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Abigail Aug 15
I am a smooth surface.
I am a number of hiding places.
I am meat, I am bone and
I am anything but my own.
Abigail Aug 16
When you lean on providence as the arbiter of your fortunes, then your fortunes have been decided not by your qualities but by circumstance inherent to your birth.

To be so juvenile as to direct your appreciation for your fortunes externally, and particularly toward the divine, shows a lack of design. You receive of life rather than act as creator.

The ones who slave, the ones who doggedly toil. The ones who see through the grates in the gutter and claw our way to the streets to even begin to walk free of the stench and putrefaction you lay upon us in your most casual activities—we are a Godless lot.

We envy and despise your pursuits. And when we walk through your world, finally, it is frantic. It is frenetic. It is joyful and hateful and ripe with pain and passion and we lay our praise, our worship at our own feet. And we will hear your praise. Again and again.

To belong in your world is to burn inside. With love, with revulsion and with power. Beware when we walk among you, for we will see you bow, yes we shall. Beware of the day when we walk among you en masse. On that day, no God, no karma, no twisted fate will design your fortunes. It will be I and she and he and they, and we shall not be so kind.
Wanderer Jul 18
Her eyes lit up as we drove into the farm
a gorgeous landscape of flowers and horses
a crowd of inviting people
who said they loved her
but hurt her
every day
I could see the frustration
as they told her no
to the simplest of things
because she was female
and watched as her younger male cousin
was always put on a pedestal
for all his "hard work"

This is the place she called home
because although it wasn't perfect
And it wasn't painless
It did hurt less than
The way "mom and dad" did
It didn't cut as deep
As the shards of broken glass
scattered through the kitchen did
It felt like love
compared to living with two
that despised each other
It may not have been everyone's joy
but it was paradise to her
We are not all seen equal
Not when blacks are seen as evil
Not when Gender-queers
Are simply 'insecure'
Not when women need to watch what they wear
Because otherwise men don't have to care

What if the next black child that was harmed
Was your own?
What if the next transgender beaten
was you brother?
What if the next woman defiled
was you?

Then would your views change?
Sai Kurup May 19
The invisible scar
Of the patriarchy
Hangs over us
Masked by the shadows of tradition
Concealed within
Dazzling bursts of color
Billowing skirts
And spirited dancing

Hot acid flung
Scathing, searing, scalding
Because weak men
Cannot handle rejection

Wed the one you love
And bring shame
Upon the family
Honor killings
As if ruthless ******
Brings morality and dignity

#JusticeforNirbhaya
#JusticeforAsifa
And now #JusticeforAiman
Our only crime
Is being female
Yet fingers are still pointed
At us
At the length of our dresses
At the makeup on our faces
At the way we smiled

How long
Until we are finally fed up
With a society
That would rather
A dead child
Over a girl?
Egg May 17
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.
deuynn May 16
in this large world
from the beginning of humans
there have been two types
male and
female

as time goes on
more genders are sprinkled
into the mix
what you're born with is
no longer your identity

let's forget that for a second

even since there were only
two
males have always been
"better"

**** that

we
women
are just as capable

we can swear
we can fight
we can act
we can write
we can lead

we can
we can
we can

so shut up with that *******
"because we're men
we get to do what you can't"

imagine
living in fear
of the person who forces you to love them

imagine
nobody acknowledging
believing
you when you say something
because of what's between your legs

imagine
you being ***** and the person responsible saying
"it's their fault for looking pretty"

we need to stop this now
yeah so here i am swearing thank you
Chris Apr 25
A: Do you think I owe you my body because you are nice to me?
B: Yes.
A: Do you think of me just as a boy/girl toy that you can do with as you please.
B: Only when I'm *****.
A: You expect I'll ******* after I found out how many people you've had.
B: I don't expect anything, but you probably will.

Stop pretending you don't want *****(or ****) just because of social norms, I've had both (quite a lot) and here's the trick:
DON'T ******* CONFORM!
DUCK SOCIETY :)
SJ Apr 23
I want to write about women the way I’ve always read about men. I want to write about women who are calculating and ambitious. I want to write about women who are smart and power-hungry. I want to write about women who are angry and bitter and full of rage. I don’t want them to be the villains. I want them to get to be flawed, to be the anti-hero, to be the grey in a sea of black and white. Let women be angry, let women be selfish, let women be greedy. Stop making us fill a neat little box in stories - women aren’t all either a perfect damsel, a beautiful heroine or an evil stepmother. Let us be.
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