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Violence Woman Poems | Violence Poems About Woman

These Violence Woman poems are examples of Violence poems about Woman. These are the best examples of Violence Woman poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? | |


Elegant creatures of nature
Roam around in the world
In search of pleasure and power
But found domination 
Under the shadow of their counter
And as ages pass by
They still remain a prisoner
Bound by the chains of
Family and younger souls

Copyright © anbes rawal

Details | I do not know? | |

RIP Virginity

Dear Sir, my innocence is gone now, no more fear 
Do you love to **** me again, I am always here. 
I wonder when you taught me how to use a pen, 
I was so into you but my ****** was in pain! 
I was crying; I was too immature to understand
I was turning only 13, I couldn't feel what happened. 
but I promise I never forget what you taught me at the end. 
I begged you to stop and looked into your eyes, 
there was a reflection of a cruel world, that’s  what I deserved!
Don't be afraid, mommy never knows what you did, 
Nobody knows that you made me bleed. 
Dear sir, my innocence is gone with all my tears,
as I had no safe place to hide myself from fears.
Nobody saw anything as your world was so blind! 
having hidden hatred inside, a virgin died. 
Dear sir, time cannot erase your memories, 
time doesn't heal all wounds, that you marked, 
yes, you took my innocence that will be always on my mind.
My innocent world was shattered by your touch
Hope no one ever has to experience such
For all the pain, all the cruelty, thank you very much!

Copyright © Farhana Akter

Details | Clerihew | |

Lynette Squeaky Fromme

Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme,
With Charles Manson did roam.
Tried to assassinate President Ford,
A prison cell was her reward.


Copyright © Kim Merryman

Details | Epic | |

The Woman with A Pair of Shoes

this is a story of a woman.
work hard for the living.
used to work in the evening.
her face is filled with glitters.
inside the cave of dragons and beasts...

she is my beloved childhood friend.
she made a letter one day we met.
to let the people know 'bout herself.
she left it my wallet one morning,
and this is what she's telling....

she was only 15 when she left our town.
try to experience a life she dreamed about.
she dreams to change her life somehow.
but trouble had came and wreck her life.
thought this man can save her from the dark.

but the wheel of fortune did not fave her.
she was thrown inside the carcel.
she became famous in a world of fools.
dancing alone with a pair of shoes.
naked and wounded, her soul is abused.

too many years passed,
our roads had crossed.
I saw her picture in front of a door.
her hair has colors,her face is old.
I went to witness what a world she holds.

so many people are watching over,
their eyes are glimmer and craving.
I look up and see what's amuse them.
A question risen up in my head.
why is she dancing with just a pair of shoes?

that night seemed long, we drove away.
we felt each moment, our soul had mate.
I've drowned in a passion I dreamed to own.
I wake up that morn, I'm all alone.
holding a letter she wrote all night long.

this is the story of a woman,
wearing just a pair of shoes.
she is not different from you.
she is a princess of her dad.
she's an angel, she must be love.

Written by: Aiyah De Torres
Entry for WOMEN ONLY Poetry Contest

** 4th Place Winner**

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres

Details | Free verse | |


Dear Diary,
It's eleventh day of June, I'm about to celebrate my 18th birthday.
But this morning, I don't wanna go out and face the world.
I'm tired, my Dear Diary... I don't have enough strength to tell them my secrets.
It's you and I who only knew this thing, even mom's not aware of it!
I'm afraid that they may not understand, that they may be wrath or hurt me.
You knew, it's been six years now that we everyday talk about it.
And you're the only one that help me breathe when I suffocate.
Six years of unstoppable nightmare, I still recall.
It was 10:00 PM and mom has gone for a party.
Uncle Joe was left to look after the kids and me.
I woke up when I felt the wind passing through my window.
It's a cold dark night, I tried to shield myself in a blanket.
When suddenly an image of a guy entered in my room.
I closed my eyes so tight,then told myself it's a monster from the dark!
But his footsteps moved towards my bed,until a big hand grabbed my mouth.
I grasp the air then try to shout, aloud but he punched me out.
That was so hurt and caused me weak, until I surrendered to his wrist.
Though weak and helpless I felt the pain...
The deep penetration of his thorn to my flesh.
I was left broken into pieces at my very young age.
The most painful moment when someone broke my life.
A night I couldn't forget 'til today that I've grown.
And this evening, I'll be a princess in  a rose pink gown,
The crowd will sure awe while they watch me dance.
I hope I can have the courage to refuse the last hand.
The hand of my step dad who will be my last dance.
I hope I can tell the world that this guy ruined my life.
That he must pay for killing my flesh every night that mom is out!
But today, It's just you and me,  my Dear Diary.
Who knew all the secrets and the faith that I achieved.

written: May 12,2014
Entry to: Anne Currin's Dear Diary Poetry Contest

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres

Details | Free verse | |

The Parolee

By Angeline Star

The ad stated that
the prospective employee 
should have the ability
to prepare and serve food samples 
using small appliances such as 
microwaves, fryers, skillets, coffee makers 
and knives.

He had a background
with knives.

Copyright © Angeline Star

Details | Dramatic Verse | |


I forgave you once, for your behavior
I forgave you twice, for your actions
all the while you're stabbing my heart with a butcher knife
      with Every Strike!
I take a bow
Lord, let me live somehow!
I promise, I'll leave him tomorrow!
I beg and I plead for my life
    As my nose bleeds blood onto the floor
You strike me again and call me a whore!
I can't take it, I gasp for breath as you try to 
    Choke me to death
Something breaks the trance, a knock at the door
"Stay here you evil witch" you whisper as you fling my head to the side
I moan, and I cry, wonder~how could I end up with this type of guy
I shudder when I hear the door slam shut
cuz I know you'll only be nice for a while,
you'll walk around with that pretty smile,
You'll give me hugs, kisses, cuddles and great sex
You'll cook for me, clean the house, take me out
Everyday you're ripping my stitches out
 because I forgive you time and time again
  And your actions Never Change
       You're not a nice man.
And you don't deserve me at my best or at my worst.
You don't deserve my forgiveness;
   so you're getting my curse
2-18-15 for Forgiveness Poetry Contest.

Copyright © Butterfly Mantra

Details | Ballad | |

I want to write

I want to write
This time of that cold night
when I heard my mother cry
When I saw her lie
Flat on her belly
Her back bare and scaly
Her eyes swollen
Her right stolen
By one she called husband.

I saw the tears
I saw her fears
she sobbed between the whips
she tightly bit her lips
And tightened her hips
to swallow the pain
just for her stay.

I want to write
this time of that night
that night without stars
when I saw the scars
On her back
the scars stuck
made a permanent mark
on her back.

I want to write
I want to write
This time of my mother
write her as a victim
tortured by male chauvinism.
write her as a strong woman
Who challenged the stress of a man
Mama who raised us
built us
Made us.

so rise mama and shine
All will be fine
Mama rise and shine
All will be fine
All will be fine.

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine

Details | Free verse | |


She is dancing like a fairy with her long-sequenced gown,

Her long, curly hair swaying as she moves around.

Angels are watching her over the moonlit shadow.

Closed eyes,indulging the melody of playing  tunes. 

A cavalry came in and run her off  on  his horse.

Laid her down to a bed of petals and thorns..---

The shadow started to cruise and moan like a beast.

The heaven cries and mourns for a fate she'd faced.

Her limbs are broken and  can barely stand  on  feet.

And the music keeps on playing, swaying her hair in the wind.

A tiny drop of water wake  her up from an endless nightmare.

The surge stopped moaning and the dawn break his voice.---

Watching a stranger in a very deep sleep,plan was formed in mind.

Vengeance is on her hands,a blazing anger will next explode.

Looking back is  a  breathless and bleeding soul.--

She is wearing her torn long-sequenced gown , stood up strong.

Rain fall down  and washed blood off her hands.

The music keeps playing, the wind blows and pain has gone.

*AiyaH De Torres
WITH THESE HANDS Free Poetry Contest
Visual 5

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres

Details | Epic | |

Fertile Crescent, iii

Fertile Crescent
and Vestigial Conscience

The sun overshadowing my morality
my self- righteousness eclipsed

Where early mans' dawn is, 
Our sun over my left *should* threaten to tinge me if
I pontificate platitudes that fail to connect us to
full stomachs for our children, solid comfort during our elders’ aging and respite needs
That McChrystal was sacrificed at the altar
the way Abraham (*pause) to show faith
O yea, my ancient ancestors from Ireland
Maybe they had roots in Celtic lore
Heralding Beowulf’s heroics
And maybe they had someone in some way connected to 
 various seafaring warring factions!
Tyranny and takeover spark hatred
blinding rage, like
action- oriented swarming killer bees~
Vestigial, then, is it - our
primordial consciousness?

Weeping flows, but flash floods cannot compare, 
and the burn of fury that hot lava
NO! of liquid molten, from the deepest depths of Earth's core - 
even that cannot compare 
to the condemnation
my foe must assume.
With this pen I secure my conduit to the divine, 
My unpretentious foothold here from my pedestal, 
denouncing injustice! 
My spears are fueled
Fertile Crescent
Ghosts of pharaohs
Branded timeless in stone
Reigning order
Condemning the vilified,
as it is published by
The Royal Geographical Society:
Syria as the Gateway between East and West
Leonard Woolley
The Geographical Journal
Vol. 107, No. 5/6 (May - Jun., 1946), pp. 179-190)
And why shouldn’t this be so?
Beowulf, an earliest epic
Of Old English
How proud and agile to be able
To confer your legacy in written format
Onto your generations and incursions ~
Daughters of the American Revolution, 
weren't you early colonists settling in Maryland?
Wasn't The Crown's high noon tea wrought with hypocrisy?

I was wrong when I supposed 
McCongress ordered striking the King's son
off the Dollar Menu, To Go, 
when they showed up at the
Drive-Thru window
Morocco & France have tensions
today that sprouted around this very topic, you know.
Everyone has to pay attention to who the special children are, 
from the special castes - it is written and taught in
children's international fairytales 
written by nations collectively-
cultures present their insides
in their telling of morals embellished
inside gripping tales
to their children,
use of cultural symbols and
delectable terms,  the signs all 
lead directly to the diaper room. 
But for this poet, it was the Irish potato famine
forbidding entry into libertine culture.

Copyright © Jen Franks

Details | Rhyme | |

My Soul Has Been Damned

I put my hands around my wife's throat and I squeezed.
What disturbs me is that when she died, I was pleased.
When it came to having morals, I used to believe that I had some.
But every time I look in the mirror, I'm horrified to see what I've become.
My wife was so mean and she loved to provoke.
Life became intolerable every time she spoke.
She told me over and over how ugly and stupid that I am.
I snapped and killed her and now my soul has been damned.
I want to go to the Cops but they would lock me up for life, I would never again be free.
But that's only if I would get lucky, it's more likely that I would receive the death penalty.
When it came to my problems, she was the source.
If I hadn't snapped, I might have considered divorce.
As each day passed, that witch became even colder.
I'll spend the rest of my days looking over my shoulder.
She was a horrible Human Being and she loved to annoy me.
I'll never stop fearing that the Cops are closing in and that will eventually destroy me. 

(This is a fictional poem)

Copyright © randy johnson

Details | Free verse | |

I fear people

I fear people 
 People who are wearing colorful masks
 Hiding poisoned daggers in their casks 

I'm afraid of people 
 Whom over their head
 Carry the banner of benediction
 Then again at night 
 carry salt to rub on my abrasions 

I am afraid of people 
 Out of their mouths comes mesmerizing words
 An ax is what they are holding behind their swords
 Do you think they won’t break my trusting core?

I'm afraid of people 
 They lie and call it knowledge, 
 do evil and declare it courage.
 Their eyes filled with lust so foul

I am really afraid of these people
 I am so afraid that I crouch and hide in the cellar 
 People’s shadows are dancing on the wall 
 And I tremble and curl myself in a ball

I know it well
 I have to go and buy myself a disguise
 Plus a dagger dipped in malice 
 Shouldn’t I forget to secure a heart of stone 
 Tomorrow I will got to become one of these folks!

Copyright © Rahy Hy

Details | Blank verse | |

unreported violence

 Unreported Violence in Vilamoura 

The couple was nicely suntanned, but the woman had 
a black eye, he was very courteous to her tried to hold 
her hand, but she didn´t want to and his face reddened
angrily, so she let him hold her hand. Both were nicely 
dressed on their way to a restaurant; no doubt when 
meeting friends a droll story would be told how she got 
that eye. Polite laughter. Men would believe the story, 
women would exchange glances because in the eyes of 
the hapless woman they saw the truth. They would find 
out- women talk- when they went to the ladies to 
powder their noses. The unlucky one would beg them 
not to say a word. “ He loves me, but has a bad temper; 
and when I nag him he slaps me, it is really my fault for 
not understanding him better. He was so sorry for giving 
me a black eye last night that he cried, promised not to 
hit me anymore.”  

Copyright © jan oskar hansen

Details | Quatern | |


Helpless a girl can do anything
She have the ability to do something
People may think, she always fine
No reason to think that she won't any guilt

Copyright © Mohammad Hafiz

Details | Rhyme | |

Drawing a Line

For Hayley Nutland, a homeless girl who apprehended a man who mugged an elderly lady in my home town

The word on the street is that Hayley done good
A considerable feat for the girl from the wood
She caught him, she taught him, that crime doesn’t pay
She sought him, she fought him, he got put away
There are good folk and bad folk, it’s not always clear
Some folk have a toke, and drink buckets of beer
But at mugging and stabbing, this girl draws a line
She witnessed the grabbing, gave chase, and done fine
So think twice when you say that someone is a zero
Today, doff your hat, because Hayley’s a hero

by Gail

Copyright © Gail Foster