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Jessica Stowers Poem
"pardon me can I speak to you in private?
my body is functioning the way it was meant to,
can you excuse me so no one laughs?"
It's one of the things every girl goes through.
We walk quickly, careful of each step
One wrong move and everyone might know
That you are a normal human being.
We shouldn't be ashamed that our bodies flow.
God forbid a woman speaks in public
of how she's on her period. Again
Ew that word - "PERIOD" - makes everyone uncomfortable
Words spoken only by boys and men.
Female bodies bleed and our insides churn
It's what they're meant to do
STOP staring when a girl speaks too loud
It's not a crime but we have to feel like that's not true.
We feel embarrassed to exist at all when
On our days of the days of the month, we
Feel excluded and beat down for perfectly fitting in
We are trained on certain days female is the worst thing to be.
- Jessie Stowers - 15 -
Copyright © Jessica Stowers | Year Posted 2019
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Jessica Stowers Poem
Masks please the eye,
Tears he heart.
You just need to smile wide,
They'll forget your broken part.
Never remove that mask,
They'll try to tear you to pieces.
For you it would be such an easy task,
To finally get even.
You want revenge for it all,
Especially for being born.
Raise your chin-try to stand tall,
They'll never understand why you're torn.
They see as far as you show them,
Don't you shed a tear.
If you told them the problem,
They'd simply run in fear.
It will never be fair,
They'll never feel your pain.
All the screaming and the fighting,
Your efforts are made in vain.
The satisfaction from the blood you shed,
They'll claim you're mentally insane.
No matter what's happening in your head,
Watch the red flow down the drain.
You can only hide it for so long,
The wounds will open and overflow.
There's no more difference from right or wrong,
How can you let them know?
Will they care when you leave that note,
When you take your final breath?
Will they know your real smile,
As you're quickly greeted by death?
They had no chance to save you,
But damn they didn't even try.
I wonder what they'd do,
If they ever saw you die.
How can they say they care,
A smile dancing on their lips?
Tell them if you dare,
It will be their blood that next drips.
You think about the last scene,
Who you'll have around.
You picture your last dream,
Who will be there to see you unwound.
You see death's beautiful face,
His soothing words as he steals your air.
So sly he'll never leave a trace,
You'll leave everyone to stand and stare.
They are in so much pain now,
All because you decided to go.
Please-feel free to take a bow,
Now they all know.
They are clueless of the life,
You so desperately wanted to end.
Introducing your skin to your knife,
They see the message you tried to send.
You walk into the fiery depths of hell,
Just to meet the devil with a grin.
In your first words to him you tell,
That you always knew he'd win.
He greets you with a smirk,
He'd been expecting you for a while.
You admit it took some work,
Giving in had never been your style.
The flames leaping at your face,
You sense a sudden realization.
This is a terribly calming place,
The single purpose of your creation.
Hell brings to you the harmony,
You could never find on Earth.
Finally you can guarantee,
You no longer hate your birth.
- Jessie Stowers - 15
Copyright © Jessica Stowers | Year Posted 2019
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Details |
Jessica Stowers Poem
I am from crunchy haybales,
from John Henry's and Stop to Shop.
I am from the fire on the back patio.
Melted chocolate, crackling wood, and eyes stinging from the burning ash and smoke.
I am from colorful roses on the bushes,
lined against the house many colors of red.
I am from no traditions and anger issues and distant emotions.
From Webers and Stowers.
I am from the ignorant stubborns and inappropriate judgers.
From Grow Up! and You're a Child, Act Like It!
I am from Christians and nonbelievers mad because I don't believe same and different as them.
I am from the everlasting fields in Kansas,
Ancient way raising your meat, and stews for lack of money and too many mouths.
From the one regret of my mother, that regret being me.
The abusive and petrifying thing that is my father.
The long-lost pictures of forced smiles and a cowering child.
I am from the forced happiness of the arguments birthed from unfortunate circumstance.
- Jessie Stowers - 15 -
Copyright © Jessica Stowers | Year Posted 2019
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