free verse, Poetry

Unfortunately, this is my last poem for this month. I’ve recently been really annoyed at the mistreatment of women in our society, which for some reason still exists in the 21st century, and so this is kind of just a splurge of all my thoughts.

For a very long time,
I used to think woman
meant woe - man
not as in
'Woah, man that's a woman, hell yeah',
but as in
'Woe, for I am a woman'.
I am a woman,
and I am not a woe.
I am a woman,
and I am not a man.
But really, I don't know what I am.
Some men, like to think
that when I'm walking down a road,
I'm a moving dart-board,
which they have to land their
pointers onto exactly,
hit the right spot
right there
just to feel like they've won.
Different parts of my body-board
gets you more points:
  • My leg = 5 points
  • My thigh = 10 points
  • My wrists = 20 points
  • My butt = 30 points
  • My boobs = 50 points
I hear one of them yell
something about hitting the bullseye,
and they rejoice and I cry.
I'm tired of being a game,
nothing more than something
to be
torn apart,
I'm not a complex set of rules
which needs to be learnt,
I'm not 'complex',
Women are not 'complicated',
Maybe if you listened
rather than read,
you wouldn't be so confused
by all the women you've made up in your head,
who wear nothing but
bikinis with white strings
maybe if you pull on their
straps you'll hear them sing,
nothing more than Barbie dolls
for you to play with,
in your world of fantasy,
in which women are just
Games to
toy with.

This was written as part of National Novel Writing Month [Day 19, Poem #13]

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s