Love Poem For Women By Women.
You Are More Than Beautiful
Rupi Kaur
I want to apologize to all the women
I have called pretty.
Before I’ve called them intelligent or brace.
I am sorry I made it sound as though
Something as simple as what you’re born with
Is the most you have to be proud of
When your spirit has crushed mountains
From now on I will say things like,
You are resilient
Or, you are extraordinary.
Not because I don’t think you’re pretty.
But because you are so much more than that.
She Felt Like Feeling Nothing
R.H. Sin
You should be proud of yourself
bending without breaking
falling but finding the strength
to pick yourself up
from a pit filled with broken hearts
and dreams dismantled by the lies
of those incapable
of being honest
your softness is not a weakness
your kindness is your strength
give all of the things
that they've taken for granted
to yourself
because right now
more than anything
you deserve you
it's time to love yourself
The Fight
R.H. Sin
the fight to prove yourself
to someone who doesn't deserve you
is a losing battle
what is there to achieve
when the one you want
has nothing to give you in return
where is the benefit
in going to war for someone
who'd rather fight against you
instead of beside you
(No title)
Nikita Gill
Fill your life with women that empower you,
that help you believe in your magic
and aid them to believe in their own exceptional power
and their incredible magic too.
Women that believe in each other can survive anything.
Women who believe in each other
create armies that will win kingdoms and wars.
Phenomenal Woman
Maya Angelou
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Poem in praise of menstruation
Lucille Clifton
if there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon
if there is a river
more faithful than this
returning each month
to the same delta
if there is a river
braver than this
coming and coming in a surge
of passion, of pain
if there is a river
more ancient than this
daughter of eve
mother of cain and of abel
if there is in
the universe such a river
If there is somewhere water
more powerful than this wild water
pray that it flows also
through animals
beautiful and faithful and ancient
and female and brave
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Her Kind
Anne Sexton
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
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