Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Social Girlfriend Poems | Social Poems About Girlfriend

These Social Girlfriend poems are examples of Social poems about Girlfriend. These are the best examples of Social Girlfriend poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Rhyme | |

The Right Thing to Do

Written 7 March 2014
-------------------------------------

Bruce and Jennie, both were 10,
Had been playmates all their lives.
One day, Bruce proclaimed,
“Jennie… most good men have wives.”

He professed his love for her.
Jennie said she loved him too.
They decided that getting married
Was ‘the right thing’  to do.

So, Bruce went to speak to her father,
Who was doing yard work at the time.
“May I speak to you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Sure, Bruce. What’s on your mind?”

“Sir, I love your Jennie;
And Jennie, she loves me;
But we need your permission
To be married… to be “We.”

Impressed by Bruce’s courage,
He knew this confrontation must be tough.
He smiled and asked, “Bruce, are you sure
You love my daughter enough?”

Bruce’s face became stern, he said,
“Mr. Johnson, let me tell you…
I love Jennie so much…and she loves me.
We’re both sure it’s the right thing to do.”

He was moved by Bruce’s ardor,
But permission was not his to give.
So, quick as flash, he responded,
“But Bruce…where will you live?” 

“Sir, I measured her room;
Then I measured mine.
Hers is 40 percent bigger.
We’ll live there.  We’ll be fine.

If we have extra stuff,
We’ll keep that in my room.
We’ll keep our places neat and tidy.
You won’t even need a broom.

And both our parents can save money 
On babysitters too.
Even if you do things on the same night,
You’ll only need one sitter, not two.”

Mr. Johnson was impressed with his logic,
But this marriage idea was no longer funny.
He smiled and said, “That’s good thinking, Bruce;
But what are you gonna do for money?

“Why, Mr. Johnson, I get twelve-fifty a week allowance;
And let me remind you, Jennie also gets ten.
Throw in our birthdays and Christmas cash….
Why, we might even have money to lend.”

Desperate now, he thought, 
“Next, I guess they’ll want a car.”
Then he asked, “But Bruce, what if you have kids?”
"Aawww," blushed Bruce... “We’ve been lucky so far.”
 


Details | Light Poetry | |

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU

I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.


Details | I do not know? | |

For Men Everywhere One Billion Rising

1 Billion Rising.

For Men Everywhere.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

Stop!

Stop the abuse!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Listen!

Listen to the voices!

Of grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Think!

Think of how you treat,

grand-daughters,
colleagues,
daughters,
girlfriends,
partners,
mothers,
sisters,
nieces,
wives,

all women.

Act!

Act now to change yourself!

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when you stop,

the violence,
the abuse,
the rape.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

is perpetrated by,

grand-fathers,
colleagues,
boyfriends,
husbands,
nephews,
brothers,
partners,
fathers,
uncles,

men,

all men.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

stops when us men stop,

The violence,
the abuse,
the rape,

today, now.

Stop! Listen! Think! Act!


Details | I do not know? | |

One Billion Rising

Today we rise.

No more hiding in the shadows,

of culture,
creed,
tradition.

No more silent complicity,

defensive arguments,
sickening pretences,
shabby excuses,

for the actions of men,

brutal and coarse and vulgar and obscene and murderous and abusive.

Today, we rise,

as one.

Today the change starts,

with me,
within me.

Today we rise.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An End to Aloneness

In my life I often feel I am alone; alone in my thoughts, alone in my musings, alone in my day-to-day movements and unsatisfying activities. I move like a ghost through hallways and down sidewalks, unnoticed and, at times, gratefully so. 
I do not wish to be eternally alone. I long for togetherness. But despite this desire for a real connection, I find myself regularly retreating from that temperamental beast that is human interaction. 

“Come on now, sweetheart. Don’t lower your head. Don’t look away. Look up! Smile at someone! No! Don’t go back into your bedroom. Don’t lock the door! Why are you doing this?” my brain will plea. 

I can’t help myself. Aloneness is comfortable. In being alone, I don’t have to worry about anyone but myself. I don’t have to please anyone else. I can think anything I want, wear anything I want, listen to anything I want, and laugh at anything I want. 

And still there remains that nagging desire to be loved and wanted and needed by somebody. I do not know the feeling of being truly desired. I do not know what it is like for someone to crave my company, my smile, my kiss, or my touch. 

                                                                              But I would like to…

I cannot make someone love me or like me or want me in some primal way. It may hurt, but I cannot make that handsome boy want to hold my hand or brush my hair back behind my ear. I can only struggle on. I can only work within myself. I can only try every God damn day to hold my head up, keep my eyes fixed ahead, a give the world the best smile I have. I and I alone can bring myself out of the safety of my bedroom and into the bright world that lies beyond that locked door. 
	
I often find myself alone with nothing more than my thoughts and the ever-strong glow of a computer screen. But no longer will aloneness be the constant in my life. It is true that never having known the caress of a man’s hand on my thigh doesn't make me any less of a woman, but I fear that if I stay confined within myself much longer I will begin to become less of a human. A flower cannot grow if it retracts its leaves and petals every time it feels the warmth of the sun or the kiss of a gentle spring rain.  
	
And I want to grow. I want to grow so tall and blossom so big and beautifully that every place on earth is touched by my shadow at some point in the day. And I will grow. I will push myself and share myself with the world, and finally
							                                 finally
								                                   finally
know the closeness and comfort of love and honest, unabashed companionship.


Details | Verse | |

I like your love

I like your love
It's pure, it's innocent
and I don't think I've seen this before

You replenish my reserves before it's necessary 
you lift my wings up and 
make me superior to my adversary 
Creatively providing the exact amount of 
what I need to go another day
I like your love
and for as long as you'll have me I'll stay

You make me comfortable in my space
What she share cannot be replaced
with any other type of love
be it artificial or tainted or lustfully blatant 
Those illusions don't exist because
we found this love and we claimed it

I cherish those nights when I scratch your head
When you sit between my thighs and I twist your dreads
We become an us that is so pure
that the spring waters question the purity of it's source
I like your love - it's a divine force


Details | Verse | |

We'll be

We'll be forever building gold mines
from scrap metal and taking
recycled energy to cosmic levels
through third eye

We'll go un-noticed until the heavens turn 
or if our chakras are not aligned 
constantly diverting negative thoughts 
through our meditative lights

We'll build a sandcastle from determination
and live life on the edge,
fulfilling divine order and witnessing creation,
living in the now and staying ahead

We'll tip the earth off it's axis
and trick subconscious mind states into submission
You can catch us in the wind transcending counter reactions
Bi-passing illusions of circumstances 

We'll have an abundance of the maximum
Enough love energy for all who attract our path
We'll be the ones in the light
asking for nothing in return but peace
at last


Details | I do not know? | |

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims

The Cowardice of the Taliban and The Silence of The Good Muslims.


When hot lead tears the flesh of a 14 year old girl,

ripping through her skull,
leaving her to bleed out and die,

does Allah not recoil in horror,

to see His child whimper,
to see His daughter cry.

Where is the indignation,

the anger that often boils over and manifests itself as flags and books and videos are burnt in mass orgies of hollow piety,

where are the voices that scream so loud,
that denounce all but their own creed,

where are the men, the impotent men who crave for nothing more than their fascist egos to feed,

where are the voices that so loudly proclaim,
enemies here and enemies there, always quick to condemn,

where are those voices when the enemy walks amongst them.

14 year old Malala Yousafzai was shot in cold blood,

her crime?

Advocating the rights of girls to an education.

Shame on you, men of bigotry and men of cowardice.

Shame on you, silent and mute accomplices in this carnage.

Shame on me,
for my inaction,

Shame on us all,
who proclaim lofty ideals,

yet are conspicuously silent,

when a 14 year old girl is shot in the head,

by fascist fundamentalist bigots who only worship bullets of hot lead.

Not in my name!

Not in my name,
shall the cowardly men rain down abuse,

Not in my name,
shall the bigoted men light the communalistic fuse,

Not in my name,
shall Malala Yousafzai be shot in the head,

left to bleed out,
while countless mothers' tears are shed,

not in my name,
shall religious murderers,
be left to wander free,

not in my name,
for I dare all believers to open their eyes,
to see!

To see,
the innocence of a 14 year old girl,
wanting only an education,

as the men of the cloth,
prance around with their pathetic self-righteous indignation.

I write this today,
the anger raging in my veins,

yet I fear,

that I shall write more of this,

unless we stand up and say 'no more',

I fear that I shall be writing this again,

until we all,

reclaim the true principles of humaneness,

until we silence the voices of bigotry,
of rage,
of fanatical insanity,

I fear I shall be writing this again,

and,

until the muck-ridden bile,
is not excised,

I shall continue to say,

NOT IN MY NAME!

Or else I shall have nothing,

but my unending shame.



(for Malala Yousafzai, 14 years old, in a critical condition after being shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban, for her work as a young activist advocating the rights of girls to attend school)


Details | I do not know? | |

For Anene Booysen 1996 - 2013

Hamba Kahle Anene Booysen! (1996 – 2013)


Dead at 17, brutally raped and left to die,
in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

‘horrific’, ‘repulsed’,
‘brutally raped’, ‘shocked’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left to die,

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site in Bredasdorp.

 

Anene was raped,
savagely mutilated,

 

Her 17 year old body tossed aside,

 

by the hands of men.

 

Men, always men,

 

cowardly, beastly, perverted, twisted men.

 

‘Beastly’, ‘perverted’, ‘twisted’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

who now lies cold and dead.

 

How many Anene Booysens will it take,

 

for us,
society,
families,
people,

 

human-beings,

 

and,

 

men, especially men,

 

to excise the ghastly menace,

 

of the heinous capacity that resides,

 

within men,

 

always men,

 

to brutalise, rape, mutilate, and murder.

 

‘Brutalise’, ‘murder’, ‘rape’,

 

do these words mean anything,
to anyone,

anymore.

 

Not to Anene Booysen,

 

murdered at 17, brutally raped and left,

 

to die,

 

in the dirt,

 

at a construction site,

 

in Bredasdorp.

 

 

Anene Booysen
(1996 – 2013)

 

* – Hamba Kahle – “Farewell, Travel Well” in Zulu

 

** – Bredasdorp is a small town near Cape Town, South Africa


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

Emotional Hole

I did not find myself to be so important
So I ask my friends do I seem distant?
When I ask the question I had received an answer, Yes
So I think that made it clear that I had been not the best
I am a friend of a friend that talks so many things
That friend talks to much it is insane and insanity it brings
I do care, about my friends they are all good people
They tend to stand on their high steeple 
Today I find myself not so aware
Disbanding my fear of regret and care
Walking many different paths I see that I have found holes
It is the path that people choose to use to fuel their rage with coals
Coals are partially burnt wood or fossils a piece of fuel
It is the source of burden and fire a rage of emotions that stands cruel
It can be warm and caring, but it also can be baring
I just start to feel so low, below the ground I keep on staring
I reach for my friends so many times I feel so ignorant at times
Just once I feel I should not rely on them when feeling I can not find 
I dig my hole deeper and I can not climb out
For some reason I am just full of doubt
I care about so many things and what I have is confusion
One person should be all I should think about to get out of that illusion
My battle in my heart and mind is not at all so pleasant
I feel so alone in an island that is shaped like a crescent
My emotions is like coinciding with a diameter of the semicircle
Not a full emotion that is complete like a circle
My feelings is circular full of incomplete thoughts, so much deeper
I feel it will wake up my evil half a evil soul that is a sleeper
What question should I ask myself? to believe that I am not so alone
As I feel like a person who is deteriorating to the bone
I ask my friends the same question once again
I figure I should do it, to know what kind of feelings I should end
So many thoughts that come out of my feeling
I feel like my friends take, an emotional trauma of stealing
They ask me questions and I answer theirs
But when I need mine answered I feel burning inside like a flare
Are they even friends when they do not take me serious in anyway
Just put me in my hole cause I feel nothing in their will be getting in my way
It's just so simple to answer someones problem
I answer friends with beauty of a rose, but when they answer mine I get the stem
I know the stem is very important in life, with out it how can a rose be a rose
With a hole to put the root and stem in how can it grow
The words we speak I guess is like all natural things we reap and sow


Details | Verse | |

Oh Yohanes

Oh Yohannes
I must be honest
I’ve got a jones for you
And when I saw you, 
I remember the sun reflecting
rays of light on your skin 
so bronze, so peaceful, so simple

I wanted to tell you all my secret
desires and temptations
and kiss you and hold you close
and when I realized I was dreaming
and that this feeling was a hoax
I began to be led astray 
by sexual desires and thoughts of foul play

but in the meantime
I have fun with the fantasy of imagining  you beside me
I stay up countless nights thinking
about how we could defy gravity
and how we could somehow reverse all the laws of sanity
and just do something crazy
I can’t make it stop
I must be crazy

And when my eyes closed...
I wanted to fall in your arms and tell you about all the fantasies that were created in honor of you

And tell you how your eyes seem to remind me that it’s okay to be beautiful

Oh Yohannes
I must be honest 
Your deeply rooted stare 
will long remain a part of my fire
and my insanely human desire to make love 


Details | I do not know? | |

I Want to Walk with You

I Want to Walk with You
 
I want to walk with you with our heads held high
Never cowering, never with heads bowed
With our feet on this blessed soil, and our dreams reaching for the sky
 
Dreams of simple joys and of peace and of mirth
For all our fellow travelers on this delightful earth
 
Dreams not of wealth or of positions of high standing or of mighty power
Simple dreams of a walk in the aftermath of a Johannesburg evening rain-shower
 
Dreams of bread and water and dignity and shelter and clothes for all
Dreams where all fellow travelers may together walk this earth proud and tall
 
I want to walk with you, my fellow traveler, with our heads held high
Never pandering to power, never silent in the face of its abuse
Always firm in our convictions that we can all make peace if we only try
 
If we try to stop and think and sometimes not to look the other way
If we practice what our different creeds really teach, we will surely see that day
 
When we all, fellow travelers may walk with our heads held high
Never cowering, never with our heads bowed
With our feet on this blessed soil, and our collective dreams reaching for the sky
 
Call me silly, call me naive, call me hopeless, and if you must, call me weak
But is this not the common good that our different creeds and cultures all seek?
 


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Free verse | |

Courtship

When being told you're “perfect”
but that it's not enough
what can you even do
in pursuits of love?

The seemingly endless process of
meeting and greeting
sharing, laughing, loving, caring
even becoming attached to family, pets
all so that it may come to an abrupt
ofttimes one-sided end- 
it wears me down
I'm far too young to feel as drained
I'm far too young to feel as pained
I'm far too young to feel as enslaved and betrayed
by this process of courtship as I do

Those older and wiser counsel: 
Patience, waiting is never easy
The right one will come along
You're a good person with a good heart
and you've got a lot to offer
It's their loss
*sigh*
I already know all of that, 
but it doesn't mean I accept it
It doesn't mean a part of me
cannot fear that the one I held dear
should have been mine to keep,
mine to fight for, mine to live for,
mine to die for
But what can I do?
What can I do?


Details | I do not know? | |

Love, Mania, and Verse

Love, Mania, and Verse

The pendulum swings,
while the mania in my head,
strips me bare and yanks me,
into the cauldron of love.

Once again,
never divining the tea leaves,
knowing, always knowing,
the gnawing knots of unease,
that curl into a fist.

My isolation is a shield,
a suit of armour,
tightly clad around my self,
once worn,
then discarded,
taking its place,
on my barren shelf.

Love, mania and verse,
coalesce, beseeching me,
with timeous forewarning,
not to tread into the quicksand,
that slippery bog of promise.

Yet,
in times past,
in moments present,
tis' that very promise,
that I cling to.

At times I lose,
myself in the crowd,
rebelling in the solitude found there,

at times I claw,
my way back to the now,
aching for the pain that stings,

the buried voice that sings,
dirges to forgotten emotions,

scribbled verse that flings,
the toys out of my cot,

while I wait,
for the mania to stop,

knowing,
always knowing,
that it shall be,

merely a matter of time,
before the other shoe,
must, as always, 
drop.