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  Aug 13 E
leah
i like your crooked teeth,
and the fact that you’ve never
attempted to fix them.

i like your unruly eyebrows,
unkempt and raw, they intrigue me.

everything about you is so imperfect,
and its such a shame that those who have
come before me have not fallen in love with
all of your flaws, and its such a
travesty that you,
my love, cannot
see the beauty
in all of your
so called physical
inadequacies.
two poems in one day , oops .
  Aug 13 E
c
The only other girl at the party
is ranting about feminism.
The audience: a sea of **** jokes and snapbacks
and styrofoam cups and me.
They gawk at her mouth like it is a drain
clogged with too many opinions.
I shoot her an empathetic glance
and say nothing. This house is for
wallpaper women. What good
is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?

These boys…
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices I’ve been
sitting this whole time? I am ashamed
of keeping my feminism in my pocket
until it is convenient not to, like at poetry
slams or woman studies classes.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
Once I forgave a predator because
I was afraid to start drama in our friend group
two weeks later he assaulted someone else.
I’m still carrying the guilt in my purse.

There are days I forget we had to invent
nail polish to change color in drugged
drinks and apps to virtually walk us home
and lipstick shaped mace and underwear designed to prevent ****.

Once a man behind me at an escalator
shoved his hand up my skirt
from behind and no one around me
said anything,
so I didn’t say anything.
Because I didn’t wanna make a scene.

Once an adult man made a necklace
out of his hands for me and
I still wake up in hot sweats
haunted with images of the hurt
of girls he assaulted after I didn’t report,
all younger than me.

How am I to forgive myself for doing
nothing in the mouth of trauma?
Is silence not an active violence too?

Once, I told a boy I was powerful
and he told me to mind my own business.

Once, a boy accused me of practicing
misandry. “You think you can take
over the world?” And I said “No,
I just want to see it. I just need
to know it is there for someone.”

Once, my dad informed me sexism
is dead and reminded me to always
carry pepper spray in the same breath.
We accept this state of constant fear
as just another component of being a girl.
We text each other when we get home
safe and it does not occur to us that
not all of our guy friends have to do the same.
You could literally saw a woman in half
and it would still be called a magic trick.
Wouldn’t it?
That’s why you invited us here,
isn’t it? Because there is no show
without a beautiful assistant?
We are surrounded by boys who hang up
our naked posters and fantasize
about choking us and watch movies that
we get murdered in. We are the daughters
of men who warned us about the news
and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful. To be safe.
Then told our brothers to go out and play.
Credits to Blythe Baird.

Blythe Baird is an affluent, rising young slam/spoken word poet from Minnesota. She has a book out already, "Give Me A God I Can Relate To" and is making gains in the world of poetry. Regularly performs with Button Poetry. You can find the performance of "Pocket-Sized Feminism" on Youtube. Inspiring and firey on the mic! Check this one out.
  Aug 13 E
Specs
I’ve been depressed all week
But she‘s been too.
She shares her coping methods
And she’s praised and supported.
I share mine and I get a single
“Nice.”

I’m the one willing to take bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To make sure I haven’t drowned
While lifting others so they can breathe.

At this point it’s not even them.
I’m force-feeding words into their mouths
As I watch them go about their lives.

I know that
They’re busy.
They’re tired.
They’re taking a personal day.
They’re working on themselves.
And I understand that.

But whenever
I’m busy,
I’m tired,
I’m taking a personal day,
Or I’m working on myself,
I’m there at the drop of a hat.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that maybe, just maybe
I need help too.

Irrelevant.
The delayed introduction after the
“How have you beens?”
“Fine and yous?”
“I’ve been great, I have this story...”
Minutes pass before I’m even thought of,
And by then I’ve excused myself.

I’m the one that’s taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes.
I’m taking you out and bringing you in
But I can only take so much.

I’m so desperate to be important to someone
That I don’t know how to be important to myself.
Even the saying of “one is sliver and one is gold”
Is unintentionally excluding.
I’m surrounded friends and their golds
But there are so many golds there’s not room for bronze.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those that can’t take five minutes
To realize that I give more than I take
And that I’ve given away my soul.

A sick feeling in my stomach,
But if I bring it up,
I know you’ll have it worse.
So I swallow my bile
And stretch out a smile.

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I’ve made it out
Of the burning building too.

I’ve laid myself out as a doormat.
So why do I complain when people wipe their feet?

I’m the one taking bullets
For those who can’t take five minutes
To see that I am
Broken.
I’m tired of meaning nothing to everyone
  Aug 13 E
arham
When I was fifteen years old I came home from school one day and wrote a poem instead of cutting myself.
The next day I didn't write a poem.
Eighteen only wrote poetry in red.
Nineteen crawled under their desk with the lights turned off.
Twenty had panic attacks.
But thirteen still loved the world.
And ten only cared about going out to play.
And nine never thought growing up to be a gender would hurt so much.
But twenty-one can't breathe in this skin anymore.
And twenty-one doesn't want a twenty-two anymore.
And nineteen tried to pretend these feelings weren't real.
And fifteen tried to eradicate all the feelings altogether.
And seventeen just cried a lot.

My years have come together to unfold me into a disaster.
I am broken even in my most whole parts.
I am empty even on my most alive days.
If you send out a SOS into my chest the sound will ring off into its empty chambers and only answer itself.
This is inspired by a slam poem I heard a while back. Please remind me what it's called if you know it.
  Aug 13 E
Charlie Rose
I wish I could lie besides you
And make the world okay
That I could chase off all the demons
And make a better day
I wish I could take your struggles
And clear them all away
I wish to show you a better future
To make you want to stay

I know the world has beat you down
I can see it in your eyes
The hidden truths and mental ails
Some things you can't disguise
And I know the world looks bleak as hell
And your future seems filled with lies
I wish I could give you a way out
With plans and words wise

But I know that I am only a single soul
Alone I can not give you aid
And I too struggle to stay alive with all
The demons my mind made
And the prejudices of this world brought both us down
Sharper than razor's blade
But through all the hell of our apocalypse
I will make you glad you stayed
Written about my partner and myself. The future looks bleak and with both of us being queer, neurodivergent, and unable to get jobs or keep up with classes, some/most days can be a struggle. But no matter what, I want to face the future with them by my side.
  Aug 13 E
yann
there's something a little bit heartbreaking about
never have been desired before.
does my skin repulse you,
is it the nose, the roundness of my cheeks,
the shaved hair, the hairy legs, the colors i'm proud to bear,
or is it the way i can't be held in a cage.
i am queer.
why is loving me a rebel act ?
E Aug 13
my body is simply not conventional
to the clothes I wear
there are dips and hills plastered on my figure
hanes doesn't take into account
my weight or my height
so pulling up the waistband
drills the cotton into my skin
with no room to breathe
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
the hunch back of Notre Dame meets
a protruding belly that widens my waist
when I wear shirts
fabric strangles my hips
displaying my grotesque body
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
aged binders do their best
pools of skin are dipping out the sides
my ribs ache and it's hard to ignore
when my body wails a cracking chaos
pain and overstimulation have crept into dreams
but I've gotten comfortable

my body is not conventional
to the clothes I wear
my body is not conventional
but it doesn't bring despair
my body is not conventional
and you can't begin to understand it
because it's too crippling to bear
it's staggering to peep into a mirror
seeing my being labeled unpleasant
with the unnerving urge to rip my eyes out
and splatter my blood on the glass
why don't I just break down and sit there
it's heavy to carry my weight and be hyperaware
it's easy to not care and maybe I'd take that route
but I'm not conventional
so I'm taking another way downstairs
Looked at my body, thought to myself, "my body is not conventional to the clothes I wear" and just had to write. It's 2am at night but when writing calls, I have no option but to answer.
there are multiple things I am referencing when I wrote this.
I am referencing that I am not conventionally attractive. My body doesn't hurt people but people are disgusted by it because of its transness, obesity and blackness. Certain clothes and undergarments physically and emotionally cause me harm. Most people would not understand the relationship I have with my body. I like it but there are times an instinct comes in and wanting to mutilate it to fit into standards of what's beautiful. Splattering my blood is my statement to society to how harmful standards and social norms affect me as a trans person. And lastly, being ignorant to these issues is a solution, not a great one, but because I refuse to partake in willful ignorance as most typical people do, I will manage these problems in a way that is healthy and different somewhere else. I hope this is explained well enough. Goodnight
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