the adorable teen dancers with the bouncing hair are sweet
dressed in outrageously cute frothy plaid and tule skirts
I wonder if they are wearing matching shorts
One of them should be wearing matching panties
She turns and bounces around a bit more
Her skirt flies up an inch to her waist.
I see her shorts and feel relieved.
black female warrior
(2/7/13)
She was my black female warrior and she stood proud and tall
And upon her shoulders, her silk hair did fall
A spear in one hand and an axe in the other
No one would mess with her, not even her brother.
The strength of a lion searching for prey
She would not let anything stand in her way.
She knew where she lived - it was a jungle out there
But she was strong in spirit and did not care.
She is the black warrior and as strong as can be
You will find her in the annexes of history.
Just like the movie of "BETTY AND CORETTA"
Who showed what they can do- when they stood
Up against the politicians of the RED, WHITE and BLUE.
We are still being monitored by the land, air and sea
But we'll continue the fight so that we could be free.
These two women are the black warriors who walk
Hand in hand with all oppressed people who are willing to take a stand.
I am Hispanic and we've been denied many rights
Just like any other nationality, we're all willing to fight.
It does not matter our color, religion or
Sexual preference that we may have
"ONE NATION UNDER GOD WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL"
That is FREEDOMS CALL.
© L. RAMS
All my female friends are;
charming spring flowers
in any and every season...!
They said she loved only one man —
that’s how the old song goes.
But the truth?
It was a tree —
no metaphor, no myth.
A real one:
knotted, gnarled,
older than shame itself.
She found it when her heart
was still raw from trying,
and men were hollow bells,
rung too many times.
So she tended it,
whispered to it,
sang into its bark
with a voice no longer needed elsewhere.
Her youth curled at its roots.
Her strength climbed its spine.
And every year, it grew
as she grew smaller.
She told her daughter,
“This is love. Quiet. Loyal. Rooted.”
But her daughter heard
the ache between the words.
She looked at the rope,
the sky,
the body curved like devotion —
and asked herself:
Was it really love,
or martyrdom in a dress?
They found her hanging —
peaceful,
like she was returning
to something
she’d never really left.
And the tree?
It didn’t break.
It didn’t bend.
It held her —
not like a tombstone,
like a witness,
like a mirror.
And then,
they were one —
not woman,
not wood,
but myth.
Whisper.
Wild thing.
Woman is a hole,
Soft with spongey walls,
Press the button, make her howl,
Crash through her virgin halls.
A newborn baby, little girl,
Fresh kitchen rag to store,
Waiting ignorant of the day,
When she too will be soiled.
Decades later, kitchen rags,
Sit discarded in a bin,
A loony bin for hags to talk,
And squeeze out salty drips.
Streaming semen pulling tears,
Out of ragged women,
In a circle all but holes,
Men uninvited saunter in.
In conversation
the sounds
of her thinking astounds
logic rebounds
argument confounds
rationale knows not bounds
there's no reasoning
with what she expounds
or justification
in that which she propounds
when all facts fail
and reality surrounds
her point of view
tho' it has zero grounds
piled on in mounds
with absurdity she compounds
adding injury to insult
my brain it impounds
traps me wraps me saps my energy
inducing mental lethargy causing total apathy
In hallways hushed with painted lies,
They glide like ghosts in silken skin—
Their secrets shimmer in their eyes,
Too delicate to hold within.
Barby Doll smiles with perfect grace,
Behind it waits a hungering heart,
Each selfie frames a porcelain face
While something deeper falls apart.
They whisper sharp as winter wind,
In circles cold as marbled stone,
Each gaze a mirror trimmed in sin,
Each laugh a dagger thrown alone.
A thousand hearts inside one phone,
They scroll, compare, and seek the flame,
Yet feel more hollow, more unknown,
Than when they barely had a name.
The truth is passed in locker notes,
In bathroom stalls, in timed replies—
A world of filters, thorns, and quotes,
Where no one dares to meet their eyes.
Oh fragile queens of ruthless grace,
You wear your sorrow like a crown—
If only love could find this place
And gently, gently pull you down.
pure fiery female
in sensual naked skin
burns in loving flame
I.
The night was as thick as melted asphalt
when her prehistoric form
emerged like a monument
in the sand
and each egg that descended
spiked the air with the scent of birth,
sweet, pungent,
and female.
Drunk with labor,
she could not sense the mass
of people that surrounded her,
the eggs that slid through her rubbery body,
or perhaps the knowledge
that, in minutes, she would abandon
them forever.
Who could know
how far she had traveled
or what force had pulled her home
like snare
in that death-black sea.
II.
Do they look for her
when they have pushed their way
through the grit and sand
or fumble for the safety
of her strong flipper
when all she has left behind is instinct
cold as the saltwater
that must sting their newly formed eyes.
Decades later, the few that survive
will rotate the earth with their memories,
the turbulent water pressing
against them like sadness
to return to the place where they were born.
And when they reach it
do they search for her
before entering that trance,
wanting to see that she, too, has come back
and has been waiting all this time
in the darkness.
Just another female
, complain and wail
Fake from bottom to head
Talk only and never hears what is said
For her ears are for rings
And mind full of dead things
Can't use brain nor ponder
To see someone think is a wonder
A woman of no category
An average symbol of female derogatory
Clean, shine and glamour
With terminal tumor
Just a dressed corpse and manicured
Can't be healed nor cured
Sunday 28/9/2003
Female mosquitos live forty-two days
Feeding on our blood in brutal mean ways
Causing itchy bumps on our tender skin
Healthy male mosquitoes die ten days in
Happy birthday to you,
Hope you have a wonderful and beautiful day
I hope blessings fall on to you
Like soft rain falls on ground
Hope you grow and bloom like the beautiful rose you are
Today is your day
Tonight is your night
Enjoy every moment of it
Keep the memories that come with it
You are a Queen.
Happy birthday.
She came from eden the dark temptress,
Left Him behind and went her own way,
caught by the demons who back then,
soon she joined them and led them astray.
They said she was evil with a dark soul,
Spawned by the demons beneath the world,
Strong was her mind knew what she wanted,
No man would control or abuse her
Told by the angels to be subject and ruled,
They tried to paint her as a black force.
Saying she was evil with a dark soul,
spawned by the demonsbeneath the world.
Left the valey of the fertile plain left it behind,
New life she started beneath the mountains tall,
Rumours grew of her power and strength,
Her legacy will last for a millenia or two.
They said she was evil and walked with the dark,
They feared and avoided her as she sang in their heads
A tsunami of presence
Love in a nurturing form -
Holy and unblemished
By the worldly expectations and projections
Bound to the earth of nature
Synchronised with the tides of the ocean
The feminine heartbeat
Like the flapping of the effortless wing
High on the warm currents of the natural
Lifted and sustained
By the love of just being
The knowledge of truth
In the mystery of the open question.
Oh circular scrunchie
How are you ?
You have been tangled up in women’s hair
For far too long
Scratching the long curly beads
Of millions of youngish females worldwide
For decades now
Connecting brunettes blondes and redheads alike
Protecting the very fabric of femininity
Women’s scalps
Oh bless you oh scrunchie
You are a true survivor
A true victor
Worthy of many accolades
A symbol of strong women everywhere
No more need for Bobby pins
Ponytails are a thing of the past
Long live the scrunchie!
Hair today and here tomorrow!
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