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Furiosa

@shewrites.back

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Rage & Sillage.
A graveyard of words—stillborn.
Where the buried still mourn.

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The art of not seeing by @shewrites.back

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8 days ago

A hostile propaganda by @shewrites.back

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19 days ago

Have you heard of the 3 Ds ? Deny, Diminish, Deflect. by @shewrites.back

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2 months ago

Cr : @shewrites.back

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#CosmosOfWriters #writing #poetsofinstagram #fyp #words by @shewrites.back

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2 days ago

The First God
There are countless songs
of a father’s love—
but there is a grief
no song has dared to sing:
the grief
and guilt
of mourning
a living man.

I hovered
like a moth
around the flame
of his face—
my world
orbiting
his approval.
I burned
on the pyre
to keep alive
the fire
in my heart—
calling it devotion.

A family’s sacred curse
is tied
around the necks
of its daughters—
sanctified as purity,
offered as sacrifice
at altars
built for men.

His chains were never heavy.
They were gilded with love—
or what I thought
He led me
into a new life—
marriage,
motherhood,
the bliss of babies—
while still holding
the ends
of the invisible leash.
But now I had to serve
more than one God—
gods who spoke
in different tongues
yet demanded
the same prayer:
Goodness was obedience.
Sacrifice, devotion.
And every god
wanted more.
So I kept tending
their flames,
until the embers
curled
around my neck.
I pleaded
with the first God—
the merciful one—
but he tightened
every chain
and called each scar
a sacred stain—
proof of my devotion.
That was more than a burn—
I had worshipped
the father
I never had.
I stood before the altar,
unable to breathe.
So I stepped down
from the sacrificial stone
and returned with water
for those still burning.
But the fire
sought only ash.

So I walked away,
with smoke
still clinging to me.

#poetrycommunity #feministpoetry #fatherdaughterlove❤️ #grief by @shewrites.back

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5 days ago

Follow for more poetry—where buried things breathe. by @shewrites.back

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6 days ago

Nothing hits you
until you hit yourself—
hard, in the dark,
pierce your own eyes
and lose your sight.

Perhaps then you'll realise—
you chose not to see
when you still had eyes. by @shewrites.back

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8 days ago

Follow for more poetry on women, abuse, survival, blind love, blind faith—and the blind spots we’ve learned to call normal.

The background is taken from the movie Devi (1960) by @shewrites.back

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10 days ago

The Gutter Woman
#poetrycommunity #feministpoetry #breakpatriarchy #biharigirl #moralpolicing by @shewrites.back

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13 days ago

Damn! I dominated a woman today. #moralpolicing #biharigirl #smashthepatriarchy by @shewrites.back

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14 days ago

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16 days ago

The most polite form of misogyny by @shewrites.back

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2 months ago