Creative | Posted by Augusta G on 01/7/2015
If you can’t handle me,
If my girl-power, middle-finger, bra-burning bothers you
Because I am only gaining momentum
I am charging,
Ignited by the tide of my moon
Surrounded by my sisters.
I am a bitch
And damn proud of it.
You label me,
For fear of my labia -
You try to turn down my volume,
Fix and fondle me.
But I don’t need to be handled,
I have two hands
And they work damn well between my thighs.
Creative | Posted by Kinder L on 12/26/2014
In class my professor stated that being comfortable
is a key factor to a society evolving.
At the time, I took her word for it. But
that night as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t help but
think about what she had said.
The more and more I thought about it,
the more and more I started to disagree.
It is with being too comfortable that my problems began
and I was lead astray.
Astray from the life I wanted to live.
Astray from the person I wanted to be.
I got too comfortable with the idea that I wasn’t good enough.
I got too comfortable with thinking that it is alright to
dismiss your intelligence to appear more attractive
in the eye of society.
I got too …
Creative | Posted by Georgia P on 08/29/2014
Shut up he barked
Sit down he wined
Raise your voice he howled
Raise your cup to me he giggled
Make pure and tender love to me he snapped
Pick me up in your arms and tell me how to change he snaked
Shut up he whispered, into my ear on this cold, cold night
Pull out the chairs when they sit down he commanded
Read my mind he yearned
When my mother comes cover your bruises and show me that smile he snickered
When my father comes cover your chest and cross your legs he murmured
Know me like no one has ever known me, care for me like no one has before we wished
to each other
Shut up, he pounded into me, his sweaty hands slurping my …
Creative | Posted by Ariella C on 08/1/2014
A Daily Serving of Misogyny
Most do not realize that
they have swallowed you up
today along with their breakfast
and that you are their favorite cereal
Yours is a deceptive brand
claiming to have enough
servings of vitamins
while it is really only
heaps of sodium
Sometimes your sugar
thickens my tongue
so that when my father
says I am a killjoy and
my brother sneers and
calls me a lesbian for choosing
to learn amongst girls
and only girls
I say nothing
They say you are less in
stock nowadays but
as I amble down the supermarket
aisle I see enough of you
leering out at me
to last another twenty years
You are not as rare as they think
And even so, people have …
Creative | Posted by Emily Z on 02/21/2014
Ridges of her spine like fish
emerging from the water:
she stands, condensation dotting
the mirror. Swift shock,
change snapped from the fingers.
Past tense, present: glass,
arrows in knees, never: transparency
in spite of itself, choked
back, unnecessary. I wish, I wish.
Creative, Feminism | Posted by Riya S on 11/8/2013
A Feminist Wave of Fury
I’m not walking ‘before’ Anybody.
I’m not here to parade my body,
Or prance and flit about.
Cause under all the prettiness,
There beats an Amazon heart.
To wear what We want.
To do what We dream.
To be who We are.
I’m watching you with Feminist eyes ,
Waiting for a slip up.
Blood’s been lost for Black and White.
But for battle? Not a drop.
To love whom We want,
But only When We please.
We want to be free.
It’s one thing to be proud of being women but I believe that equality can only be achieved if we treat everyone according to their individual merits. I think that being denied opportunities or being treated as less because of What and not Who you are is a …
Creative | Posted by Riya S on 08/30/2013
The Universal Sisterhood of Puberty
Pain dripping down my legs.
Bumps growing from my chest.
Doubled up. Feel the heat.
Mum, I NEED something to eat!
Checking out the guys,
Just when did they turn out so nice?
Look at myself in mirror again-
I look good!
Call me hormonal. Call me weird.
I’m feeling sick and tired
Of the pain of my red
And the sore swellings on my chest.
Now I’m staring at the bathroom floor.
I don’t call it a sickness anymore.
It’s my invite to a worldwide party
Of girls celebrating Puberty.
Creative | Posted by Tiffany C on 05/3/2013
Let me ask you this:
What do we teach our daughters
When the bestselling doll on the market, Barbie,
Has a made-up face and mascara-ed eyes and lips as pink as grapefruit,
But not enough ambition or intelligence to calculate her net worth?
What do I tell my daughter
when we pass through Toys-R-Us
And she wants that artificial décolletage in a box,
This trickery, chicanery of Mattel
who fashioned this doll, this plastic piece of shit
With a serial number lingering on her lower back like a tramp stamp
Above slim thighs which gap and disproportionate legs,
Legs, I tell her, that would snap beneath
Barbie’s weight if she were real
That would make her fall at the slightest step,
Only for the purpose of mass-production and consumerism