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 Jo E on 01/22/2016

Bisexuality Isn’t Real, My Ass.

Somehow she ended up sitting next to me on the couch as the five of us snuggled. Three of us ended up on the L shaped couch, the other two on the floor. And there she was. Next to me, sitting back after she had gotten the movie—“The Shining”—set up on her TV.

It didn’t take long for me to forget about my discomfort and focus on the movie, which was good, and not so scary that I couldn’t watch. But then she grabbed my arm and pulled it around her, lying her body back against my chest, and I could smell how nice she smelled — she was obsessed with nice-smelling lotions and hair sprays. I tried not to let her feel the tension that she inspired in my …

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

Nameless

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 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

Feminism

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

Saying, “whore”

What makes any of this okay?

You feel content in your …

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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 | 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.

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Creative | Posted by Tiffany C on 05/3/2013

Barbie

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 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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