Creative | Posted by Shvaugn on 05/6/2011
Red Sunflower Desire
I can remember
the first time I split
this earth open,
locked within the blooming
garden of sunflowers that
formed the upstairs bathroom.
I told you first
almost begging, asking about
how I should tell our parents.
You dragged me downstairs
and pushed me forward
spilling forth with the news
as we all sat there awkwardly,
my small frame I was already beginning
to hate
buried beneath the blue folds
of my bathrobe,
underwear pressing tightly to my skin
as if to brand me
with red secrets of shame that
I would carry through out
the years.
I checked off day one immediately
beginning a regular cycle
of forgetfulness and inconvenience for
I can no longer count
between the lines in my memories,
a stack of pads sitting
on the …
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Creative | Posted by Nurdiyansah on 04/15/2011
The Little Girl Dance
The little girl is dancing terribly wild
She clinks, how her body moves
Only herself
While she’s surrounded by boys
Whirling like a lily
Turning around over and over
Until loose from the rotation
And her hands try to reach the sun above
She laughs so loudly at the moment of her dance
Doesn’t care what people think
A girl is plunging into her own love
Love needs no boy
Love needs herself to be a happy person
The little girl is still dancing madly
With eyes open widely
With smiles bursting widely
Everybody knows they see a happines in her
But somehow, they say : “She is crazy”
The little girl stops and gets dizzy
Every eye lights her
Again, she doesn’t care
Her chest moves up and down…
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Creative | Posted by Melanie Z on 04/8/2011
My Body Is
My body is not an object.
It is not another’s to sculpt or scrutinize.
It is not the canvas on which you paint your expectations and standards.
It is not your playground.
My body is not your project.
It is not where you decide.
It can’t be told what to wear, how to change, when to be available.
Its boundaries are not determined by the others.
My body is my home.
It is where I write my story.
It is where and how and why I reject your critiques and limitations.
It is rebellion in itself.
My body is a revolution.
It is the personification of my soul.
It is the vehicle through which I dance, riot, love, explore.
It is my choice.
It is my reclamation.
It is ever …
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Creative | Posted by Cinda SL on 02/25/2011
Roar
It began as a whisper, of one woman leaning into the ear of another, “Do you feel it?” she asked.
Then whispered to another, “Do you feel it?” and it began to spread, this whisper, from one woman to another, to another, whispering, “Do you feel it? Do you feel it?”
The question was asked, once, then twice, then ten hundred whispers around the world; women wondering what it was they were feeling. The whispering pulsed as the need for the answer grew.
“Do you feel it?”
The rhythm became stronger, bolder, as it spread to their hearts; knowing not which was the whisper and which was the heartbeat, for the two became one. More and more women began to feel the pounding of a need, not yet understood, and …
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Creative | Posted by Talia on 01/7/2011
She Will (Not) Be Loved
I walk down the hall, books held so tightly against my chest that my knuckles are white. I don’t know three-quarters of the people I pass but I feel they’re all looking me, that they can just see what I did with Hailey last night, that they’ll shun me like they did to Christopher, and Jason, and Liana…
“Hey, Gwen,” I hear Hailey’s lovely singsong voice say from behind me, and my knees begin to buckle. The memory of her hand on my cheek, my fingers in her hair, my lips on hers…
“Hi, Hailey,” I say weakly. Hailey catches up to me and walks next to me, as if things were totally normal, as if we hadn’t kissed and touched passionately, for well over an hour until my parents …
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Creative | Posted by Elise F on 12/10/2010
Phantasm
what do i dream of, while i’m lying alone in my bed,
swallowed by the darkness,
comforted only by the branches whispering into my window
i can’t fall asleep.
i see the faces, of all the girls
who have slipped through the barrier of our planet
see them crying, see them screaming
see them gasping and thrashing
i see them so well,
it is almost as if the images are being projected onto the dark ceiling
and i can’t fall asleep.
the feeling suffocates me, grabs me
its strong fingers tearing at my skin,
letting the darkness get to me.
my ears buzz, my throat starts closing
and i squeeze my eyes as tight as i can
knowing if i let tears stream down my flushed face,
it’s a sign …
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Creative | Posted by Lindsay T on 12/3/2010
All You Wanted
I cannot be what you want.
It is this thought that wakes me, that draws me from a fitful sleep in sweat-dampened sheets, that pulls me down the hall. My eyes are closed still, shut tightly against what will come next. I am safer this way. The real monsters do not invade my dreams. The real monsters haunt only during consciousness.
But it doesn’t matter if my eyes are closed or not. I know this route too well. I know that tonight will be like all the nights before.
My fingers are shaking as they close around the pewter doorknob, twisting it open. I slip inside. It is just a whisper of a movement made by a whisper of a girl. The door closes silently behind me. I am good …
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Creative | Posted by Emily B on 11/24/2010
Excerpt from a Fairytale
Girls should have exoskeletons, he told her.
Their ribs could be can openers.
My parents never touched each other enough, she said.
He traced her stomach like a coloring book, stopping
And starting to a thousand imaginary traffic lights.
“Happiness is a cliché,” he told her.
“I want to feel in black and white,” she said.
She wanted her heart to print receipts.
Their menus rest on the table like slain birds.
She garnished her soul like it was a thing to be consumed.
Every human being is waiting, she said,
At the bus stop of someone else’s
soul. wanting to be taken to Paradise.
So stop waiting, he said.
He imagined her soul bobbing away, like a balloon.
She wanted to kill him and press him into the
dictionary …
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