the world is vast,
and I am but one gaunt
footstep in it’s
abdomen; always stretching
to swallow another
men say it should be women
some women agree,
but I don’t think anyone should be
devoured beneath the assemblage
of rights; why can’t we all live
in peace together?
men are born of women yet so
quickly rise against them
terrified of their voices,
misogyny becomes the normality
some can accept —
but not me.
I wonder why so many succumb to things
they shouldn’t allow;
is it because it’s easier than fighting or
because they’re afraid of losing?
there is nothing more frustrating than to stand
here knowing everything is wrong,
and being told that it is right
I was taught to stand for everything virtuous
even if it meant standing alone;
my bones may break, but my heart won’t be
tainted by the evil others so readily allow —
I am sick of being a woman in a man’s world,
why can’t I simply be a person living
breathing and loving in the world? why is it
that I must be sought out for my gender
I did not engender myself, for who would want to
be treated with such vile
wonderment and belittled for
their sex?
not I, and not anyone, I’d assume
so if no one will slay these dragons with me
then let me slay them alone;
I’ve already killed so many prejudices, what’s one more?
who is the serpent?
there is a gorgon
who once knew beauty
they say she was a monster,
I say she was betrayed; in the
hour of her need the gods
looked unkindly upon her
punished her for a man’s crime.
not much has changed
thousands of years later —
women are still blamed for the sins
of men as if by being by virtue
what and whom we are we enticed
the darkness indwelling from
their hearts to pour out
into the wellspring of life,
and it’s disgusting how readily
some swallow this deluge.
were they not born of women? are
there no mothers, sisters, cousins,
nieces, granddaughters, daughters,
lovers, or wives in their lives?
it’s evidenced in the bible as this
a man’s nature is to be evil,
but a woman who’s lost her spark of
goodness is ten times worse than
that man for her nature is to nurture and love —
then why is it men want to paint her into
a gorgon and make her into witches?
have they not enough idols to burn?
standing on the precipice in time I feel as if
we’re going backward instead of forward,
and women’s rights is a joke that isn’t catching on —
don’t stand too close you might catch my
social disease clinging to the tag of the gender
God presented me with at birth.
won't sell out
they say
i'm more than
a pretty face,
but they
don't want to hear
me speak
to read my words
rippling
on the pages of
books of poetry or novels
they simply want to appease my
deep anger and indignation
that all men can see
when they look
at me are
my good looks
they all want sex from me,
but not a relationship
because commitment is
overrated when
everyone else is giving it
away for free,
but not me
i won't sell out i'll stand here
alone if i have to because
i want a good man
one that can see past all
my beauty and charm
one that sees my
soul and heart as something
more beautiful
than the
contortions of my body.
less than a man
i cannot unsex myself
sometimes wish i
could
because there seems
to be so much
disdain
for women
as if our strength isn't strong
enough for a man,
and i wish i could stop
the venemous
sea
of hatred against women
it doesn't matter
what country you're in
all around the world women are
treated like cattle
in one way or another; is it
because they fear
their fragile patriarchy is on the
verge of collapse?
that amazons will again attack
strike back with their
daughters,
and destroy the wounds the
men have inflicted
upon us through the ages?
i wish i held those
answers,
but it's not a thought process
i can understand
all i know is that i'm a woman and
somehow that makes me
less than a man.
put down your stone
sunsets of crimson light
burn the flames of my rage
against this current state
of derangement, an arrangement of stones thrown
at victims violates them only again as if the
first time weren't nearly hard enough;
support for rapists rings loudly and stronger
than the aid for the victims —
how could we arrive at the conclusion like this?
women are more than your sex slaves,
much more than mere objects to gratify the desires of men;
don't these people have mothers, cousins, sisters, or nieces?
even wolves don't rip into each other so cruelly,
these broken girls once had dreams and still do yet they're
told you shouldn't have let yourself get raped —
instead of teaching girls this,
why aren't boys taught 'don't rape'?
morality is about as common as common sense whose wings
have fled this land of idolatry and immorality —
ignorance sings, but it is not bliss
to those who actually hold knowledge in our minds,
knowing in our hearts that this is wrong;
having to listen to the disgusting justifications that justify nothing at all.
there is no honor in hate
cruelty bestowed
by the hand of her brother
an ax to the face,
Gul Meena's brains dislocated so the world
could see — a miracle that
she lived; yet she wished she were dead
my heart breaks for this girl
only wanting love and a life where
something good happened,
where she was truly happy
yet her brother killed her dreams and her love —
almost murdered her; my fury burns
like the flames of stars, i wish i could scald
him in my fury long and outstretching
as the arms of the oldest oak
i cannot understand — why can anyone fathom
such an atrocity is atoned by the excuse of
honor, it is beyond me in a culture i don't comprehend
yet i know that this is wrong in my
heart of hearts and i can't imagine they don't know this too —
if animals can get along despite their differences
love transcending between species and generation gaps
why is that we humans cannot do the same, why is it that our hate
consumes our sense if we are the only animals that can act civilized
is there a reason why we're always content to be beasts?
the answer lays in the fact that it's easier
in assuming no responsibility than to swallow the truth that
every action holds a consequence,
that evilness lurks in the hearts of men.
purity and disaster
i've grown tired of this monotony
women are either
the virgin, the slut, or the crone
no middle ground
or forgiveness for the ones
inbetween;
as if the only things women
can be are purity
or disaster
maybe we're all a bit of both
women and men alike—
it's so easy to
blame
a scapegoat rather than to look at the
problem and it's roots
scrabbling across the tapestry
of time
maybe matriarchies were wrong,
but what is so grand about
patriarchy?
of only being remembered by a name
first that of your father
then that
of a spouse should you take one;
maybe i want to be
remembered for me for all my thoughts
for all the writing for all my dreams—
maybe i want to be more than
hatred
or the wreckage of
sexist wars
purity and disaster,
or a mere name
perhaps i just want to be me.
a woman's worth
what is the worth of
a woman,
is it more or less than
a man?
should it even matter?
i rather think not
we should
be considered equals,
and yet we're
not in all our
intelligence
we neglected basic human
rights should be for
both man
and woman, she was
taken from the rib
not to be beneath him
or crushed beneath
his heel;
but to stand beside him
his partner, to be close to his heart
to be cherished and yet
patriarchies
scream their dominance
insist only men matter.
insults
why is for a man to be like
a woman, it's an insult?
but for a woman
to be like a man (outside of appearance)
is praise;
for it must imply that
women are weak
somehow not good enough
yet we did not engender ourselves
we did not ask any diety
to make us a woman if we had this
choice many of us would be
men—
because even in this modern age
to be a woman is a curse,
especially a beautiful
one for all men
are want to see are the contortions
of your body not the beauty of
the soul dwelling within;
being a woman
is insulting
because everyone wants to use you
as a vessel, fill you with
their seed
make you bear a child
prolong their futile name so it doesn't
die out on the earth.
forget yourself
to be a woman is a curse. like a vampire, all anyone wants to do is stake you. you're beautiful, but too dangerous to be trusted. at any second you could snap and snarl, and in this society that just can't be accepted. you must be meek and humble like a new born lamb, forget the harpy claws your mother gave you, insist on being kind to men who are unkind to you. must accept the fate the patriarchy throws on you, the expectations of bride and mother. in this process forget yourself—become the puppet they want you to be, let them pull your strings. forget about the independence and dreams and desires of your youth.
less than human
i do not believe in
abortion, and
yet isn't it a woman's choice
to decide what she
wants to do?
yet you want to take that
away from her
demand she have a child
it'll just make illegal
abortions
common place again, and women
will die as a result
i do not believe in abortion;
but i believe everyone
has a choice
or should have that right
even if i don't agree with it
because who am i
to judge them
with my own skeletons jingling
in the closet?
my body is my body,
and i don't want anyone to
dictate how it's to be
used;
i am a woman,
but that doesn't make me
less than human.
to be a woman
why is it they
always tell me that
i'm beautiful?
there's nothing more
superficial
than someone who only
wants your looks,
and there's no measure to
the hurt it brings
yet they all insist on telling
me that i'm pretty;
and i'm glad of the compliment
yet tell me something
more,
be willing to stick around to
peel back the layers
of my onion
share in my agony as well as my
bliss to kiss away to
shadows in my eyes
i crave to
be more than beautiful
i want to change
the world
with dignity and grace
clothe the world in memories of
healing and laughter
be seen as more
than my gender, but as a living
breathing person with
emotions and thoughts and feelings
and rights just like any man
is given.
servitude
the men that order food off of me either look at me as a saint or the insect they can crush beneath their shoe. i try hard not to let their condescention get to me, but how can i not notice their pointed stares, the evil glares, the nasty tone they take with me? i wonder, i wonder will anyone consider me an equal? or will i always be looked down upon because of my sex and occupation. will people roll their eyes, try to stamp over me until i'm among the dead? i don't know, i can't discern, i am not a diviner. i only know that to be a woman is hard, to be a woman serving a man is even harder.
like a man
made the mistake of
letting you
objectify me
became your possession
something you
could throw away
when the next
best thing came around,
and you did
mama said you never did
treat me right
and daddy said he was
sorry;
but you never gave me the
apology i so craved
thought i deserved
i wonder how many women
have been deceived by
men telling them they
loved them
when all they did was lust them—
tell me why was i beneath
you?
because i was a woman
or because i was
me
because either way, it was wrong
to wound me and one day
you won't be able to hide behind
mommy's skirt;
you'll have to take
all the pain
you've given me
like a man.
know your worth
to be a woman
is to be
a slave not only to your
own body,
but to the demands of the
society;
to be a woman is always
putting other's needs
ahead of your own
thinking of your men and your
children, going without
but who's looking out for us?
seems like
even all these centuries later
our rights are non-existent
trying to dominate
not only us but or bodies
tell us what to do,
as if our will is unimportant;
deny yourself,
patiarchy—
gird your loins with some humility,
mercy, and grace
learn that to be a woman is
not an insult,
it doesn't make us beneath
a man but beside him.
