there is light. I pray that the world will experience a brightness of fortitude where all men, all women, and all animals can
My room was the old garage attached to the house festooned with posters and dirty underpants my father’s Mercedes was a sacred relic with a flavor of old leather upholstery. It rested in its own building. there must have been
Oh, my husband, he is too soft, giving everything, I ask, but not trusting me, keeping all savings, himself, And asks, “what is money for, am giving all that you need”; That’s not right, am wounded and so, don’t like
Sinners hurt. While moonlight cracks open like a walnut, spreads soft light across open sky, they dart to alleyways, bury themselves behind their own trails shaking fists at the sky; hiding their nasty nonsense in shame, city buildings rattle their
A motley group had made an affiliation of sorts It sprouted and mushroomed in our back lane And there was born a poetry club with no name Passion it was for the verses written in Urdu That linked them beyond
It’s one of those mornings that welcomes whiskey and soda with open arms. The Sun and I, more or less, feel the same way about getting out and conquering the world. ‘Well, it’s not our turn today’, we tell ourselves.
It Breaks my heart Rips my soul apart When every morning the newspaper reads And various news feeds, talk about Girls and women, young and old being savagely raped and killed or sold It breaks my heart Rips my soul
In a world of dreams and imaginations, There’s perfection, make-believe stories. All’s the way, we wish life to be. With equality, without disease, Over populated places. All reside in mansions, have beautiful bodies. Love is as the Cinderella story. King