Yeama B.

Biography

Native naive New Yorker. Growing up in the backseat of the city’s madness inspired a few lines I’d like to share.

Samples

She only imagined herself killing men. The only people she felt held a lick of power over her, and any amount of superiority. She felt men were sour and sick, a disease trickled down from human conception itself: Men. When they spit or picked their noses it drove her wild. How, how can they be so entitled? So free to shove it in womens faces as if no one is watching them. If a woman is present, who cares of her revolt if not trying to court her? What is she beyond her sexual functions and maternal uses. This thought loop made her seethe. Not a man in sight and still unrest bubbled over. She let out a frustrated yelp, then a tired sigh. Though it could’ve been louder, with no one around to hear her scream, but maybe she would attract someone who would. She lived in fear of the next man and felt it would never change. Letting her feet get rough on the dirt road was her protest, her armpits unshaven and her hair unkempt. Who would desire her? Yet she knew just by her pulse that she was prey. At times she liked it, the attention, the eyes and practical drool falling from mens mouths. For moments she’d mistaken it for power. But it was her they were hunting.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Blog entries by Yeama B.

Her Body (09/08/2023)

Stained Petals (09/08/2023)

Changing Season (22/01/2021)

Blog link: https://www.writeoutloud.net/blogs/yeamab

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