Creative | Posted by Augusta G on 01/7/2015
If you can’t handle me,
If my girl-power, middle-finger, bra-burning bothers you
Because I am only gaining momentum
I am charging,
Ignited by the tide of my moon
Surrounded by my sisters.
I am a bitch
And damn proud of it.
You label me,
For fear of my labia –
You try to turn down my volume,
Fix and fondle me.
But I don’t need to be handled,
I have two hands
And they work damn well between my thighs.
Creative | Posted by Kinder L on 12/26/2014
In class my professor stated that being comfortable
is a key factor to a society evolving.
At the time, I took her word for it. But
that night as I tried to fall asleep, I couldn’t help but
think about what she had said.
The more and more I thought about it,
the more and more I started to disagree.
It is with being too comfortable that my problems began
and I was lead astray.
Astray from the life I wanted to live.
Astray from the person I wanted to be.
I got too comfortable with the idea that I wasn’t good enough.
I got too comfortable with thinking that it is alright to
dismiss your intelligence to appear more attractive
in the eye of society.
I got too …
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 | Posted by Emily Z on 02/21/2014
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.
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.”
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 Tori A on 02/22/2013
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.
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 …