Creative | Posted by Shannon H on 04/8/2016

The Binary

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…

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Creative | Posted by Jordan P on 12/4/2015

Are You Beach Body Ready?

“Beach body ready?”

The words claw at my brain

digging between the intricate folds of my unconscious

the instant I step onto the crowded subway.

My legs move to a seat as if they had brains of their own

because my eyes are transfixed on the neon yellow billboard ahead

I stare.


At the white woman’s sultry facial expression

her breasts protruding out of her yellow bikini

the frizzless blonde hair

size 20 waist

large hips

arched back

small nose

opened legs.


This woman doesn’t exist.

She is an object used to sell.

Exploited across Manhattan

telling women to try her weight loss powder

because just look how well it worked!

Isn’t it so nice of her to want to help womankind?


I know she is photo-shopped.…

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Creative | Posted by Poulami S on 11/27/2015


Little bits and pieces; memoirs of the future,

Box of broken laces; stitched up with a suture.

My soul’s meant to be sold,

As the story unfolds-

A sinner has no shame,

I’m the girl without a name.

No bones in my spine,

No morals entwined,

Your truth’s the biggest lie,

Broken wings never fly.

My soul’s meant to be sold,

As the story unfolds-

A sinner has no shame,

I’m the girl without a name.

I’m the girl who fits no locus,

Like a picture out of focus.

When “I” is purged with deceit,

Silence speaks with no conceit.

Yet, my soul’s meant to be sold

Let the story unfold;

I’m the sinner with no shame

I’m the girl without a name.

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Creative | Posted by Saskia G on 04/3/2015


The curve of you,

where the cheek meets the thigh,

is sweeter than lips strawberry

in a tinted photo

which is not your own anymore.

Instead savor

the place of skin wrapped by summer

clothes stretched as you run.

A prickle

of grass at the back of your neck

and sweat on your hairline,

delicate musk

in its stickiness trailing down,

down into the gentle creases

circling the mounds.

You create your own humidity.

Trap it here now,

to use it later or maybe

find it in memory

at that party where you sent the calling,

just sitting, testing,

like smoke in your favorite princess movies

and you were asked to dance.

The first time is power.


Twine them out, those summer tendrils,

use them only when you wish…

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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 …

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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
which …

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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 …

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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 …

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