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
Creative | Posted by Bindu B on 02/8/2013
My Pretty Girl, My Mother, My Devika
The very first time my father bedded
you, I wailed from the insides. Of your womb, that is. I was a
woeful little egg erupting in warning calls. My father
was the somber-faced virgin with the
hemp on his breath. And as your muscles flexed in support of
his weight, the patterns of henna adorning your arms told
stories and each was more horrible than the next. Women
balance the earth between their knees. It was the first time
since you were an infant that you were not undressing
yourself, Devika; you feared you forgot your body as it
naked. Your turmeric chiffon sari fell to the floor in a heap.
You are an immaculate folder of cloth, always. Women balance
the earth between their knees. Do strangers know …
Creative | Posted by Blue Rose on 03/30/2012
He’s inching closer ,
I’ve seen it before .
His lips ask love but his tongue says whore .
He caresses farther,
I am not there.
He kissed me back to my 8th year.
Momma just watches,
She kinda laughs.
Kevin is done so he strokes my calf.
I am defiled
I am dirt
I am handled
I am hurt
9 years later
A pawed up pet
I am not completely corrupted yet.
They can take my body,
And shatter my heart.
They can feed me lies,
And rip me apart.
They will grope every inch of me . I need it to feel whole
They will squeeze my being ,
But never molest my soul.
He’s inching closer,
I’ve seen it before.
His lips ask love but his tongue …
Creative | Posted by Bryan N on 02/3/2012
society told her she was ugly and she bought into the lie
she dissected every bit of herself for judgmental inspection
and tried to feel beautiful all in vain
comparing herself to photoshopped figures on a magazine page
I saw the sadness in her eyes
as she flipped through the shit they use sexualized bodies to advertise
subliminal brainwash since birth that writes on the mind
I want her to feel beautiful in the body she was born with
feel happy in her skin
never satisfied with the body she is in
compliments never do shit so where do I begin
she points at bodies she says are perfect
not knowing that she is too
sadness blooms as she starts to slip
downward spiral spin
cuts down on meals to …
Creative | Posted by Julie Z on 12/30/2011
Winner of FemFlash 2011: Male Privilege
I recently had the honor of co-judging a Feminist Flash Poetry and Fiction contest (called FemFlash) for the website MookyChick. The winner of the contest was recently announced and I’m proud to cross-post the winning poem: “Male Privilege” by C. Askew. Read the other finalists here.
by C. Askew
Give me the shovel.
Give me the tattoo gun’s kiss on my skin.
Give me the hard day’s work.
Give me the graveyard shift.
Give me the white van.
Give me lager and the night.
Give me the warship and the race car.
Give me the walk home alone.
Give me the chainsaw.
Give me the streetlit alleyway.
Give me the roadmap’s cryptic veins.
Give me the fearless midnight park.
Give me the swagger.
Give me …
Creative | Posted by Nicole T on 07/8/2011
The Girl Doesn’t Like to Compromise
the girl doesn’t like to compromise.
she likes to sip mauy tais while staring at guys and watching movies waddle across the television screen. the girl likes to tell the truth but is more comfortable with lies.
she kissed one of her boyfriends in secret because of his blue eyes, her girlfriend in secret because of her second pair of lips, and man that she carnally desired behind closed doors because of the extension between his hips, while
still touching finger tips with her girlfriend. Sometimes she wished that they were all just friends. The guys and the girl… and the other guys that are not mentioned. She wishes that she could sit in an apartment alone, while her girl and those guys pendulum closely by, and she can experience …
Creative | Posted by Talia on 07/1/2011
He Promised Her A Rose Garden
It was 1976.
Peak of the women’s lib movement.
New York, New York.
Peak of the peak.
She was going for a PhD in psych.
She could, thanks to Betty Friedan.
“After you finish your PhD,” he told her,
“We’ll move to Long Island.
Have three or four kids.
Buy a house.
With a white picket fence,
And a rose garden.”
She was nineteen.
She fell for it.
A week after the wedding
He got fired.
It wasn’t such a surprise.
Between the mental illness
Never showing up
And long sick leaves
It was just a matter of time.
“I won’t get a job immediately,” he told her.
“You can type anywhere.
I have to do something important.
I have to have a career.
I’m the man of …
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 …