Objectified Poems | Examples

Her

Her,
Let's talk about her, 
She's always so bright, or it's all about the sight
They way she loves, despite the other's bluffs
When someone says her name
She keeps them without any shame
One day I asked her, what does she want
Said, I have some wishes, can someone grant
To be the one, whose taken care of
As I am soft, like a freshly baked loaf
To just be free, be free as a bee
To walk out the door and be real me
How can I be not objectified, besides they say
I like the way you smiled,
May I not be the one everyone wishes for
To be someone's everything they wish for
She said,
I'm strong, I'm built like this
To be the bait or just live to be his
 The list is huge and my clock is clicking 
I laugh with a boy and they start shipping 
Stress a distress, You have to look flawless 
When you're feeling like a mess
Body shaming, no we care for you
Where were you when my hands turned blue 
i asked, how do you handle all this,
Said, you should know, don't you know miss!

objectified

objectified
how
getting a way
and another's way wasn't yours
subjugating all those around
not on your side
we are bullet ridden
already a privacy
obscene
the torn hold of my boy body
you wont let grow
so small and unfit
distorted work, strength
abnormal and feminine
putrid wrath
motherly paint
language from darkness
i am fragile ornament in your hands

Melanin Melancholy

The spices release their scent to ease my heart,
numb ~ yet tracing glasses brimming with tears,
aching for a touch of chamomile wisps,
beneath a sky that reeks of regrets
and words unspoken ~ too afraid to rephrase,
   like smoke incensed with sulfur,
   like blue cheese and old pickles,
tickling the curves of this melanin melancholy,
urging these fingers to purge forgotten rhymes,
as if there is no ingredient for healing,
when loneliness creeps like a slow poison…

But must I thaw the ice within cups of compassion,
infused with clovers of peace,
when I am a mere reflection of your mistakes,
a table adorned with plates of bitter weeds,
listening to the sagas of the rain and sun?
They taste not my pulse of patience,
as I remain, the feeler of phasing appetizers,
rotting in ruins ~ objectified and rejected,
by the twisted tongue of vanity and silence…

The flame of creativity is born from unknown and daring depths

The flame of creativity is born from unknown and daring depths,
where desires and thoughts intertwine with dreams still untainted,
each spark from the free spirit is a triumph of flight over fears,
opening new skies, breaking the heavy chains of the objectified world,
but when the product of creativity touches the ground of culture and convention,
it settles, it calms, like a river losing its tumult in quiet valleys,
under the weight of time and hurried glances that no longer see essence,
in the sediments and memories of past and forgotten worlds,
and yet, somewhere in the deep silence of the soul, the flame still flickers,
waiting for the moment to rise again, to sing in vibrant and lively colors,
in a universe that demands neither explanations nor approvals, only existence.

Heartbroken

Our heart is where desires arise
and where they are in time resolved
but since we cling to wisps of smoke,
we remain in our dreams involved.

Seeking love that soul may expand,
causes suffering since we seek,
whilst if we embrace and release,
monk mode plugs the energy leak.

Ego has objectified love,
reducing it to an exchange,
so when the echo returns not,
we feel morbid contractions strange.

Belied expectation breaks hearts,
destiny delusion foretold,
so it’s best to be void centric,
inking heart with love hues of gold.

True joy that does not come and go,
throbs within us as vibrant bliss,
at an octave of agape love,
bestowed by Divine Mother’s kiss.

Grazed by spirit, our heart is healed,
never to be broken again,
for we see this life is but play
and pristine soul is free from stain.

Hark bliss beats call to one and all,
as God’s sublime effervescence,
which is mirrored in every heart;
light eternal, our quintessence.

Cognitive Dissonance

Mind, the architect of life’s structure,
obeys what is learnt as the art of living.
Heart, the carrier of nonlinear abstract intellect,
breathes emotive truth in the framework of being.

If the diktat of mind is not pursued,
life is sucked into the whirlpool of chaos,
and not listening to the subtle urge of heart,
life turns into an unfulfilling objectified entity.

Intangible confrontation with either this or that,
designs the dubious dilemma of option,
for lack of equanimity valuing one over the other
causes the onset of neurotic inner conflict.

The foreseeable forks in life’s pathway tests
if judgment and wisdom falter in internal strife.
The rational balance of mind and heart
finds psychic route out of cognitive dissonance.

________________

August 18, 2022
Contest : Inner Conflict
Sponsored by : Unseeking Seeker

Mattress Roses

Mattress and roses

A great day in Cascais, sunlit and soberly warm.
We have bought a rose-coloured mattrass
easy to install, the old one was heavily loaded by
memories of a time of a healthy life.

I was thinking of getting a canary bird let it fly
inside, let out wild birds will kill the canary

Resolved angry dispute sealed with love
objectified as a burrow where children do not enter.
Someone homeless can sleep on it before it rains. 
Ultimately, the old mattress will end up in a landfill.

Forever

‘Forever’ drops through the cracks of time.
The everlasting is a way of saying never-lasting.

We had to change its meaning
for the sake of the children
for those who need nursery rhymes,
and the nursery rhymes are too deep
for the children to comprehend.
The ‘children’ are ancient, ageless,
they live on
in the collective unconsciousness.

So we make-up words that mean
the opposite of their true meaning.
'Love' for instance,
love does not mean love something
or anything. Love objectified
outside of you is a mirage.

If you add forever to the word ‘love’
you conflate an idea with a reality.
When you have something to give,
then you can give.

Without this self-loving
you have nothing to offer.
You can only truly love yourself.
Without this understanding
love becomes for-never.

Some say words are powerful
yes and no –
for unless you know the root of a word

you will not know the truth of a word.

Changes For Girls

They bound our capabilities
By always underestimating our abilities
They have already planned our life before birth
Tossing us away as if we don't have any worth
They treat us the way they please
In there eye, will our dignity ever increase?
They bound us by chain,
Who is to blame when our life goes down the drain?
How long shall we wait for justice?
To put an end to living life the way they expect from us,
Change for girls is all I seek,
A society where people don't consider us as feeble and weak,
Where voicing out thoughts for all genders is guaranteed,
Somewhere we don't need to depend on others for our need,
A place where women are not objectified,
Somewhere the misconception around our feminity is rectified,
A place where we don't have to put up with all the humiliation
Where no longer resides a stereotypical discrimination
Change for womens is possible if encouraged by all
To make a society where patriarchy has a bitter fall

E' Go's On Andt On -

t'sentry's request code: g o e
---------------------------------
pondered probability possibilities...

gleaning obvious examples
gathered overtly everywhere...

gazes objectified expressive
ghostly observations evoking...

gestures of excessive
grammatical overstatements echoing...

gibberish obliviating everything
generating obstacled entry...

gifting old errors
guarding one expectation...

gained opposite egos
genetic over expressions...

gaming overwhelming exhausting
guesses overlooking e-g-o...

get out ego
go on...errors

get out...exit
googling...open! entryyy!

- now...what to scratch on that door -

                  : ) 

stan sand

A Matrress

Mattress and roses
A great day in Cascais sunlit and moderately cold.
We are changing a mattress the new one was easy to handle
But the old was too heavy we need someone with
Arm muscles like Hercules and he was healthy.
 
I was thinking of getting a canary bird, let it fly around,
outside it would be killed by wild birds.
 
Resolved, the lair, angry disputes that were sealed with love.
Objectified as burrow were children didn’t enter.
Someone, homeless can sleep on it before it rains.
Eventually, the old mattress will end up in a landfilling-

Battle Rap

Let’s take this outside
Your turn to be objectified
Necktied offside and brutified
Come step outside
Where you can no longer hide
Now you and me can collide

You’re worse than godzilla’s bride
Torpefied and vilified
Uglified, mean and evil-eyed
Always snide and undignified

Ringside, in your false pride
the eyes of Hitler recognized
Executing his genocide
Feeling justified nationwide

Lately I’ve been preoccupied
With thoughts of homicide
Accident by countryside
broadside you flip side 
See you land in the fireside
For all the misery aside
you put me through - testified

Is your meanness really classified
I’m no longer taking it - qualified
I‘m no longer hiding it - quantified
No more excuses - are you satisfied?

Germicide and pesticide
Have you ever tried
To drink a ton of formaldehyde
To soften up your cowhide

Now we can go back inside
Your reign of terror on override
You’re toast and you’re fried
You’re been hogtied and humanified
Stupefied and rectified 
Just as prophesized



Submitted on May 16, 2018 for contest 8-MILE STYLE POETRY CONTEST sponsored by NICK TRIM  -  RANKED 4TH

Happy Thanksgiving

"I"
What do we mean when we repeat
this most common of words..?
Most of us would say
a multiplicity of things
many names of occupations
locations and the resume
most recently written..

This objectified I
accumulates memories
pleased with the good
fearing the bad
and so it goes over our years..
There are expressions of
Thank You
for material abundance
and for a good name..

This I is personal and close
but if we admit..not quite
the I we long to be..
And on occasion
a question asserts:
How might I be truly
Happy..?
Recognizing that I
good teachers will say
would mean that this
would be truly a
Happy Thanksgiving...!

**** Woes

(This is about sex believe it or not, which I connect a lot to expressing thoughts about death) 

She lives thru the lies. Bruised open thighs
 Coasts on the high. soul flows free like a...like a, can't explain it yet. 
Open as the sky. Is it the wrong thing to do ? 
Addicted to the fact of being in love with the things that don't blend well with the things that are abstract.....
Make cents? No, make sense. 
Here to be objectified. She's another one of those lost souls looking for the re-freedom we all deserve.
 If she ever makes it out of her head , she'll return to earth. 
Wake her up when it's time for the rebirth, until then she'll 
spin and spin 
and rehearse the emotions
 feelings
 vibes as you may..
to living till that shiny hearse drives away 
into the white shiny glow of the light. 
Is this heaven ?

I Needed a Psychologist

I got him at university when I was nineteen:
Too late for me and my anger, but he was spritely; 
It was after I'd initially objectified things myself, 
By writing a computer program that reacted intelligently. 

I should have been entitled to write it at school, 
Where my anger was my extra disability, 
But I was kept off the systems 'cos of fear, 
That I didn't have enough hand dexterity. 

My anger was just against fundamentalism, 
Christian, and occasionally Islamic as well;  
My family was Christian but weighed god as great, 
Such that sometimes all I did was my life hate. 

Express your anger when you can, 
Demand to be met by a psychologist, 
Make those around you understand, 
You're entitlement to with peace land.

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