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heather leather Jul 2018
it's unnerving how easily a pair of eyes strip me down
and take away every layer of defense
I have built up over the years.
hey sweetie, why don't you come over here?
because I don't want to, because you're repulsive
and your voice is scary and I felt your eyes on me
from the instant I crossed the street and I was hoping
you wouldn't speak.
want me to show you a good time?
but I was having the best time before I knew you existed,
when I was still just a person walking home
and the silent threats you make hadn't made it to
the horizon of my mind
****, what you doing walking around with hips like those?
hips like these belong to my mother and
her mother and all of the women that have come
before me. in my body I possess history and blood
so strong it was only ever spilled during times of war.
how dare you. attempt to take that strength and power and pride
away from me. don't you know that I am magic,
that my body exists as art only
I should be allowed to admire
who gave you permission to steal from god's temple?
[I still see the dark look in your eyes
when you said that to me, the emptiness of
your pupils haunt me. they say that you see
me as nothing more than a body, a corpse.
someone to walk over.
someone to conquer.
you licked your lips and winked, the
wrinkles in your skin were clear even in the dark
and I could see that your two front teeth were
missing, so now I can't stop having nightmares
you grabbing me and tearing me apart, using
the same legs you whistled at as toothpicks]
why are you walking so ******* fast?
because you are terrifying. because I know
despite how brittle your bones may appear
there is a large chance if you catch me I won't
escape. because the risk of not escaping is an
automatic death to me in every sense of
the word. because I have friends, and they have
told me how their bodies were pillaged at the
hands of men like you.
who the **** do you think you are?
I think I am an island and I wish you
wouldn't insist on being so intrusive.
******* too, *****
I just want to go home. I just want to go home.
why can't you let me do that?
you're not even that pretty anyway
when I met up with my best friend
she hugged me
and said I smelled like vanilla,
that I got more beautiful over the summer,
and that boys are going to lose their minds
when they see me.
my mother shows me off
boastfully, brags about my small waist like it
is a trophy, tells all my family that I am
peligrosamente hermosa,
dangerously beautiful.
and I believed them until I met you.
after an incident yesterday where I was walking home and a man and his group of friends started catcalling me, they ended up following me until I took refuge in my local supermarket and hid there until it was clear they had left. for anyone who feels like they are being followed: trust your instincts, it is much better to be safe than sorry. go into the nearest store and stay there until it is safe for you to leave or even better, until someone can escort you home. I wish desperately we didn't live in a society where women's bodies are dehumanized and threatened on a daily basis.
thoughts?
Kagey Sage Jun 2018
Progress is what we denote our history
but I think every human
must be high on helium
a rapidly depleting natural gas  
But we'll still frack the Earth up her ***
'till Cheney's great-grandkids choke
on air that weighs a couple ton
So instead of crying, Heil! I-burnt-a-ton!
He'll be saying, I failed ya son    

It's billionaires tricking millionaires
and poor funeral expenses heirs
They say the pretension is concentrated
in the impoverished to middling educated

"Those ***** Planeteers driving Priuses
and demanding taxes for their green agenda
Taking subsidies away from good ol' coal and oil
Like the Earth's more important than employment

Jesus was a carpenter, even he had a job
and there's still plenty of resources left to use up
Once the last drop of oil is drilled, the last animal's dead
Then the carpenter will come back to judge your soul

Hopefully you didn't waste your time
trying to save what was meant for man"
mysa Apr 2018
Silence locks you in a room full of darkness,
blinding you from the nightmare outside.
It pulls the trigger on the gun,
while vowing it’s okay because you didn’t load it.
It watches as the world burns around the unfortunate
while claiming you didn’t strike the match.

It is too late in the evening to continue to stay
in the shackles of this silence.
The sun is setting, and you can no longer
ignore the irreversible night that threatens
to drown us in its pressing darkness.
We must allow ourselves to shatter its silence.
a poem i wrote for school
Kelly Bitangcol Feb 2018
The people in my life are the ones who choose my lover. They gather around every 6 years, telling each other’s choices; sometimes uniting, sometimes not. You would see people arguing, saying that her choice is better than hers, saying that his choice won’t bring any good to me. However, all these arguments don’t matter in the end because in this situation, majority always wins.

I once had a lover named Mark. I will never forget my life with him. My life was filled with his austereness back then, he would always it’s for my own sake. He told me that he loved me so much, that he would do everything for me. Mark was showing signs of abusiveness that people noticed it. He made sure that the people who update our relationship would be careful, or in other ways would not criticise him and just shut up. So he abolished them and made them lose their jobs. The criticism became wider and wider, more people decided to speak up and stand against him. Mark hurt everyone who opposed of him, torture them in different ways. My children got *****, the brave ones got killed, those who fought were imprisoned, and he was stealing everything that I have. He told everyone he loved me, but he did nothing but ruin me. He left me with a wound that will never ever be healed.

People told me to move on and forgive him, but how can I move on from something that wasn’t resolved? How can I forgive him when he wasn’t apologetic of what he did, instead he was proud of it. How can I forget something that caused people to die, families be apart, my life getting stolen, and the destruction of myself?

Decades went by, people chose a new lover for me. His name is Drew, and people say he remind them of Mark. Both stern, tough, and claim they want the best for me. Drew admired Mark, and he did the similar things. He silence people who criticise him, treat women like pieces of meat that aren’t meant to be respected, **** the victims of poverty instead of helping, take the lives of innocent people away and describe them as collateral damages. He also tells all of these things are for the betterment of me. People suddenly forget our history, people continue to admire Mark and Drew and even call them my best lovers of all. They tell the people, "Love is sweeter the second time around." A wound that was never healed shows again, my body is filled with stains from the pains of the past and the present.

Yet people who love me continue to fight to fight for me. Doing everything that they can to stop things from happening again. Slowly fixing my wound and never letting it open again. You would see them on the streets shouting, or on the internet rambling. They would always ask me, “What is happening to you?”

Thousands of questions, hundreds of voices, and all those addressed for one only.

“Didn’t you learn from the past?”
“Do you want the worst for yourself?”
“Do you want your place to be filled with blood and violence?”
“You just never learn.”


They reached for me.
they shouted my name.
I was called Philippines,
*by the way.
Pearson Bolt Jan 2018
instagram-famous
action hero. lean back and
relax lay-z-boy.

armchair activist,
keep the sofa warm while you
raise a Twitter storm.

ivory tower
intellectual, trapped, a
tepid state-of-mind.

self-righteous ethos
sapped of the courage to join
us. predatory—

you‘re too obtuse to
realize your abuse has scarred
wrists and ruined lives.

we’ll leave you behind,
but not before i cut my
knuckles on your teeth.
For all my friends and comrades who’ve been abused by the tools who use radical politics as a way to prey on women.
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