100 Word Wednesdays Flash Fiction: Poem – Lunes – “Pushing On” #amwriting #poetry #flashfiction 


Thanks to Bikurgurl for hosting 100 Word Wednesday Prompts.

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Credit: Stephanie of La Photographie

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Gazing into my pretty face, 

Seeing mere woman —

No different than any other.

——

But if you peered deeper

You’d find a —

Woman greater than ‘classified’ gender. 

——

I’m a person deserving equality;

Because I’m feminist

Doesn’t mean I’m against men.

—–

Required for me are but —

Same wages, salary —

For the same position worked. 

—–

Provide me access to healthcare, 

Birth control; doctors —

Of all specialities needed whenever

——

I’m a working woman, educated —

well; the Mom —

Driving her kids to hockey. 

——

Tidying the house and hoping, 

My ‘modern’ husband, 

Helps me because shared chores —

—–

Equal happier relationships –less fighting. 

Don’t talk trash, 

Hurt and abuse; I’m strong. 

—–

But your sexist comments hurt;

Our Grandmother’s mother’s, 

Began fighting for women’s rights. 

—–

Are they rights only in —

Writing? Yet I —

Push their battle on so —

——

One day my daughter doesn’t, 

Have to fight;

Ignored for being a female.

—–

©Mandibelle16. (2017) All Rights Reserved.  

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Three Line Tales: The Burlesque Dancer #3LineTales #fiction #amwriting 


Thanks to Sonya of Only 100 Words for hosting #3LineTales:

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Credit: Grant McCurdy via Upsplash

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1. When photographs became possible, Aunt Judith said they were the devil’s tool, they would steal a person’s soul. 

2. Three-months later, I buy one particular photograph of me I adore and see my pretty face and curvaceous body in sepia; Aunt Judith wouldn’t have been angry if I’d only had a stern portrait taken, having finally had her own picture done. 

3. She would be appalled, however, since I have my photograph taken all the time for many men in my costumes; Aunt Judith would disavow her niece, a burlesque dancer at The Gentlemen’s Tavern and Casino; but a girls got to make a living and so far being a nice girl depependant on a husband who ran out her, hasn’t been the best method of survival. 

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©Mandibelle16. (2016) All Rights Reserved. 

Poem: Florette – “Song of Signs” #wordhighjuly #poetry #amwriting #harana



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http://www.cnn.com

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I’ll sing you music each long night.

Do you hear my voice take flight?

My alto voice rings loud in my ears.

Wish to be there, so you see dear, my notes just right.

——–

You’ll treasure my words, piercing thought.

Can I reach through your veil, you’re aloft.

Stuck inside, where I cannot reach.

No silence but song, I beseech; sign of love sought.

———-

Dusk, lingering in your splendor,

Hope you’ll hear my words crescendo

Problems arise when you see how I sing,

For I am deaf, my songs hand signs ring, my concerto.

——-

Please my love, notice me noiseless,

Signs speak my ardor voiceless.

You gaze through me, my pretty face

Your chosen love’s voice has no grace; my signs joyful.

——

The Florette, created by Jan Turner, consists of two or more 4-line stanzas.

Rhyme scheme: a,a,b,a 
Meter: 8,8,8,12 

Fourth line requirement of internal (b) rhyme scheme, on syllable 8.

Like the outgrowing of a small flower, the forth line of each stanza is longer, and enwraps the previous lines. Line #4 requires an internal rhyme scheme that rhymes the eighth syllable with the end of line #3, and continues to add on four more syllables than the other lines so that the fourth line ends rhyming with lines #1 and #2.

Please see Shadow Poetry for more information. 

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©Mandibelle16.(2016) All Rights Reserved.

Poem: ” Objectified”


 

http://www.pinterest.com
 
It comes to me in pieces. I wasn’t good enough for you. I was only one of many. I didn’t realize, I wasn’t important.

I didn’t have that special vibe, that made you feel alive. The attraction I felt, only my imagination acting out.

Your piercing look of blue seeing me, trying to devise a way to know me. At least you tried a bit. I miss it.

And I miss the arms of someone who loved me much. But something wasn’t right. It’s how some relationships go. I wasn’t aware how much he saw in me, until he was gone.

Some men don’t try at all. They think you are only a release of the pent up need to mate. The desire of a guy for a pretty woman is tireless and unforgiving. He’s sure you’ll answer his libido’s call.

Why did I never see. I was always a number. I was always an object of sexuality. When I was young and so pretty , my worth was my beauty. Somethings don’t change, only the younger women are hotter.

I think of a song: “But Beautiful is empty / Beautiful is free / Beautiful loves no one / Beautiful stripped me.” (Creed) 

Beautiful is empty. Those girls who giggle freely and don’t mind being objectified. But some of them are hiding a world of color and art beneath their facades. A library of knowledge and experiences.

I realize how much we base on looks, our society is based on youth. Those who are the shiny pretty people. But no one can measure up, after your twenties or even then.

You tell me all the hot girls you can get. You tell me how easy they are to find. You make me feel no different then those you have defined merely for sex. What do you want with me, I am not so vapid. 

I thought I saw something in you. A softening of a man’s heart. Maybe I thought, you could sympathize with my life and make more of an effort. But I’m merely cute. I am not beautiful.

I’m not the ‘void’ that made me small when collage boys looked at me. I have learned from my experiences and I have always been more then my face or body. 

You say we should wait and see. Let the way things go, make the decision. I don’t mind going that way. But I see now I’m a number, a prized pet begging for attention with all the other women. A number.

There is an entire women’s movement of equality and their begging their men and trying to teach their sons to see women differently. I don’t think we’re succeeding. 

Woman are valuable because we are a ‘person’equal to men in every way. We are valuable because we are as smart as men and at times, much wiser. 

We are not our looks or our ability to bear a certain amount of children. We are not all the same. Each woman is unique and valuable for being herself. Stop numbering us on your head board. 

Ladies, stop chasing the men who are only after your tail. Stop letting them win when they characterize you as that easy girl they slept with. Make it hard, so they see your worth. Make them work.

And if they can’t see how wonderful you are. Throw them to the curb. Teach them a lesson. Tell them to stop objectifying women. To stop only seeing bleach-blond hair, big breasts,  and a lady whose got back — as the epitome of womanhood.

All of this is special and may make you who you are. The right men will adore your body, and it’s unique proportions. But they’ll adore your mind and your soul equally. They’ll treat you — what a word — specially.

And your man will try his hardest, to ensure you see you are valuable to him. All of you, from your hair to your toes. From your thoughts to your soul. 

Don’t do the walk of shame again and be ashamed for expressing your sexuality. If it’s what you desire you should know, you better make him a number before he turns you into one.

You best believe me lady. You are falling for a con. And you’re pushing back the women’s movement when you give into his charm. When he hasn’t put the work into, seeing you for who you are.