They called us witches to keep us silent,
our words curling in smoke. They held
our heads under water, tied feet to a stake;
judged those without children or mark upon
skin. They accused us of misleading children,
that poor crops were due to our sin. Crone and
whore, bossy and loud; battle-axe and tart,
frigid and shrew. They called us witches to cover
our screams, they called us witches to hide
our power. They called us witches to spread myth,
they called us witches to dispel our magic. Strong
and independent, courageous and true; brave and
united, nurturer and proud. They call us witches?
A name begets importance. We call them, nothing.
bareheaded and blithering
grievous to prove
my increasing feminization
with victorian meditation
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
.
i generally don't chew
mine gum (cabbage :)
twice
for thee
y'all
exception
''oh
i 'ventually took
thuh out
gum
'ventually"
')>
*by-thuh-by....
for astute....edvard'z conspicuos
thee i would hope, uv hiz lip
uv thuh noun; fem-i-nine
iz, "fem" "short i" annnd
"nine" az in #9
he bowz
and again ')
Happy Friday the 13th
We, the feminine you need
By Michelle Morris
13/03/2026
Today is a lucky day
Today is divinely blessed
It's not what they'd like us to believe
It's about holy feminine essence
We, the keepers of the Fire
We, the keepers of the Seed
We, the keepers of the Sacred
We, the feminine you need
The ethers are crackling with glee
Energy and lightning and moonstone
Thirteen chances each year
It's time for the world to atone
This world of men, sad and grey
The world of women, bright and light
Colours and energy returning to balance
It's time to put things right
Let Angels hear our call
Let life be blessed for all
Let our collective vibration rise
Let our hearts and minds be aligned
Today is a lucky day
Today is divinely blessed
We, the women, rise to claim power
We, the women, are invested
We, the keepers of the Fire
We, the keepers of the Seed
We, the keepers of the Sacred
We, the feminine you need
We, the keepers of the Grace
We, the keepers of the Storm
We, the keepers of the Wisdom
We, the feminine are reborn
© Michelle Morris, 2026
.
first the flick'r uv
'el club'z
neon
az az
sure
thuh sun shinez
deep mine
into
hermitage
ahhhhh
oh me oh
mine
az i peeks
out theze
uv
tatter'd blindz
they hear'd
edvard hiz
found
way in town
yesss
I am not responsible
for the ache that blooms in others
when I place my name
above their expectations.
I have spent lifetimes
softening my voice,
shrinking my needs,
turning myself into a bridge
everyone could cross
while I remained unseen.
No more.
I refuse to apologize
for setting boundaries
where I once offered blood.
I refuse to carry guilt
that was never mine to hold.
My choosing myself
is not cruelty—
it is survival.
It is the long-delayed breath
of a woman who learned
that love without self-respect
is only a slow disappearance.
If my growth unsettles you,
let it.
If my no feels heavy,
place it down—
it was never meant to live in my hands.
I am allowed
to protect my peace,
to bloom without permission,
to walk away from rooms
where my silence was preferred
over my truth.
I choose myself
not to wound the world,
but to finally heal
the woman I abandoned
for far too long.
And that—
that is not selfishness.
That is coming home.
I don’t need you to look at me, I don’t need you to see...
See the divine woman that oozes from inside of me.
You call me free, but who is she?
Self-emancipation, de-identification... it's all that I need.
Strength and love were borne into me,
Neither thorns nor flowers can encapsulate me.
I cannot be defined and I cannot be confined,
All that was before, is now left behind.
For they will say I have committed my treasons,
Though they share no proof or give solid reasons.
So I walk this path and find my meaning,
In my divine feminine season.
.
hern hopes hiz
seez
lingerz 'bout hern
most
I am an enigma.
A cluster of hotness —
a beautiful dosage of mindfulness.
A sexy mess
that only an emperor could handle.
But until then,
I will be my own empress.
I have learned, faithfully,
how to love myself unconditionally.
The day I found my inner stillness,
suns meditated so I wouldn’t waste my energy.
The universe was created
in the abundance of my reflection —
channeled by the light of my circling flame,
a volatile creature that pervades all oceans.
Show me the illusions and predictions of essence.
It is no secret that when I give my attention,
I cannot have mercy.
The eyes that see me can only be precious.
"Little child, no gem is created without temper.
Each molecule should blush when you speak.
Insects should arrange themselves like a theatre —
demanding to be worthy of what God thinks."
A forever-ending journey can only be interpreted with meaning,
for the proteins of the soul
are found in cosmic pendulums —
a predictable chaos
that falls in love with every pure thing.
Bernice Zoleka Mannie
@LYAIOZ MANNIE
They said
she imagined it–
that flicker in her spine,
like a vow whispered
between the bones,
a hush older than memory.
no temple,
no mantra,
no saint's breath on her shoulder–
just a silence
that split her
softly
like dawn splits shadow.
something rose–
not seen,
but felt,
like a secret carried
from life to life,
finally unfolding.
it wasn't light,
not yet
it was heat
that knew her name.
each breath shimmered,
each thought dissolved
until she wasn't girl or name
but wind,
and flame,
and everything in between.
was it fiction?
maybe.
but the fire didn’t lie–
and neither did her eyes
afterward,
still glowing
with the memory
of being touched
by something
The world could not explain.
7
O I
C @ L
E D in my spine
feminine upsurge divine~ 7
rise cosmic S
e
r
p
e
n
t
7
after still I Rise by Maya Angelou
They said, "too loud, too wild, too much"—
so she learned to burn with a softer touch.
But thunder lived behind her face,
and silence wore her fiercest grace.
They carved her worth in smaller space,
then crowned it "grace" to know her place.
But she was made of deeper things—
not ribbons, rules, or borrowed wings.
She didn't rise to please their gaze,
or fit inside their staged displays.
The ground they gave was false, contrived—
so she rewrote it just to survive.
Now every step is storm and flame,
they whisper wild when they say her name.
But she's not theirs to dim or tame—
She rose. She roared. she burned the game.
~hira ~
They locked her in a box of gold,
with chains that shimmered, stories told.
"Stay pretty, still–don't ask for more,
The fire in you? Just folklore".
she smiled like myths were make–believe,
But hid a flame beneath her sleeve.
each breath she took was kindling slow,
A furnace marked in ash and glow.
The saw her feathers, red and bright,
But clipped her wings do dim her light.
"You burn too loud", they used to say,
"And blaze is not the woman way".
Yet silence cracks, and embers bite –
she burst the cage in blaze and flight.
Not tamed, not torn, not anyone’s—
she rose to kiss forbidden suns.
Now when they speak her name in fear,
It echoes loud and crystal clear:
You cannot cage what’s born to rise
A phoenix lives in ashes's guise
~hira~
She blooms alone where silence holds the sky,
A tender grace no daring soul has known.
Her gaze is soft, her head is held so high—
A queen within a quiet world, enthroned.
No boastful light, no cry for passing praise,
She walks beneath the noise, untouched, serene.
Her modest charm outshines the sun’s bold rays,
Yet fear keeps hearts from where her steps have been.
They see her not—the ones who look in fear,
For depth and calm are threats to shallow minds.
Unloved, not for her lack, but crystal-clear
Strength wrapped in grace the insecure won’t find.
She is a bloom the world may not deserve,
Yet still she stands, with silence as her nerve.
She blooms in still air,
where no footsteps dare to pass—
a shadow in light,
veiled in modesty and grace,
unclaimed by trembling hearts.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.