I try to be a positive person
I acknowledge my strengths, which are also my flaws
I am passionate, devoted, and I strive for self-growth
These are all great things
except for the times when they aren't;
the times when I see news articles about little girls
who were ***** and impregnated
and killed themselves rather than deliver the baby
that their ****** put inside them
I am passionate about this subject
I am devoted to working for a change
so that the next girl has the rights over
her own body;
so that the next girl has the right to choose her own life
over a life ruled by violation
and I strive for the self-growth to be patient
but I am angry
I am angry for that girl, yes
and also for myself
I, as a woman, do not have the rights to make decisions
for my own body
I cannot walk into the doctor's office and schedule
a procedure to stop me from
ever having children
without my husband's consent
without having already birthed children prior
and I am also not allowed to have an abortion in
nine states, even at the risk of my own life
and that's just in the United States
I am angry because it is legal
for doctors to stitch me up extra tight after giving birth
to please my husband
at the risk of my health and safety
and they don't even have to ask me about it
I am angry because I as a woman am treated
like I am a weaker, lesser person
for the simple crime of being born with a slit
instead of a *****
And I am angry because there are still those
who would deny the existence of unequal treatment
between the sexes
simply because they have never experienced it
I am angry because women before me
have fought for rights to their bodies
that women today are still having to fight
tooth and claw to keep
and men have the audacity to say that feminism
is an overreaction
"Not all men"
but enough that women are still oppressed
even in a society where it has been
scientifically proven
that we are capable of making equality and equity
a reality
and yet deny its necessity

I am among the Here and Now,
where I find myself standing on the sidewalk
in the middle of a town full of people
and I suddenly feel small;
a profound, reaching feeling
that is called 'alone',
a single word that means everything
I realize that though I know
where I am
and I know each stone by name
I feel out of place;
the sort of misplacement that
makes me feel like a stranger
to my own heart
My own hands begin to feel like
raw, new skin
And I do cherish the words on my tongue
because they are the only thing
that feels familiar and real

I walk around
and
nothing feels real
I wave my hand in front of my face
and it blurs
like I'm moving at the speed
of light
even though it looks so slow
My mind is blank
and all I can think about
is how empty
I feel
It's as though I am
someone else
completely

The Graveyard Closed some night
some time ago
SomeOne was Left - Behind
There is a knock upon the Door
SomeOne is let Inside
Inside - the house
it's quiet, warm
then Ice creeps across the floor
SomeOne is in the House
SomeOne who will ask for More

I want to
grab you from behind
and hold a blade
close to your throat
I want to rip out
your spine
and use the splintered bone
to sew your mouth
shut
I want to stomp on your ribs
until they crack
like glow sticks
and make cake with your blood
It tastes sweeter than love

Undistinguished
I'm sure you thought
you were the only one
but amongst so many
we truly are amorphous
Faces differ and voices change
but who are we but repeats of an idealistic social standard?
There are so many standards, in fact
that we can't all possibly be the same one
or more than five
Good riddance to yesterday
when we were considered
normal
Hello, today we are emotional
Hello, today we are confident
Hello, today we wear shorts and skimpy tops
Tomorrow is pajama day
Do you like my new shoes?
Sickening and so similar
to when we once stated that we would never be
'those'

Left
Aghast, Agape, Aggrieved
The open mouth of the
-Cave-
Yawns at me (ME!)
Ice breath washes over my face
(It) smells like the sea
below where we know;
where creatures live
that do not
-Breathe-
and never Grow
;

When do we get respect?
We're told from a young age
to respect our elders,
to obey - not just listen
We're told we don't know better
because we're kids
Then we become adults
and still, we're treated as less.
What is respect to the modern man?
Is it blind obedience
and a fear of arguments
in all forms,
or is it the sensation I get when I see women supporting women?
But you don't respect that.
Actually, the idea of respect that I've been taught versus
the reality I have experienced
is showing me more and more
that when older people
demand 'respect'
they usually mean fear
and complacency.
But I'm not afraid anymore.
I know what respect is.
You do, too, or else you wouldn't spend
so much time teaching us
that respect is synonymous with terror.
And I think that you spend so much time
demanding our fear
because you are afraid of us.
You are terrified of
the girl with colored hair,
the boy who wears a dress,
the woman who demands autonomy,
the man who stays home with his kids,
the artist who sings about the abuse you dished out,
the little babies sleeping in their gender-neutral rooms.
You are afraid, and we're not.
But it's basic respect, isn't it?

The light bends down
lending a willows reach
hold steady your
perception
you have lessons yet to teach
Begin your travels
wanderer
and pace easy through your trials
Fall into pools
swim endlessly
Flee quickly from their
pitying smiles
Follow the rabbit into the woodland
glade
A gentle sloping waterfall
Let the water cleanse
what it has made
Lightly we trace the marks
Left
Behind
and wonder how long
we will have to wait
to leave this
place
Sleep soundly while the children scream
And hollow out your ears
turn blinded eyes
to their little cries
and sleep, sleep, sleep
peacefully
Wake into the dark and hold your breath
wait for sounds that
others can't hear
And when they come
please do not
run
there's no use hiding from your fears
dry your eyes and wipe your tears
Lean close and when
its claws dig in
smile
and give thanks to your
friend
Tuck into your dinner
there's worms in the pie
There are cups full of poison
we're all waiting to
die
Will it hurt when we slip away
into the night
when no one around is awake
Slip away
Fall deep into the dark
and stay

It's nighttime in this new place
where everyone feels at home.
In the dark, the lights of the city prosper
and laughter fills the streets
as bars empty out
and their patrons go home
You follow her;
not for a particular reason
You don't know her
none of her features strike you as familiar
or interesting
She was just there, where you were
and now you're going
to where she will be
She goes into her home
Safe, supposedly
You enter after her
unseen, unheard
until you strike
You are killing her
and she begs you to stay
so that she doesn't die
alone
...
You Leave

She fills her heart with paper
and she fills her lungs with words
and when she breathes
her blood is a song
that her body wrote
She drapes herself in colored ink
and dances in the rain
and the water pools below her
in swirls of inky stains
She fills her heart with paper
and she fills her lungs with paint
and when she breathes
her blood is a picture
that her eyes drew
She drapes herself in poetry
and dances in the rain
and the water pools below her
in swirls of written pain
She fills her heart with paper
and she fills her lungs with soot
and when she breathes
her blood is a fire
that her mind created
She drapes herself in ashes
and dances in the rain
and the water pools below her
her words, like dragons, slain

The graveyard Closed
some night ago - some time ago
and Left SomeOne Behind
The Things who Fled
to Soot-Covered beds
would Know who More is
and why SomeOne asked for Her
More is a Beast
and a Sigh
but who she is, No One knows,
and most are too Scared
to ask WHY

Nothing, No One, Nowhere, Nothing
What is it like
to believe in something?
Say something must be better than nothing
but I am not crying and you are not smiling
and both of us are
sad
You are not perfect and I am not something
I am not one thing and you are not nothing
We are going nowhere on the road as no one
Nothing, No One, Nowhere, Nothing
What is is like
to believe you are something?

A shattered wing (of glass)
that never flew
and does not whisper to (or in) the wind
The ice-touched bird lent snow to branches
which wept songs that sang their sorrows
across the promised land
We drank the truths none dared to tell
(We didn't understand)
and dared to breathe the midnight waters
(the well was cold, our senses left)
Not night, but death;
our dying
breath

Your paper smiles
drawn on with red and black and pink
do not lift your eyes or bare your teeth
Colorful; insecure, hidden
Where are your claws?
those that you flash to the sky and the dirt
dig into the earth
and uncover nothing
Where are your wings?
those wings without feathers, that do not touch the clouds
blackened as they graze the ground
and are useless but for show
Where is your voice?
those cries you silence, those screams you shush
broken and brittle and naked, exposed and bleeding
soundless

A fidget did happen upon
a slighter hint of sense
and so did she conjoin
to fit a great pretense
Enter the grand old master
who plays his wicked lute
his armor is mistaken
for an Italian-made silk suit
They danced until the morning
and danced the more 'till noon
and that is when she realized
her heel would fail quite soon
A fidgets stride did falter
and the music it did stop
but not in time to alter;
just missed it by a drop
Fell down, the merry maiden
upon the merry steep
and like a candle, flickered
and faded off to sleep

There is a silence that hovers, lingers
it lurks in the ringing of my ears;
the violence of passivity
the broken remains of a living breath
crawl along the forest floor like a starved leech;
latching onto memories and learned behaviors
a puppeteered husk among the awake
trying to pretend that it's still alive
although it lacks the pulse to prove it
There is a sound that breaks, cuts
it hides in the crevice of my conscious mind;
the last beat of my own heart
although my lungs still breathe and my legs still walk
and my eyes still seek
for they have yet to find meaning in this charade
when behind them lies my brain
and ahead of my path, the water is still

Dismissed
You don't have to fight anymore
Your life has been a chore
but you'll be stronger all the more
Ultimately you've thrown away
essential needs and hospitality
but you will always see
the mask of immortality
You must take in insanity
and show your own vitality
against poverty and property and
the mockery of constancy

Written By Athena D. Bennett

This darkest night, she did go
Unto her love; moonlight, rain
Hidden warmth will melt the snow
Tomorrow, she will feel again
The branches of a pine bent down
The leaves white and gray with rot
Frostbitten, the birth of decay
Showing her all that she is not;
Begging her to stay
This is not goodbye; Hello
But now she leaves, and so you go
In the shadows of your light
She'll watch you grow
Learning and keeping to heart
All the words you didn't say and didn't know

Tomorrow is an abstract concept
Stagnant and tepid and hopeful
We wait, awake beneath our blankets
in pitch darkness
as the hour turns
and it is still Today

I saw someone today
a flash of pretty brown hair
and honey-pools called eyes
We met in a tree hanging over the river
and sang songs that touched the skies

I saw someone today
silky skin giving way to calloused hands
and blood rushing thick and dark
We met in a cavern that led to a fire
of which we both had sparked

I saw someone today
with scraped knees
and a smile as bright as a star
We met in a field full of flowers
and held hands that were covered in tar

I saw someone today
with cold hands
and a feverish head
We met in a ditch at the side of the road
and I hoped that she wasn't dead

I saw someone today
with a pretty white dress
and stitched up heart
We met at a place where we all go
and I sang her to sleep at our part

I stand in the hallway
just past sorrows door
I look over my shoulder disbelievingly
in awe of my own escape
that came upon me suddenly
One moment I was a ball of tears and single-minded self-pity
and in but a blink I am here now
something less than whole
but more than the empty vessel I once was
Now, forward

You asked to hold my heart
in the same manner
in which you queried
to hold my hand
Carelessly

If you do not love the way I talk
I will talk to the trees and stars
If you do not love the way in which I walk
I will walk by myself, but never alone;
My goddess is with me
If you do not love the way I see
I will watch the waters without you
If you do not love the way I am free
I will be free without you
If you do not love the way that I feel
I will still feel without you
If you do not love the way that I dance
I will dance with the waves I tread
If you do not love my feverish thoughts
I will think alone in my bed
If you do not love me
I will love myself instead

Throbbing veins
A fever brings unrest to my body
and desperation to my lungs
I cannot breathe; my great fear
And when I speak, my panic is mistaken for anger
And so I am away; now she takes my place
My emotions ebb, becoming her dispassion
and I am she
My lungs expand
But these are not my lungs
and this is not my name
I have no physical body of my own; only this, my sister-self
and a thriving consciousness
an infection in its own right
and a chill stillness within me
that marks me as less than human

I lacked the heart to tell you
I broke myself to think
perhaps it never mattered
whether I would float or sink
You held your tarnished ribbons
and braided them in my hair
and left me in the shadows
after kissing me on a dare
I thought maybe I misspoke
I thought perhaps you misheard
I was so very mistaken; every bit the brittle bird
I nested in the leaves and sticks
of what was once our love
and now I stare at old gray bricks
and crave a finer drug

A mother is a special thing
You only get one, after all
A mother tucks you in
and holds you when you have bad dreams
even if she hasn't slept a wink herself
A mother makes you your favorite food
even though she's tired from work
A mother tells you
that you're a handful
but really means her heart is full of you

A sickness spreads among us
a chill that runs blood-deep
we kiss the fevered brow of love
and mother's all do weep
we raise the flags of plague-hood
and fall upon the steep
of churches bright and merry
and wish our souls to sleep
we plead with the forgotten
the **** of death will seep
we beg our hearts, remember;
we're given what we reap

The graveyard is Overturned
the gate left unLocked
the dirt is disturbed
They are disturbed - those Things
that live in death.
The grass at the church is dead - in spring
when new shoots should rise
something is about to be revealed
something not meant
for our Eyes

She dances in a field of tiger lilies
Orange and gold stripes reflect from dew
Prowling and powerful
lightfooted as a breeze
She wages quiet wars with Him
whose power comes from anger
while hers comes from passion
He seeks obedience
from his docile, dancing lily
She seeks the seafoam waves
that come with liberation
His garden is thorny
His roses are prideful
He holds bated breaths
What could stall her arrival?
He scoffs at her liberty
as she plucks a thorn from her feet
and shoves it down his throat

I walk in places closer to the edge than the center
and I see beyond into places no one has ever told me of
Do you lie awake at night and see behind your eyes
the glimpses of dreams you have not yet had?
I lie awake and see nightmares alongside new beginnings
and tears in the seams of my past
I have not held flesh in the same regard as I have held
the intangible
but I have seen the stars even as they have turned away from my glare
and I have seen fortune in the graves of lesser men
with hollow eyes and empty heads
I go beyond the edge
to seek, and to find; or to die.

Time keeps passing
I've heard it said that life goes on
Every year another change to the face
I spent my whole life growing
Each turn another phase
of the moon in my mind, glowing
This body no longer suits my discontent
This body didn't begin here; this is now

Time
Fickle thing, the word we use
to tell our stories straight in order
A thing you touch on your skin
this line, wrinkle, spot
showing every smile you didn't hold within;
every joke not forgot
This body no longer suits my discontent
This body belongs to my story

Skin breaks down over time,
so why do we worship it?
The moon will fall in its time;
it still glows
Our stories will be lost in our time;
we still write them
Our bodies will turn into soil
Treat your compost well
It'll be time, soon

I am the corpse
that stares at the wall
with open eyes
I watch it fall
The dust rains down
a scattered heap
like snow
it falls
and I still sleep
I am the corpse
that stares at the wall
with glazed-over eyes
I see nothing at all
The rain comes down
like shattered glasses
like a clock
I measure the time as it passes
I am the corpse
that stares at the wall
with cataract eyes
I see it all
The fire dies down
like the crow
at church masses
like a feather
I drift in the wind as light flashes