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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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 Katie M on 09/21/2012

Hero

We all know I’ve given you everything,
that – as far as I’m concerned sometimes – I have nothing left.
You took it all, because I gave it. Freely, willingly, without hesitation,
you didn’t have to ask.
Sometimes you didn’t.

I’ve given you all my words,
and now I don’t have much more to say.
At least, I won’t, when I finally tell the whole big scary truth –
which, despite my best efforts, I have yet to do.

When I say that it’s all out there… Well, that’s a lie.
Some of my secrets I’m still keeping.
Some of my wounds, well, they’re still bleeding.

You cut me deep, you know, and I can still see the scars.

You said you wanted it to have always been my choice.…

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Creative | Posted by Quin R on 01/13/2012

You See A Body

You see a body; not a person,

Mind you, that’s above your comprehension

But a body-strike that-an object, a plaything

A dish to be sampled to satisfy some sick craving

Never mind that you don’t even know her name,

Much less her personality, her interests, but it’s just a game

To you isn’t it? It’s not as if she really has time to give

A damn, what with everything heaped upon her just to live!

Between the driving, and the career, the shopping, the cooking,

The raising the children, the endless workouts, the starving herself to keep looking

Just as skinny as you could damn well please, thank you very much! The night class,

The no-sleep, the three-minimum-wage-jobs-just-to-make-rent, but she’s just a piece of ass

To you, isn’t she? She …

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Creative | Posted by Nicole T on 07/15/2011

The Dishwasher’s Daydream

The sink-washed dishes clap thunderously as you dry them

against one another, as if attempting to ignite a fire between

two friendly sticks. The result: a broken dish

or another proclamation that “This cup…plate…bowl is cracking.”

The washed skin on my hand is growing apart, like the leather on

a cow’s back, and it goes down the drain, and gets cozy with the debris

along with the blood that came from cleaning knives too quickly.

You scurry around the kitchen, telling me about your day

as you shove the dishes into their proper places. The plates go

above the larger plates, and ceramic cups go into a different cupboard

next to the other things that aren’t identical in size and shape.

And if I were a bowl, I would be …

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