Creative | Posted by Halee K on 06/24/2011
I can shoot lightning bolts from my fingertips
Poetry spouts like jewel-encrusted bullets
From my chapped lips
Soul shining like a beacon
Behind my eyes
Creating tiny worlds
With each sleepy sigh.
Beautiful is a fecund seed inside
Empowering all, despite the lies.
Creative | Posted by Tesneem A on 06/17/2011
I’m sick and tired of you,
And I’m sick of the things you do,
I’m sick of the things you say,
And how you insist you have your own way,
For how can I forgive someone who can’t respect me and the choices I make,
A person who turns every rule I make into a rule to break?
My body is my temple and what happens to it is for me to decide,
And no, it is not just a matter of pride!
Shower me with all the sweet words you can say,
But I am not one you can easily sway,
You can try to make me cry out of guilt and sadness,
But it is all emotional blackmail I will not process.
Call me unlovable and stupid,
But …
Creative | Posted by Tesneem A on 06/3/2011
I won’t follow your conventions; I’ll lead my own way,
And I will refuse to listen to those that say nay,
I’ll speak my mind and do whatever I like,
Whether you think I am wrong or right,
For who are you to judge me or the things I do,
When you have barely spoken to me for a second or two?
I’ll welcome your friendship with open arms,
Yes I’m kind and cool, don’t be alarmed!
But the day you treat me like dirt on the floor,
You’ll sling your hook, and there’s the door!
I am a person of value and high esteem,
No matter how anyone else tries to make me seem.
Bash me and bruise me if you dare,
I’ll still trust my convictions sans any …
Creative | Posted by Tesneem A on 05/27/2011
Colour me flawless, colour me pretty,
Isn’t it enough that I’m smart, caring and witty?
I have my scars and I have my scratches,
I even have my fair share of bulges,
I wish that the skeletons would stay in their closets,
And that those cans of worms would remain closed,
But I can’t deny that I’ve had my woes,
For perfection for me is a far away dream,
Unattainable and ever elusively seen,
I know that life goes on, but I still despair,
No matter how much it looks like I don’t care,
But I wish it wasn’t so hard for me to let go,
It’s time to be resilient and live again, to be emancipated and elated,
Because if it’s true that the sky is the limit and …
Creative | Posted by JessicaMc on 05/13/2011
Vaginas and clitorises and lips,
cut to pieces, ripped open,
stitched up, closed up,
torn apart like dispensable junk.
Hanging bits of flesh
falling to the ground
and blood-soaked thighs trembling,
shaking in anguish.
Smell the dehumanization,
taste the mutilation:
metal, tears, blood, dirt, and sweat
between your lips,
between hers.
A vagina, treated worse than a toilet:
things shoved up there, seized out,
forced in: sharp knives, rough hands,
oiled guns, splintered brooms,
metal handles, thick rods, angry fists,
broken bottles, bruised egos,
men’s patriarchal muscle hanging
from their legs thrust in.
Females from the equator
to the prime meridian
hold back, embarrassed –
believing what we’re told:
our vagina needs to be
pink and pretty, like a petunia
and smell like one too –
no imperfections: no knicks, …
Creative | Posted by Shvaugn on 05/6/2011
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 …
Creative | Posted by Nurdiyansah on 04/15/2011
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…
Creative | Posted by Melanie Z on 04/8/2011
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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