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the position of being on top.
untouchable, untouched by
Oppression is a tool;
govern bodies to
subdue too-loud
voices of reason.
17 May 2019
Egg May 2019
It is 1973, the U.S. Supreme court ruled in favor
of a woman's right to choose.

It is 2000 and my mother chooses me.
I am born with ten fingers and ten toes
and though I remember nothing,
she remembers it all.

It is 2001 and terrorism reeks havoc and death
on the United States
and Americans are reinvigorated
with a new kind of hatred for foreigners and immigrants.

It is 2009 and my parents divorce
and I meet a man
that makes me afraid to live in my own home.
Because he lives there as well.
And though, he never touches me
he talks to me
like I am nothing
and he is the sun
and there a hiccups of time
when I believe him.

Things I was not supposed to worry about.

It is 2014 and I read about Roe v. Wade for the first time
in my 9th grade history textbook,
I thought that my generation
would not have to worry about these things.
That some other brave women had paved the way
toward my right to choose what happened to my body.
Funny
how some of my other peers never had to come to that revelation.
Funny
how we learn in silence.

It is 2015.
I work in a bar, behind the scenes
flipping burgers and cleaning toilets
but everyone still knows my name
and some people still throw their arms around me
and hold on too tight
and touch me in sly inappropriate glimpses

It is 2015,
and I have learned to grin and bear it
and never say a word.
Because there are things a woman puts up with
for the sake of a job.

It is 2015 and in my personal finance class
a teacher projects a chart of a wage gap,
chalks up the hundreds of thousands of dollars
in differential pay
to maternal leave.
And I wonder if he ever smiled through a man
more than three times his age,
with a hand on his ***
without saying a thing.

these are things we were not supposed to worry about

It is 2018 and my mother asks me how I sleep at night
knowing I litter my facebook timeline with
pro-choice propaganda.
How I could think that I might know anything about my own body
and life and needs
because I haven't had children.
Because my thoughts, desires, obligations, and dreams,
my validity as a **** human being
and as a woman
means nothing without bearing a child.

It is 2018 and I have been using a birth control pill
for three months
I put on ten pounds
I am emotional
I hate myself
and I cry constantly
Sometimes my stomach cramps until I throw-up,
but I know that I need to get used to birth control
that one day, and probably soon
I'll need it.

It's 2018, and I've been active for months,
I never miss a pill
I do everything right
my routine is a well-oiled machine
I use other methods as back-up even though it isn't cheap
I've been using a period tracking app for months
and it is never wrong.
But soon I'm five days late for my period
and awake till 3 am believing that my life is over
I'm supposed to go to college in a month,
I'm supposed to be responsible
How could I be so stupid?
How could I be so irresponsible?
My period is seven days late, but it comes while I'm working
and I bleed through my clothes.
I'm a bartender now, so I tie a sweatshirt around my waist
until my mother brings me what I need.
I want to cry out in relief
and I wonder why I suffered in silence,
and might have been punished alone
even though my crimes were aided and abetted.

It is 2019 and 19 states are pushing new
intrusive abortion restrictions and "heartbeat bills"
and women protest in blood red robes and white bonnets
that hide their faces and their person-hoods
that are being degraded
in favor of the person-hood of a pea.

It is 2019, and though it is not the first time,
I feel scared to be a woman.

These are the things we were not supposed to worry about.
Bard Dec 2018
Sentience is life
Sanctity a lie
Sayin it alive

"I think therefore I am"- Descartes
So may as well be a slab of ham a part
Ship the guts off to a lab grow a heart

Social value before Science breakthrough
Society lies before Society lives
Public hysteria some Hateful euphoria

Cloud regulation
With false allegation
Corrupt litigation
By holy congregation
A rights desecration
In an uptight nation
Kendra is a star student and athlete
She is fifteen,brown, tall and has long hair
Every guy wants to beat
But she would never share
One party one night one guy
She let him fix her drink
He knew how to lie
Slipped her a xan I think
Nows she is in the sunken place
Numb to his force
Tears roll down her face
As he begins *******
He gets up his evil deed done
She lays there hoping to forget
Weeks past she told no one
Her stomach the threat
Then she took the test
positive as she feared
Her mind unclear
About what to do from here
She is Christian so the answer is simple
Be a kid with a kid that’s not hard
But soon she will pop like a pimple
Can she live with being scarred
The thought never crossed her mind
Unless death was the case
Could she really decline
A offer from a holy place
What would mom say
What about my pastor
This is the only way
To make it go away faster
Is she selfish for wanting better
For righting his wrong
She cries in her dads sweater
Alone and confused how long
Til the heartbeat comes
And the shape grows
Then you see thumbs
No it has to be done she knows
She takes four buses on a cold Saturday
Walks in the door to horror
Smell of decay and saddens weigh
Girls crying as the attendant ignores her
Eyes full of hate and dismay
Realizing three signatures signs a life away
She walks to the back feet so heavy
Now on the table the moment see feared
Face to face her tears burst like a levy
A blueberry a appeared
Every fiber telling her to go
To take the risk and figure it out
Two doctors walk in and she sets her eyes low
the pain makes her shout
One hour passes before she leaves
Her mind empty like her soul
She greaves but still believes
See after everything she was still whole
In the end her choice saved and ended life
Not out of hate but through faith
She could live with strife
Because it was her wraith
Her body was hers again
And one day when she chooses
Her mate and has that special date
Where the view is
Full of joy
her love will circulate
To see her choice cultivate
Laura Jun 2018
She was thick, erubescent.

Advised not to give her my eyes, I stared:

she was haloed by the diaphanous seat

which held me when she shifted.

Flourishing fiercely, defiant,

she glowered, staining porcelain

like pink tipped damasks; a Fauvist impression.

I believe if she’d had a tongue

she would have screamed,

scolded me for my selfishness-

shrieking as the sorceress’ slain offspring.

My heart cringing, heavy lids like two tomb doors

shielding me like from her quiet contention,

I summoned the scrubs to put her out.
matthew Jan 2017
To the man with the comb-over,
I resent you.
For the way you talk about women,
Speaking of us like property,
For taking away our choice,
Of if we want to conceive.

To the man with the loud mouth,
I ignore you.
For shooting down people’s words,
Putting a lock on their mouth,
And interrupting them with your nasally
“Wrong”.

To the man with the twisted morals,
I abhor you.
For the families pushed out of the country,
By the wall in your heart
And the one you want for your country.

To the man with all of the power,
I fear you.
For the lies you tell,
You reek of deceit.
For how you make war,
Or peace, if that’s what you want to call it.
ConnectHook Jan 2017
♀  ♀  ♀

Hey you! In the ******-hat,
frumpy feminist dressed in pink;
we men (what do you make of that)
would love to know just what you think.

We've heard of "***-hats", anyway.
But we can see the other side:
it's orificial bombs away
as bridegrooms now behold the bride.

Gynecology on parade:
how weird. You think it makes your point?
It's more a vaginal charade,
and promises to disappoint.

You say your cap evokes your *****;
feline foolishness, I say.
It's cat in bag when fems get fussy
showing patriarchs the way.

Show us yours and we'll show our own.
Well actually, it's kind of cold
to whip it out right here downtown...
We'll grant you this: you chicks are bold.

Your choice-aborted progeny,
disposed of in the clinic's trash,
might blame you for misogyny—
though spared the curse of diaper rash.

We'll keep abreast of all you do,
chanting, marching, fists in air...
yet still, you seem a silly crew
aflush with zeal (and ***** hair).

But must it always come to this:
biology devoid of God ?
Exteriorizing, hit and miss,
the secrets of your aging ***...
({i})  (|)  ({i})

inspired by some of the bizarre costumes and slogans on display at the January 21 Women's March on Washington. March on, ladies !
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