These Girl Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Girl. These are the best examples of Girl Free Verse poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
I don't have nothing really to post right now
However, I will read your poems first,
In hopes inspiration follows and falls into place
Please do not think I'm here to drop a bomb
It's just a fair warning on how, I'm here
"To Rock Your World"
Allow me kindly to introduce myself,
I'm as Sweet as they come
I'm not the enemy, but a poet friend
In time you will see, and hunger my name
I'm not new to any poetry world
In time you will notice I am not your average girl
I will play fair, If you do
I'll be true to you, if you are true
I'm not here to judge what I can't see
However, I will reply and enjoy the imagery
This Destroyer is not like a lawyer
However, mess with me or my sis
I'll chew you out like the D.E.A.
I'll mess with your mind
A brain storm cleaning you from bottom to top
I am the POET DESTROYER
Admiring those who love the world of wordplay
Today, I will end my WORDS
With the quote I've always wanted to say
"I am no poet!"
Blades of grass, wet under foot, insect eyes
Dusk, offset by the cricket orchestra
Muted and receding into the trees and bushes,
Tickled by the wind, rattling snake tail wind
While we may be in the company of wolves,
A long legged friend is late for the party
Eyes, little iridescent stars
Attending to each one, and look there,
There she is, making the most beautiful geometry
Parallels within the octagons, pulling silks
An arm for every task, little perpetual motion machine
Is that the Queen of the Night under the rusted iron?
A forlorn lady, black patent leather, kill a man, maybe two
With her danger red symmetry, oozing with youth
And a penchant for paralysis, no one can resist her wine
Then there's the hall of cob webs, threadbare handkerchiefs
Left by ladies who exhausted all of their company
To be a spectacle under the moon, in the wood pile
Dressed up in the finest furs, all earth tones
Stepping out to introduce themselves in girlish droves
Venus of another sort, these little cursed jezebels
Hovering on the skin of the water, or on the red brick wall
Must frequent every happy corner, and slip away at a moment's notice
A real lady always knows when to say goodnight
Such graceful exits through cement cracks
Back to the parlor, to glow in the dark
And they become spiders again
She painted her emotions with a dark brush
My heart sunk into her canvas
Transported to an endless sadness
She greets me there with a smile
Her light not visable from the other side
"Come" she says
"There are many rooms to explore"
She skips along yesterday's corridors
I follow in tentative foot falls
She looks back, "Here it is, this is where we'll begin."
Through the door we go in
In an instant she disappears
I wondered was she ever here
Then a silent voice whispers in my ear
"Watch and listen, all will unfold"
I watch in silence, my heart feels cold
A mother in a hospital bed
Two baby girls
One of them dead
Tears of joy now sad instead
She whispers "do you see?? Happy Birthday, little me."
I hear her giggle in another room
So I walk through another door,
a toddler alone on the floor
Mom sitting, at a table with a drink
Little girl starts crying
Mom doesn't even blink
The scene changes
A parade of men
Mom needs her lovers
Over and over again
In the night
When mom's asleep
Into the girls room, the demons creep
On the bed, there she lays
She leaves her mind
While the bad man plays
I want him to stop
Her so helpless
Him there on top
The whisper returns "There is nothing to do,
I want you to know the source of my blue."
I say "please I can take no more"
With that she says "there is just one more door."
She is back, she takes my hand
I walk through a door to her promised land
The darkness, is all stripped away
She is young once more, it's bright as day
She turns and smiles, " I'm okay,
long ago I learned to pray."
I said "I do not understand,
how could he let that happen to you?
Is he not to blame for your world of blue?"
She looks again with knowing smile
"You will understand in a while.
One day all anwers he will reveal,
best understood when we learn to kneel.
From her canvas
My mind gains release
Over my heart an ancient peace
On humbled footsteps, my journey can begin
I see beyond sadness
I search within
The dark picture, I seen with my mind
A life touched by sin, now redefined
That is a Spirit, I wish to know
from her broken heart
I watch light flow
For Vicky Tsiluma for her
"Don't write for the contest, Contest"
As light leaves us,
the truth is unveiled.
A girl lies with sorrows unscaled.
To wither and die,
without hope on her side.
She can no longer see a light,
to guide her through those forsaken nights.
She waits for a sign,
that all will come in line.
She is in pain,
with no one to help, all efforts sought in vain.
When will the girl see,
there are others like she.
Others share her pain,
others like me.
Her light once pierced through the shadows,
it was a beacon through the night.
Now it is only a dying flame,
leaving the world to darkness,
cowering in shame.
A girl lies dying in her pain.
When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
I wish I could blow air into your little lungs,
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world.
Hold your little body warm,
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....
I could look into your daring eyes,
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts!
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
How I wish you could be,
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?
I wish I could find the reasons now, and not wait until I die.
Mostly, I WISH Mommy could fix this.
Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013
RIP March 25, 2013
Heated these shores, whereupon passion bears her grip...
A lady in love with another woman, and how can she deny this
Stirring deep inside racing through her veins the rapture, of her heart.
She floats on the saffron shore,
Holding a bamboo basket.
Her heart beats
Within the shelter
Of peanut shells.
Toys and textbooks ;
Picnics and pampering s ;
All collided on a roadside wall,
But death dropped her to be tossed.
The girl in a dirty frock –
She sells parched peanuts
For coins and eye pricks.
“Peanuts”, “Peanuts” – her withered call
Haunts her parents in the dungeon of a grave.
Her pale figure walks away with Time Teacher.
FABIYAS M V
I spread her wanting derriere as making love unto she..
Perfect sweetness; cumming, and all I could do was enjoy while
My heart raced to catch her haloes breath; sucking, her beautiful breast.
Blowing through a vast crevasse –
from whirling tempest;
to calming balm on wounded skin;
to constant howl;
to sunlit kiss, onto warm lips –
I am a promise,
to the girl who waits,
within the cave, where no light shines;
where sucking blackness and decay
consumes and claws across
the barren expanse that is –
My inner child’s mind.
Little Kristin, girl of 7
(when time stopped)
suspended upon a bony pillar, sits,
engulfed by craggy mountain walls –
The cave of sorrows.
A black pit surrounds the tower,
held hostage by those who would keep her silent;
(protecting the illusion at all costs)
and as silent as the fear that creeps up
the lone pillar,
(coming for the light in her eyes)
killing slowly, methodically,
attacking light –
the light that creeps through cracks;
breaks through holes;
breathes life into darkness –
(minions of death vying to stay her shine).
Her holly-hobby night gown
(full of broken dreams)
tattered and torn,
crowns her dirty little feet.
A grayed white gag, beneath soiled cheeks –
(like apples, they used to say)
blackened by yesterday,
save for the dappled light that shines,
from green eyes –
just a glimpse…
A tiny flame flickers, within small hands –
(holding what was stolen)
keeping the beasts at bay...
(lighting a Mother’s way)
They say I was everything to the one in the photographs –
The light giver.
Her battery drained,
(strength offered to the shining moon)
Eradicated, liberated (grace or fear?)
Strength was my gift born
from her weakness -
my birthright, and soul’s mantra.
My soul was God’s gift -
was her gift –
I am battery doubled.
No more am I dirty black holes
hiding in shadow,
For I am wind…
I am nowhere,
I am past, present and future.
My soul is freedom blowing through the cracks
left by the black maker (innocence taker);
into my darkest depths;
holding the little girl (lost, no more) –
kissing her face;
drying her tears;
leaving the cave -
carrying my child home.
Together we light
the ancient halls,
Where I am the light maker now.
Winding my way from heaven to
kissing the nose’s of my five reasons
My soul is wind
from the heaven’s,
and these are the gifts
that my soul