More Than Just A Pretty Face

Jun 2016

Michaela

fem

they laugh at my use of the word 'feminism'
it makes me different, makes me unique.
a woman asking for a voice is like a child asking for a gun.

they cringe at my use of the word 'feminism'
it means i am angry, means i must be gay.
a woman demanding respect is like a beggar asking for more than you're comfortable giving.

i want to feel safe,
i want to be acknowledged,
i want to be valued,
to be seen as a whole person,
not an object of ****** desire-
a mother,
a wife.

i want to go a day without my validity being questioned,
but i am just a girl,
and that's not how things work.

It's not how things work YET. We will get there someday. But for now, this melodramatic, justice hungry poem goes out to all the men and women who aren't afraid to call themselves feminists.

#peace #anger #gender #equality #feminism #men #women #struggle #rights #justice

Jun 2016

Little Bear

Pressed Flowers

Flowers so delicately bloom
their roots run deep and thrive
from white to pink
lilacs and hues of purples and reds
such baby blues
to the deepest indigo
a miracle
with the brightest
and most beautiful of petals
a scent to fill the air
fragrances to lift the heart
such a delight it is
to have sight of them
but flowers that are picked
by uncaring hands
will often crush their velvet petals
in their eagerness to have
handling
manhandling
allowing no light
nor care
a desperate want for their eyes
greedy
needy hands
and when the flowers begin to fade
through such damage
they are placed within a press
so that they may be held
for a longing
to covert
all light and care turns away
as the butterfly screws
tightens it's grip
of such delicate petals
time will pass
and maybe it will be remembered
and held to the light
transparent
a tiny shadow of bloom remains
placed
set
among others like itself
and it will be held
for all time
in a book entitled
scrap

I was so very fortunate to grow, be loved, be nurtured by loving parents and have deep roots within a loving family. Only for most of my adult life to find i was picked and pressed. Strangely enough, most of the physical and ****** violence i experienced are the things i am learning to live with. The things that happened will stay with me and i am a very anxious and nervous person as a result.

But it's the cruelest words spoken to me
that may stay for a while yet.

#abuse #domesticviolence #toxicrelationships

Jun 2016

Denel Kessler

Etiquette

Ignore the veiled murmur beneath
the social graces and party conversation

excuse this bland ****** arrangement
feigning interest in tales worn thin
cruising the same old Memorial Parkway.

This, and the embedded gravel
marking each grim rotation:

expectation
disappointment
anger

the weight of relentless perfection.

#awkward #expectations #smalltalk #perfectionism #socialgraces

Jun 2016

Lauren R

Paint Bucket

The sunset strings its rosary in beads of strawberry and mother's love as the day comes to an end. The light lays and prays.

When you miss something, you think of the small, fleeting moments that you gave no attention to before. You start to think of the way she pronounced things, tongue smooth over teeth and so unlike you. You think of the way her eyes moved when she laughed, the way she touched your shoulder gently when she looked at you, blue eyes and butterfly pink lips.

I wonder what it will take to pry me away from you. I wonder how much will ever be too much. What weight will stop my heart from giving anymore?

I saw the way you moved over the kitchen floor, your small feet gliding on the tile, dancing to your own humming. The sun was stinging my eyes, trying to count her days and count her blessings.

It felt like God almost cared about me again.

But God doesn't care about me.
He doesn't care what you like.
He doesn't even care.

And if all good things must come to an end, then let me just say amen to everything that makes you you. Amen to the smallest of moments and the tiniest of hints that someday, the sun would burn out.

#love #letting-go

Jun 2016

CA Guilfoyle

The trailing stars

It is summer and soon the Perseid showers
I have gone from my desert home
I wander far from crowded towns
my feet in grassy, bee clover
deep summer, all daisy flowered
green leaves, wild blackberries
await the August sun fire.

Here amid the slowing of mars retrograde
of my love returning home too late
no long goodbye, only the weight
I watch oceans of seaweed sway
at night the phosphorescence
the lonesome of sea stars trailing.