Best Gender Poems
to tell you the truth
I would need balls to tell you
women die for less
18.08.06
Composed for Line Gauthier's
"I WISH I HAD THE BALLS TO TELL THEM HOW I REALLY FELT" Poetry Contest
I am a girl,
Everyone sees it.
I graciously accept the label,
Twirling in a girls spool,
And playing it up for others.
Sometimes I feel an itch,
In a place I can't reach.
There are times when it quells,
When my voice cracks,
And I am somewhere else.
Where my hair is to my neck,
And my voice bellows.
But I am brought back to reality,
Because I am a girl.
He comes out again,
Stilling me when girls are asked to line up,
Twitching when a teacher asks for a 'strong boy',
I hold him back,
A slap on the wrist,
A prisoner in a cell.
But in the deepest of my thoughts,
I am free,
Completely and utterly.
He is with me,
Unchained,
But it ends every morning I wake.
I step out of the shower,
Hair cascading down,
As I stand in front of my reflective captor,
A deep rumbling comes from inside me,
And he bubbles up to the surface,
Itching and scraping at my soul.
I claw at the confines of my chest,
And he bursts out like dynamite,
Sparks flowing,
Tingles of electricity follow my nerves,
And I truly see him,
Staring back at me,
He smiles softly and my eyes open wide,
The words linger on the tip of my tongue,
But they stay rooted in my brain,
As him and I both realize,
I am a boy.
A poem about infanticide of girls...
"Save Our Sisters!"
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Strings of girls, strands of pearls,
Gone, gone, gone. Pretty, pretty, girls.
A mother's hug, a sister’s laugh, a daughter’s kiss
Lost, lost, lost. Missed, missed, missed.
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Young girls grow up, become young ladies.
But for Indian girls, that’s a big maybe
Young girls grow up, become young ladies.
But for Chinese girls, that’s a big maybe,
Many girls lost, many girls missed
Many girls lost, never to be Ms.
Run, Run, Run, hide your daughters,
Run, Run, Run. Run from the slaughter.
Wake up world, we’ve lost too many sisters.
S.O.S. World, Save Our Souls, Save Our Sisters.
NoelsArt
Comments: In some parts of the world, the three deadliest words are “It’s a girl”. Girls are killed for being girls. After watching this movie trailer http://www.itsagirlmovie.com/ , I wrote the poem above. FEEDBACK WELCOME.
Society Killed The Teenager
So you want to be a princess, and save the prince yourself?
Or take steps on the moon?
Can’t you see I won’t let you do that?
I’m worse than even your parents, you see, I’m society!
Ever play with toys that are meant for boys?
The other kids laughed at you?
You’re a girl, get away from action figures! I’ll train you to be who I want you to be. I’m society.
Kiss a girl, kiss a boy, who do you want to be?
I’ve told you before; you’re a girl not a boy,
Learn to be who you should be.
Listen to you? No, listen to me, I’m society!
Everyone says to be yourself, but they
Don’t actually mean it.
The truth of the matter is
He’s not a boy, and he can’t become one.
Everyone listen to me!
Teenager, teenager, who are you?
Everyone tells me, you’re…
Expecting!
Not again, girl, did you listen to me?
Abort this mission? No, you’re Church screams pro life!
Get rid of it, keep it, it should be your choice,
Everyone has a different advice, but listen to me and only me.
Really, this was easy, you see. They listen to me, and I tell them, who I want them to be.
I’m society.
she said my words tore away at her.
i wasn't looking at her eyes at the time.
she made me look.
pain!, yes
she wanted me to see her pain.
instead,
i imagined her naked.
imagined her left hand moving towards her nipple.
her right hand she said
held her face turned around.
because,
that is how i made her feel.
i pretended to listen.
i didn't hold her.
i didn't speak.
still,
i had sex with her.
afterward she looked sad
and i felt something.
i think.
no.
i'm sure.
it made me feel
i felt
as if i had violated her.
i felt
like i should say sorry.
I didn't,
the sex was good.
22~12~2014
With Love
Maurice Yvonne
>Playing games with tennis balls?
Men, playing games with tennis balls!
Earn far too much dough.
In the game of tennis you know.
Some male players are now acting tough.
Saying they aren’t paid enough.
For playing games with balls not too rough.
Now they say they want more pay.
Than women, who with their balls do play.
Dragon, that last line sounds not right.
Might be read wrong, on first sight.
Guess someone will soon complain tonight.
We’ll blame it on AI, that’s right.
I’m glad they’ve all got the same dough.
When winning Wimbledon you know.
I still feel sorry for all them balls.
When served so fast into the air.
That’s the thing, I don’t think’s fair.
Why is it when men play ball games?
They insult women so.
Them that play tennis, with those tennis balls.
Some men really do you know.
If women should with those tennis balls play.
Men should never complain anyway.
For when women serve those balls so.
Men can volley them back you know.
Women may not be as strong as men.
In all sport games they play.
But neither do they throw tantrums.
If match points, don’t go their way.
I’m not a keen tennis viewer, that I must declare.
As I watch those poor tennis balls, whizzing through the air.
I had a job explaining that, to my friend Planet Nine.
He thought they were small planets, being hit for fore.
I said that was another sport, best we do ignore.
I wish all sports ball game prizes, were at least the same.
Played on a fair smooth plain
Not on a plane that flies so high.
You can’t play those ball games, in the sky.
So come on you men, do play fair.
Pay all prize money equally so there.
When women play, ball games with you.
They can be on equal pay too.
What else can I really say?
As I play with balls every day.
But as a poet, I don’t play swell.
Nor am I paid as blinking well.
Well done Dragon and you Spellchecker, sorry but we will have to divide the royalties with Planet Nine. Why? That simple he is bigger than us. Bye everybody. Stanley (The mad Author)<
So now I know
Life has played its part
I never would believe
that I could die
from a broken heart
No you can’t mend me
it’s been far too long
everyone will go
everyone has gone
everyone will leave
that God did lend me
I could only watch
then step aside
as it all just went
no matter what I tried
the only thing I can say
was how hard I cried
It was a shiver in the mirror
A reflection of pain
Where the shadows of doubts
were cast and bent
Any old soul
or any message sent
Were at the end of the road
and who is left out
So now I know
Life has played it’s part
now I do believe
that I will die
from a broken heart
Something About Nothing
(2007)
It seems as if I’m giving my everything for nothing.
This conflict really means something to me,
Because my everything are all of my hopes and dreams
To become anything that want to be.
My talents are all that I own: Poetry, Art, My life’s song…
But nothing is never where it supposed to belong.
Nothing begins a lie of Truth or Dare.
Creating millions of pieces of my heart without care.
Nothing is making something; a fool out of me…
Bringing along anything that causes misery.
It drifts me away from actuality.
Who I am now, I am not destined to be!
Yet nothing can tell me - “Everything will be ok”
But if something goes wrong “Nothing.” is all I’m left to say.
I have fought for nothing!
Stood up for nothing!
Gave up Everything for NOTHING!
And this conflict really means something, you see….
Because you are Nothing and Everything is me!
Old Lord Harry put up a good front.
He hid socks in his pants as a stunt.
But, his Lady swore
as argyle hit floor
that no organ was found to be blunt.
6/17/14
It seems some did not get this poem so a wee bit of 'splaining is above for all you Desi Arnez fans.
Definition for
FRONT - noun the side or part of an object that presents itself to view or that is normally seen or used first; the most forward part of something. [i.e. the front of his pants]
FRONT - noun in a military sense the front is the FIRING LINE
FRONT - a fake or false personality
This poetic devise is called a double entendre [a play on words]- a word or phrase open to two interpretations, one of which is usually risqué or indecent.
ORGAN - is also being used this way - The human ***** is an external male sexual organ - as well as a musical instrument made of pipe
ARGYLE - a pattern composed of diamonds of various colors on a plain background, used in knitted garments such as sweaters and socks.
or ARE GUILE - someone who is sly or cunning
even the word BLUNT has another meaning here since a BLUNT sword would be of little use
There was a man from you-know-where
Who liked his ladies bare, down there
He met a bald gal
Who said, 'Call me Al'
Showing more, down there, than just hair!
5/26/19
I bridged the chasm and entered ambiguous halls
Climbed over barbed fences inside my mind's walls
To glimpse the core of how men and women relate
Among flowering vines behind the garden gate.
Within a flower is both gamete and stigma
As semen to ovary - what an enigma!
Nestled deep in my breast, I hear a sultry voice,
"Which would I be if I'd been given the choice?"
I am content with my life in a single ilk
I give in to the urge to wear lace and silk
A little more mascara and blush on my face
I desire to be a lady with charm and grace
I wear jeans and boots, shorten the length of my hair
But some days high heels are what I choose to wear
Two halves of one heart, beating in rhythmic sync
Twins in one body but both sharing the same link
One set of footprints I leave on a virgin shore
I know who I am, but sometimes yearn for more
I'm searching for what lies behind the waterfall
The answer discovered when I hear my siren call
One foot in each of two very different worlds
Climbing trees like boys with painted nails of a girl
When asked my favorite color, I always say it's blue
But I'm also partial to pinks in pastel shades and hue.
I search my thoughts to see if gendering is mental
Knowing I'm more the damsel, not frail but gentle
When my psyche roars like a lion, I can repress
the savage beast in me when I wear a pretty dress
In kindred thoughts my anima/animas keep in touch
I respect my masculine inflection, but not too much
I don't saunter like a guy. I'm not one of them
My hips sway like a girl, so cherchez la femme.*
*Cherchez la femme is a French phrase which literally means "look for the woman."
Stand up, be proud!
Shout it out loud!
No shroud in you.
Know you not, that I live in pain?
With features that drives me insane,
No matter, how much I try in vain,
I am a girl in a body for men!
To the world I am a bit *****,
That makes me a victim of bully and sneer,
For my piercings in my nose and ear,
And those pretty earrings that I love to wear,
Is it a sin to dress in a skirt?
And my blouse frills that I wish to flirt,
All for an organ that makes me; part,
With my identity deep in my heart?
How I wish, I could walk in my heels,
And seek attention of men with skills,
To shower me with loving care and will,
And presence that provides me a joyous feel;
My passionate desire is to have a friend,
Girl with whom I could delightfully spend,
Moments discussing fashions latest trend,
And secrets to keep unto our lives end.
The world impedes me from breaking my shell,
And my desire to be a belle,
Yet there are moments I live in a spell,
Know that I’m stuck in hell!
In recognition of the plight of Transgenders in our society!!
This poem may get into trouble,
The world wants identity double.
Attempting to culture commonality,
The world champions individuality.
Theft of language has become all too common,
Yesterday’s use today identifies one a strawman.
Definitions change, words take on other meaning,
Often toward groups one way leaning.
At our language different groups continually hack.
In the case of *****, African American, now Black.
Or European, White, then Caucasian,
Korean American, Indian, rather than Asian.
Why is it that unmentionable words,
You know them, our dialect’s turds.
The use of people demeaned still proliferates,
While outsiders use carry’s different weights?
Color, religion, disability, sex, and age,
All lines in the sand drawn to disparage.
We should agree that race be set aside,
Bound together in one Human pride?
Our world needs new words and labels,
Not old words containing past fables.
Words that create, unite, and rejoin,
Not words that change on the flip of a coin.
Straight should mean unbent?
Snowflake should be heaven sent.
Gay should be a happy feeling.
Black’s big “B” should begin peeling.
I applaud the generation of Ze.
The neutral meaning of he or she.
A word with definition created anew.
A word defining both me and you.
8/31/2017
A transgender child
does not not exist
just because a white man
says that that is so
as two spirited
third genders
and others
(eight in the Talmud! that I didn’t know)
exist around the globe
as in the
hijra of India
fa’afafine of Samoa
burrnesha of Albania
quariwarmi of Peru
guevedoche of Dominican Republic
muxe of Oaxaca
sekrata of Madagascar
fakaleiti of Tonga
lhamana of Zuni
winkte of Lakota
bakla of Philippines
acault of Burma
xanith of Oman
and waria of Indonesia
just to name a few
gender is as binary
as is the world is flat
asserting so otherwise
is simply spewing scat