Smiles, not butterflies*,
For eager, impassioned guys.
Foolishly wasted.
Fondness selfishly mutates
To amour, the head debates.
Prudence's rusted.
Amusing how worship transforms
In his eyes, and is soon gone,
Agony's tasted.
Woman, to your steely will untrue,
Not once, thrice, heart and head in ju-jitsu.
Brain roasted.
Why, pray, did you carelessly kill,
The 'I' that you idolise still-
She's disgusted.
Down, not earth, he belongs in hell.
Gather self worth, earn a pedestal-
She insisted.
Your spurious, spurious steel,
Didn't conceal Achilles heel,
Worth tested.
Menial beings with thoughts inch deep,
Over them you dare to weep!
Rejoice instead.
There are people with dregs of souls,
Associate with those with a whole-
She boasted.
P.S.- Any random bipeds who feel the same(or differently) feel free to comment or add something to that. Do mention your name etc. Might add your rhymes to this post.
*in the stomach of course!
13 comments:
We, mad modern women
We, mad modern women,
Wish to change perception,
But if we don’t rant and rave-
We just don’t have any fun!
We needs must pull out our hair,
Must pace up and down and here and there,
We needs must talk too much,
And pretend that we aren’t as such,
Attempting to shut silence off,
So we don’t hear our insanity knock
At our temples that we wrinkle by,
Thinking too much and talking dry.
When we meet, we gulp coffee and,
Raise both eyebrows and wave every hand,
As if we had ten, not two,
Sweepingly crazy to third-party view.
We talk about the idiots that men are,
And how they’d never get very far,
With their negative attitudes,
And their mediocre attributes.
We talk about PMS,
And we complain to death, oh yes,
We complain and whine,
And then we resign,
To thinking we scare men away,
Right as plain as any day,
As we’re creations of Germaine Greer,
And that we’d better start liking beer.
We promise that we’ll control our tears,
And not break down before colleagues and peers,
But then we go and do just that,
And can’t forgive ourselves so splat,
Go our egos against the wall,
As we whiplash them
And needs must repair and hem,
Them to suit our needs again.
Our madness we must rate at ten,
Because though we claim we’d hate our men
If they’d misbehave,
We lift them up and stave,
Every blow to their stupid prides,
We’d balm their corrupted hides,
We’d nurture, protect their lives,
They’d take us for granted as they will,
And we’d complain still.
So what do we strong, intelligent women do?
We’re strong, but we’re women too,
Yet our strength is feminine,
Helpful is our high adrenaline,
As it gives us our drive.
Our passions are our life’s fuel,
And our constant duel,
With those duffer men ensures that we populate,
And not confine the world to manless state.
my favourite part:
Menial beings with thoughts inch deep,
Over them you dare to weep!
Not because I think it to be true (I don't), but because it's very beautifully poetic.
yea even i don't think it to be wholly true! it's just consolation, rather a pep talk i'm giving myself. lol.
According to Chuck Palahniuk, You fake any sympton long enough , and youll start to hurt for real.
Really enjoyed this :-)
(George)
nice blog
Hi
nice to meet a fellow mirandian
you should have been studyin lit
and I say that as a lit student myself
just that i love physics more. it's a brilliant outlet for crativity-physics is!
you killed a good poet.
resplendant
!
our family is full of poets...everybody seems to be writing....nice one..
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