Creative | Posted by Shannon H on 04/8/2016
With our first breaths we are packaged and
itemized. We are placed on a conveyer belt and
processed through our adjacent existences
of Pink and Blue.
And I wonder what my colour is,
as a person who is both, and neither,
and nothing, and everything.
Sometimes I think that it must be White.
I feel as though if I close my eyes
I will be absorbed into that nebulous space
where I am supposed to exist.
My brother and sister sit on opposite sides of the same room;
I look at them and see that I am neither.
I do not belong in this space,
and in this realization the void has never felt so harrowing.
From within quiet rooms I hear whispers
about my hair and clothes, and I…
Creative | Posted by Samantha P on 02/6/2015
Basic Human Rights
What are you women truly fighting for?
What rights don’t you women have?
Basic human rights.
My consent for you to approach me and get to know me
Is a basic human right
My body does not define me
My clothes do not describe me
And your words are certainly not inviting
We the people, for the people, by the people
Don’t they mean we the men, for the men, by the men
I would love to walk down the street
And not be whistled at like a dog
I would love to sleep with whomever I want and not be called a slut
You receive a pat on the back while I receive a text
What makes any of this okay?
You feel content in your …
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, 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 Eden Halo on 04/26/2013
Midas and Medusa
Our suffering was human long before you
Tried to “humanise” it,
Give us the kiss of life,
I am not your wife, I am not your sister
I am not your fucking daughter, sorry to break
All this water
On the embers of you
Deigning, for once, to give a damn
What your friends do to us
By imagining we belong
To you — I will demonstrate
How little you know of possession
As I run
My keys along your car
Til your mouth unlocks, drops open
And I dive down your throat, walk around
In you, the cage
Of your ribs more spacious than
My own, two sizes too small,
Zero, counting down to take-off, space
For my heart all taken
With the frenzied tango
Of me watching you …
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
“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 …
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,
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