i am an angry feminist because i have been too far ignored, too far silenced and yet not given a chance to voice my mind.

As I remember how her lips felt as they plowed through the barriers of my insisted claims of heterosexuality I cannot help but think,
without falter...

wow

okay,
but this isn't why I'm a feminist.

My attachment to her,
my fellow female,
member of my legion,
has nothing to do with
my squinting eyes
at the
blinking neon signs of
inequality
that hangs about all of our heads every day

I was born in soft chaos
with the mystery womanhood clean on my lips.

I am
just like every other girl

and even if you can’t understand it
you can’t take it away from us.

You are right to be afraid.

The world tells their young
That abstinence is old fashion, that innocence is over and done.
That to make something of themselves
They must give this much
to someone else
That *** paves the road to success.
What standards should I view best?
Am I a woman now?
Look at me.
trying to understand my insecurity
Wallowing in pathetic purity
They tell me I'll never find love for more than a day
If I can't even let him get to second base.
That I should give my innocence to him,
I should join him in a ****** rhythm.
That I should have fun and forget what the bible has to say,
To find temporary bliss for a night and misery the following day.
Maybe I should fall into the mainstream,
Because popularity should fix my self esteem..
Am I a woman now?
I've tried so hard to lock myself away,
To keep myself pure in the light of day,
But night comes around and leads my thoughts astray,
Maybe *** is just a game we play.
Perhaps I'll test the waters but on the ground my feet with stay
I'll try things out but not go "all the way"
Am I a woman now?
God, I need you here right now.
I went too far and broke every single vow
Of innocence that I pledged to you.
And asking for forgiveness is all I know to do.
Am I a woman now?
Being broken by the worlds expectation,
Being deceived in my contemplation.
Don't ever lose yourself,
Not to birth control or the ****** on the shelf.
Not to boys or to loneliness in the middle of the week,
Be strong, be as much of yourself that you can possibly bear to be.
Because the negativity and hatred of the earth,
Will try to **** your spirit and tell you what your worth.
We're no better than the world and *** is a natural inclination,
But if we are the body of Christ we have a God-given obligation
I'm scared, have I done what I'm supposed to do?
Did I do what's right according to God or you?
Am I a woman now?
That's all I wanted, to be beautiful or gorgeous in someone else's eyes,
But I think I've only accomplished that by the words that humans make into deadly lies.
They looked so appealing and delicious,
But I'd advise you to avoid something so malicious,
Because there's remorse and expensive emotional debt,
When we conform to the world and allow ourselves to forget,
That God made *** a spiritual experience to share as a couple,
Only with each other,
It's a passionate emotion that should be known solely by a significant other,
The two bound by marriage, in spirit, and with rings
So that the world can see  they
Can show the world what each spirit brings
To a relationship in Christ alone
In whom my unwavering worth is known.
Am I a woman now?
--Emily Rutledge

it's 6:12 in the evening
and i have just arrived home
after a long day of listening
and seething
(and crying)
and drowning
in a sea of oppression brought
upon me not by my choice
but by my mere birth
while those around me argue
that i can't be drowning
because they don't know what
water looks like

Daughter,
you are a cathedral.
Your ribs rise in vaulted grace,
the nave of your mouth stands open,
and cloister arms,
extend.
Your skin's stretch marks
are etched like stained glass,
Flame light flickers in your eyes.
Wonder of time and art,
made by divine hands,
You are more beautiful than Notre Dame
and all her souls.

When the men come to pray,
Do not let them
desecrate this house.
Stand unshaken,
as the bombs burst around you.
You will tremble.
But you will not fall.

Enfold the weary pilgrim
who comes to you by night.
Sanctuary
he will say.
And find it, in you.

you are essentially an object to me.

no one dare invent words that pick and **** and litter our ears
with shards of doubt, dismissive declarations.

the victorious are those who cover their ears and screen their eyes from
someone else's misery: bruised knuckles and a wall that wouldn't budge.

but all I see is a woman crumpled on the floor, her pride
posed like a crow on a branch in the open window frame,
mocking her failing strength and shattered resolve;
someone's fist tingles with accomplishment
for putting that Thing in her place,
close to her true place,
on the shelf
she dusts and polishes fastidiously,
lest he call her out on her "half-assed attempt,"

no one dare invent words

that limit little girls to the plastic boxes
for their plastic dolls
with plastic smiles.

when the seed grows buds,
that become flourishing leaves on a solid stem,
reaching up, up, up
can they see me yet?*
but all they want is the fruit.

Why is it that when a girl calls herself beautiful, pretty, hot, or attractive, it gets looked upon as being self-conceited?
Why is it such a bad thing for girls to love themselves and recognize their own beauty?
Why do we always apologize for things that aren’t are fault?
Why do we use mirrors to point out every single flaw instead of using them to recognize every inch of beauty that is in you?
Why do we spend all our time wishing that we were someone else?
Why do we hurt ourselves in order to be successful in the eyes of society? Why is it so hard for us to accept ourselves and know ourselves?