Creative | Posted by Georgia P on 08/29/2014

Progress

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 …

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Creative | Posted by Emily Z on 02/21/2014

Woman

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.

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Creative, Pop-Culture | Posted by Julie Z on 01/25/2014

Saturday Vids: Ten Responses to the Phrase ‘Man Up’

Thanks so much to reader Monique for submitting this fantastic video of spoken-word poet Guante describing ten ways to respond to the phrase “Man Up.”

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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 …

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Creative | Posted by Tori A on 02/22/2013

Reborn

The ability to move and be moved by another person, to love and be loved, sends chills down my spine.
To feel another’s emotions intertwined with my own.
The exquisite high of a touch, a smile, a moment, awakens my lungs so that they may breathe in the fresh surroundings you bear.
I once was deaf to the voices of reason.
I once was blind to the changes around me.
But now, I take it all in.
Like a newborn’s first glimpse of the world, you have made me anew.
Like my soul once sat partial, you have made me whole.
Flesh on flesh you consume me.
You take me as I am.
Let me be only grateful to hold you in my arms while I am allowed to.

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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
appeared

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 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

dieting tea.

“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 …

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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,

Awkward

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

Was …

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