Creative | Posted by Fran H on 01/18/2013

Feminism Is Not A Word We Use In Polite Society

They wanted to be blondes, all of them, at some point in their lives.

Natural honey or not, they believed when

Marilyn cooed, old, white male screenwriters her puppeteers,

“Gentlemen prefer blondes”

the line delivered with a seductive smile,

as Norma Jean Baker, a smart brunette who loved James Joyce,

drowned in her persona, hiding her soul with peroxide and carefully exposed necklines.

They hide themselves too, trying to be socially acceptable, swallowing their opinions along with the latest

dieting tea.

“Look like Barbie!” it promises on the box,

but Housewife Barbie, Mother Barbie, Teacher Barbie, Nurse Barbie,

traditional, safe occupations, nothing like Barbie’s

dangerous incarnations, President Barbie, Astronaut Barbie, CEO Barbie, Scientist Barbie, pushed to the sidelines, hidden under the bed, coated in dust. Nobody ever played with them …

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Creative | Posted by Tiffany C on 11/2/2012

Innocence and Experience

She was all sharp angles even in earlier innocence,

Sticks and stones,

Upright stance, finely wrought

Collarbone jut, delicate vertebrae

stuck out; a recollection of one night

Sternum solid plate of bone; no one will be able to break this part of you

that she instinctively felt in reassurance

Fragile as a bird,

False pretenses in adolescence,

Awkward

Inebriated lightweight who never knew the bitter taste of rejection

and instead, learned of too hasty acceptance—

Arched shoulders, hipbones widened from experience,

Her wrists smudged with bruises blooming like dandelions in grass;

abundant and careless

Her eyes, once starlight-bright, became

Precise in every action

Tousled morning-after hair

She was all sharp angles even until world remained empty,

because that night, casual, she went out with her friends to a club

Was …

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Creative | Posted by Molly B on 10/19/2012

Girl

You don’t get to say

That because I was born with these parts
And not those
That I have to wear eyeliner
Or make someone breakfast
Or suck a dick

You don’t get to say

That I’m not a nice young lady
Because I cuss and smoke
And I don’t fit into the box you built for me

It’s not my job to clean the house
Because of the vagina between my legs
And I don’t need your permission
For anything

I can work harder
And run faster
And out fight most of the men I know
There is nothing wrong with me
Just because I come from a land you’ve never been to
And speak a language you can’t learn
Don’t berate me
Just because I’m out of your …

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Creative | Posted by Katie M on 09/21/2012

Hero

We all know I’ve given you everything,
that – as far as I’m concerned sometimes – I have nothing left.
You took it all, because I gave it. Freely, willingly, without hesitation,
you didn’t have to ask.
Sometimes you didn’t.

I’ve given you all my words,
and now I don’t have much more to say.
At least, I won’t, when I finally tell the whole big scary truth –
which, despite my best efforts, I have yet to do.

When I say that it’s all out there… Well, that’s a lie.
Some of my secrets I’m still keeping.
Some of my wounds, well, they’re still bleeding.

You cut me deep, you know, and I can still see the scars.

You said you wanted it to have always been my choice.…

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Creative | Posted by Carson R on 06/22/2012

Everything Was Okay

*Trigger warning: the following story may be upsetting to survivors of / those sensitive to descriptions of sexual assault*

Eve is a palindrome. Reverse the order of letters, and the word remains the same. You’d never notice anything wrong with a backwards eve.

Eve is a marketing consultant. She lives in a narrow townhouse in Seattle. Her cat, Charcoal, roams the metal stairs and hardwood floors. In her living room, a whiteboard of scribbles rests on the black sofa. On the kitchen counter, a stack of invoices bears coffee stains. This is her office, where the computer is always on. Every morning, she comes downstairs and shakes the mouse, and the monitor casts a glow upon her face. The sky is just beginning to brighten as she types out her …

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Creative | Posted by Julie Z on 06/10/2012

Support Women Artists Sunday: Madison Maxey

One Maddison Maxey blazer

Madison Maxey Inc, a growing fashion brand that creates unique blazers in fun and interesting cuts isn’t your typical fashion company.The brand was started by Madison Maxey, a 19 year old California native in December 2011. Her company is organized around one concept; “Blazers for the Individual.” All of her designs reflect the idea that the blazer can be a more creative garment than what most stores currently have to offer.

Says Maddison:  ”At age 8, I started learning to sew, and since then I would ask for sewing machines for Christmas instead of cell phones or make-up. I spent my summers sitting in on college classes to learn more about the industry and fashion and I devoured books written by my idols on how they …

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Creative | Posted by Julie Z on 05/6/2012

Support Women Artists Sunday: Polly Scattergood

Polly Scattergood

Polly Scattergood (born 1987, Colchester, Essex, England), is a British singer-songwriter. She has been described as ethereal, dark, intense and quirky, while her musical style has been described as “early 21st century electro-dance-pop of London proper”. Scattergood’s debut album, self-titled, was released in spring 2009 in the United Kingdom and United States. Scattergood attended the Brit School where she wrote 800 songs. After graduation she caught the attention of music industry executive Neil Ferris who took on her management. Ferris then introduced Scattergood to Daniel Miller head of Mute Records. He led her to her current producer Simon Fisher Turner. Scattergood describes herself as a storyteller. “I write about emotions and moments, not all are biographical.”

via Wikipedia

Please Don’t Touch

I Hate The Way

Polly Scattergood on …

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Creative | Posted by Tiffany C on 05/4/2012

One Night Stand

Did she mention how I’m the girl of the moment?

Splashed across magazine cover pages like dripping acid from batteries

Radioactive toxic waste

How could you.

How could you.

Your bright blue eyes, cornflower blue—they said

He’s a gentleman and knows manners long dead

But you really weren’t; not at all what they said

Should I listen to them or the voices in my head?

Tell me this is wrong because it feels so right and I can’t think anymore

No end in sight

Your poisoned words so dark, so deep, penetrating their sickly message beneath

Smudged lipstick and weak resistance

And I’m not too sure what the truth is anymore

So when you tell your girlfriend the next day

Clock’s at 7; the minute hand set slightly off

Where

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