Livin’ in a box. It’s nice. Got a framed lid from a tub o yogurt on a wall. Got a metal dongly hanging on the ceiling. Don’t know what it is. I calls it a chandelier. Got a yellow stripey towel for a couch, and a bouquet of socks as houseplants. Come over sometime.
The life of a domestic woman is hard and challeging. You have to be strong, independent and pulled together. All while holding true to your female-ness. Like long baths.
Linda was in the living room, vacuuming as usual. Nothing new, nothing unusual was happening.
Then, suddenly. She just stopped. “Why am I doing this?” she asked aloud to no one in particular.
A homely family, middle class. they have a dog named skip and two children. Jack and Sally. Sally is a pianist and Jack plays baseball for the high school.
makes me think of home and all the great things that come with having a safe place to be. traveling all over and being restless gets old and there’s nothing better than coming back and being domestic in your own home.
you can domesticate cats, pigs dogs and even bears, some people think that domestic violence is a good thing, women are seen as domestic people of nature.
the woman walked past her foyer, marvelling at its spotlessness. she knew that this was her life’s work. men had their offices and their breifcases, but her joy was in the beautiful home that lay before her. nothing seemed like a chore when it was for herself instead of everyone else.
her cat, snowball, followed behind her loyally. her every foot step shadowed by a reassuring tap of paws.
trained
and sitting in cage
he’s domesticated but worse than the bars
that surround him
is the minimum security prison that he’s locked
from the inside and tossed that key
far far out of reach
This makes me think of housewives, leaning against the kitchen counter in faded cotton dresses, beads of sweat accumulating on their brows. The children will be home from school soon, and with them comes the bright and cheery noise, mud, and the innocence of those still hopeful. The oven timer screams. With a sigh and a heave they’re off, facades in place.
Living in a house with a husband and kids seems like what everyone ends up with. I think I want that. Sometimes I have flashes of life as a house-wife, like when I fold laundry for some of the boys on my floor, or when I cook things. Domestic seems like a good thing, a comfortable thing, but there’s a stigma associated with it also. Do I want that? I think I do. But if that’s where I’m going to end up, then what’s the point in pursuing this expensive education in the first place?
domestic relationship is the first thing that popped into my head. like the one i’m in now. we cook dinner and have a fun boring life, but that is exactly what i love, i spent enough years dealing with domestic violence and life in the fast lane. domestic bliss is fun.
There are very few things that I find as adorable as a small domestic kitten falling asleep. This is particularly true when they fall asleep in awkward positions, like face down in their food dish, for example. This is the only reason I would want a cat, I think.
Cats are domestic, dogs can be domestic, and women can be domestic. Women shouldn’t be the only domestic things, however, as men should also get in the habit of being domestic. Domestic, in my mind, means to be helpful around the house and home by doing simple chores like the laundry, or the dishes, or taking the trash out, or washing the dogs. To be domesticated is to be brought in from the wilderness and made to adapt to life indoors rather than outside.
we are sitting at the table awaiting the aromas from the other room to materalize as edible portions before us. a clatter of pans erupts and muffled curse. our ears prick up but we make no move to help. our bodies are glued to our chairs from anticipation. it was father’s birthday and mother had promised a genorous feast of the most gourmet kind. she brought the main dish our covered. behind her followed the servents with various delicious smelling dishes. our eyes wandered and lustfully followed the plates as our mouths watered. mother beamed as she placed the main event in front of father. “here you are dear, happy birthday.” we were warm, and happy, and without a care.
household appliances, cooking, drinking wine.
wearing a dress to vacuum. making a pie with a lattice top.
snuggling with the cat.
choosing to stay in on a friday night, just to hang around
Living against the sudden urges that burn deep inside, I fight off my natural thoughts and give away my freedom to become one with the herd. I find myself at once Domestic.
Domestic animals are pets. They live in our houses to keep us company. For example, I have a rabbit that brings me joy. They each are very special. Domestic, sadly, is not free. If you think about people can be domestic too, they can be free or stuck in a box, always being worried and never care-FREE.
The cat was domestic. She wasn’t like a tiger or lion. She lived in a house and didn’t pee and poop in the house. She wasn’t a wild animal, and she could live with people. Her name was Alice.
She was a good cat.
Read within the depths of your soul. You’ll find the light and it’ll grow. The more you seek, the less you’ll know for that is what you were always told. There should be love if you wish to look. And thousands of stories in the pages of just one book. Life is laughter, love is pain. You are capable because you have a brain. <3 CH
domestic violence really sucks..you shouldnt beat up women just cuz u had a bad day in the office or india lost the cricket match..its cruel..we should treat our women with respect..away with domestic violence!!!!!!!!
Someone told me once that to be a good wife you only needed to be good in one room of the house… but still, I wonder what matters after 10 years? 20? 57?
My friend’s divorced father said the other day: “Be careful out there, you may be excited about him, but it might not be all it cracked up to be… people can still be strangers after 20 years.” Was that his cynicism speaking or is it possible that even after all the kitchen sink drama of marriage, children and the full catastrophe, can you still look at the person you built it all with and ask “Who are you?”.
The domestic house pet lays around the house, quietly laying around and stalking its owner as a loyal slave must do to make a living and stay alive. The sweet, gentle pet lays in its owner’s house in a generic neighborhood and feels at peace with itself. This American family is simple and sweet.
My dog is a domesticated animal. When two people are in love, it is called a domestic partnership. What does this say about human relationships? Are they like the ones we have with our animals? Do I own this person, and does this person likewise own me?
The housewife was the epitome of it. She had a duster in her hand, an apron on her body, and a kerchief round her hair. She would flit about the house, straightening and puttering, humming under her breath. No one would know her secret. Her disguise was too good.
Domestic policy. This is what we need to be focusing on in our country. How can we worry about the neighborhood when our own home needs to be cleaned and repaired? Who are we to intervene? It really is an issue.
I’ve always thought that maybe I’d be a good house wife
I like to look cute, wear pearls, sometimes i do dishes, and i love to cook for a man. However the thought of a white picket fence drives me mad. I go crazy. Mini vans? Out of the question. Fuck that shit. I want to lead a life of adventure. just because i’m good at something doesn’t mean I should do it.
domestic is what’s within us. being domestic is what you truly feel become you feel a strong sense of belonging. It can be your house or your country. It’s something close, an attachment.
The dog tore through the house, carrying a shoe in its jaws and gleefully evading it’s panicked master.
“Maxwell! Stop! Sit! Stay!” the young boy cried. “I just bought those! You’re supposed to be trained!”
He slapped me in the face without any hesitation I stepped backward banging into the door, “That’s what you get you dumb whore.Never try to leave me again.”
I begin to cry as David catches my wrist and kisses me. “I’m sorry, just never leave me ,Promise?”
I shake my head trying to pull away from him. His nails dig deeper into my skin leaving bruises along my wrists.I fall to the ground, “Please David, please.”
“Get off the ground. Stop being such a….”
David grabs my neck holding me against the wall, as if he was about to choke me, “No please don’t”
Then he let’s go shoving me against the door, “I can’t believe you thought i would do that.”
He smirks as if we’re playing some sort of sick game.
Mom was wearing her blue apron. The apron always signaled her mood. Today she was blue. But she hid it well. Only someone who knows the apron code would be able to decipher her true mood at any given time. Dad would be home soon. The apron would come off. She would set the table for his supper.
Livin’ in a box. It’s nice. Got a framed lid from a tub o yogurt on a wall. Got a metal dongly hanging on the ceiling. Don’t know what it is. I calls it a chandelier. Got a yellow stripey towel for a couch, and a bouquet of socks as houseplants. Come over sometime.
The life of a domestic woman is hard and challeging. You have to be strong, independent and pulled together. All while holding true to your female-ness. Like long baths.
Linda was in the living room, vacuuming as usual. Nothing new, nothing unusual was happening.
Then, suddenly. She just stopped. “Why am I doing this?” she asked aloud to no one in particular.
A homely family, middle class. they have a dog named skip and two children. Jack and Sally. Sally is a pianist and Jack plays baseball for the high school.
makes me think of home and all the great things that come with having a safe place to be. traveling all over and being restless gets old and there’s nothing better than coming back and being domestic in your own home.
you can domesticate cats, pigs dogs and even bears, some people think that domestic violence is a good thing, women are seen as domestic people of nature.
the woman walked past her foyer, marvelling at its spotlessness. she knew that this was her life’s work. men had their offices and their breifcases, but her joy was in the beautiful home that lay before her. nothing seemed like a chore when it was for herself instead of everyone else.
her cat, snowball, followed behind her loyally. her every foot step shadowed by a reassuring tap of paws.
trained
and sitting in cage
he’s domesticated but worse than the bars
that surround him
is the minimum security prison that he’s locked
from the inside and tossed that key
far far out of reach
This makes me think of housewives, leaning against the kitchen counter in faded cotton dresses, beads of sweat accumulating on their brows. The children will be home from school soon, and with them comes the bright and cheery noise, mud, and the innocence of those still hopeful. The oven timer screams. With a sigh and a heave they’re off, facades in place.
Living in a house with a husband and kids seems like what everyone ends up with. I think I want that. Sometimes I have flashes of life as a house-wife, like when I fold laundry for some of the boys on my floor, or when I cook things. Domestic seems like a good thing, a comfortable thing, but there’s a stigma associated with it also. Do I want that? I think I do. But if that’s where I’m going to end up, then what’s the point in pursuing this expensive education in the first place?
Bruises on her cheeks
And sunglasses after sunset.
She says she stays for love
but I think it is fear.
domestic relationship is the first thing that popped into my head. like the one i’m in now. we cook dinner and have a fun boring life, but that is exactly what i love, i spent enough years dealing with domestic violence and life in the fast lane. domestic bliss is fun.
There are very few things that I find as adorable as a small domestic kitten falling asleep. This is particularly true when they fall asleep in awkward positions, like face down in their food dish, for example. This is the only reason I would want a cat, I think.
Cats are domestic, dogs can be domestic, and women can be domestic. Women shouldn’t be the only domestic things, however, as men should also get in the habit of being domestic. Domestic, in my mind, means to be helpful around the house and home by doing simple chores like the laundry, or the dishes, or taking the trash out, or washing the dogs. To be domesticated is to be brought in from the wilderness and made to adapt to life indoors rather than outside.
we are sitting at the table awaiting the aromas from the other room to materalize as edible portions before us. a clatter of pans erupts and muffled curse. our ears prick up but we make no move to help. our bodies are glued to our chairs from anticipation. it was father’s birthday and mother had promised a genorous feast of the most gourmet kind. she brought the main dish our covered. behind her followed the servents with various delicious smelling dishes. our eyes wandered and lustfully followed the plates as our mouths watered. mother beamed as she placed the main event in front of father. “here you are dear, happy birthday.” we were warm, and happy, and without a care.
household appliances, cooking, drinking wine.
wearing a dress to vacuum. making a pie with a lattice top.
snuggling with the cat.
choosing to stay in on a friday night, just to hang around
Living against the sudden urges that burn deep inside, I fight off my natural thoughts and give away my freedom to become one with the herd. I find myself at once Domestic.
Domestic animals are pets. They live in our houses to keep us company. For example, I have a rabbit that brings me joy. They each are very special. Domestic, sadly, is not free. If you think about people can be domestic too, they can be free or stuck in a box, always being worried and never care-FREE.
home.
The cat was domestic. She wasn’t like a tiger or lion. She lived in a house and didn’t pee and poop in the house. She wasn’t a wild animal, and she could live with people. Her name was Alice.
She was a good cat.
Read within the depths of your soul. You’ll find the light and it’ll grow. The more you seek, the less you’ll know for that is what you were always told. There should be love if you wish to look. And thousands of stories in the pages of just one book. Life is laughter, love is pain. You are capable because you have a brain. <3 CH
domestic violence really sucks..you shouldnt beat up women just cuz u had a bad day in the office or india lost the cricket match..its cruel..we should treat our women with respect..away with domestic violence!!!!!!!!
Someone told me once that to be a good wife you only needed to be good in one room of the house… but still, I wonder what matters after 10 years? 20? 57?
My friend’s divorced father said the other day: “Be careful out there, you may be excited about him, but it might not be all it cracked up to be… people can still be strangers after 20 years.” Was that his cynicism speaking or is it possible that even after all the kitchen sink drama of marriage, children and the full catastrophe, can you still look at the person you built it all with and ask “Who are you?”.
I need another word!
domestic pets
domestic wives
domestic abuse
The domestic house pet lays around the house, quietly laying around and stalking its owner as a loyal slave must do to make a living and stay alive. The sweet, gentle pet lays in its owner’s house in a generic neighborhood and feels at peace with itself. This American family is simple and sweet.
me, home, calling, duty, responsibility
Domestic. It’s what I am; it’s what I do; it’s how I think; it’s the limit of my experience and my imagination.
It’s almost my fault, though I don’t quite believe that.
Not yet.
goddess, Rosanne Barr
not my cup of tea
easier to manage than worldwide
wine
hope to be more so when I retire
I’ll be a domestic. shine the floors, put the sheets out on the line.
I’ll never be domesticated, never be fine. never be proper or ladylike neither.
My dog is a domesticated animal. When two people are in love, it is called a domestic partnership. What does this say about human relationships? Are they like the ones we have with our animals? Do I own this person, and does this person likewise own me?
The housewife was the epitome of it. She had a duster in her hand, an apron on her body, and a kerchief round her hair. She would flit about the house, straightening and puttering, humming under her breath. No one would know her secret. Her disguise was too good.
Domestic policy. This is what we need to be focusing on in our country. How can we worry about the neighborhood when our own home needs to be cleaned and repaired? Who are we to intervene? It really is an issue.
I’ve always thought that maybe I’d be a good house wife
I like to look cute, wear pearls, sometimes i do dishes, and i love to cook for a man. However the thought of a white picket fence drives me mad. I go crazy. Mini vans? Out of the question. Fuck that shit. I want to lead a life of adventure. just because i’m good at something doesn’t mean I should do it.
domestic is what’s within us. being domestic is what you truly feel become you feel a strong sense of belonging. It can be your house or your country. It’s something close, an attachment.
The dog tore through the house, carrying a shoe in its jaws and gleefully evading it’s panicked master.
“Maxwell! Stop! Sit! Stay!” the young boy cried. “I just bought those! You’re supposed to be trained!”
dinner, woman. lily calls in her fake deep tone as she enters the house and kicks her shoes off haphazardly around the door way.
He slapped me in the face without any hesitation I stepped backward banging into the door, “That’s what you get you dumb whore.Never try to leave me again.”
I begin to cry as David catches my wrist and kisses me. “I’m sorry, just never leave me ,Promise?”
I shake my head trying to pull away from him. His nails dig deeper into my skin leaving bruises along my wrists.I fall to the ground, “Please David, please.”
“Get off the ground. Stop being such a….”
David grabs my neck holding me against the wall, as if he was about to choke me, “No please don’t”
Then he let’s go shoving me against the door, “I can’t believe you thought i would do that.”
He smirks as if we’re playing some sort of sick game.
housewife, dog, cooking, kitchen, sewing machine, family food , pets, cozy, fireplace, backyard, picnics.
Mom was wearing her blue apron. The apron always signaled her mood. Today she was blue. But she hid it well. Only someone who knows the apron code would be able to decipher her true mood at any given time. Dad would be home soon. The apron would come off. She would set the table for his supper.