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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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