It drives me insane when people see me holding a girls hand and ask
“So who’s the guy? You know, who wears the pants?”
I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS. Firstly, neither of us are ever wearing any pants. I want to scream and say WE ARE LESBIANS, and i’m angry because lesbian does not always have to mean woman but where did you get man from? I’m angry because maybe sometimes one of us does identify as a guy. A gay boi with an I. A soft boy. A proud hairy legged 5”4 boy. A drinking pints in the pub with my dad and us both liking that same woman’s tattoo boy. A cries every day boy. A feels cool when drinking beer boy. A boy that had to teach themself to like beer boy. A boy who sometimes does not feel like a boy. A boy. A boy. Oh boy. Boys. You see, this question is confusing for me because when I was fourteen, my boyfriend and I would joke that I was the one wearing the pants, even though at that point I was very much still wearing skirts and hiding behind butt-length hair and also watching the L Word in secret when I got home from school but that’s besides the point. This question is obviously as confusing for you as it is for me because in your mind you see two pairs of tits holding hands on the tube and think: Lesbians. Now, which one’s the man? And I think to myself, there are two ways to answer this: Number 1: So I know lesbian is supposed to mean woman on woman, two vaginas, scissoring, strap-ons, veganism, art degrees (and a lot of this is true but let’s not stereotype). So I know that to you, although we appear to be two women, two snap-back wearing, sports-bra bearing- I mean I thought about writing hymen- tearing here but it just doesn’t seem appropriate- women, the funny thing is that erm, you see, gender and sexuality: as different as my dad to my mum’s other ex-husband. We are not a man and a woman. We are two people and what do pants have to do with it? We are two people and why does one of us always have to be a man? We are two people and the awkward part of the point i’m making is that sometimes I don’t feel like a woman but you wouldn’t know that so let me say: we are not a man and a woman. We did not ask for your confrontation, we are not your designated driver, your answer sheet to an exam you haven’t sat yet, your house party when your parents go away, your girlfriend that you think is obliged to suck your dick even though you will not go anywhere near her clit.  You are not our three year old son who asks too many inappropriate questions. To you, we are strangers and to answer your question, you seem to think that you’re wearing the pants here. So wear them. By the way, Number 2: fuck off.

this is a draft nd might be changed but also might not be so


I got angry again


never walk alone at night
never wear your skirt too tight
always shave your pubic hair
head down now, avoid their stare
don't touch yourself, that's just for him
oh but not for her, that's a sin
don't get drunk, you'll be blamed
for actions that you cannot tame
watch your mouth, imperatives are banned
for you're labeled bossy if you command
stand up straight, never slouch
keep your legs shut on the couch
eat too much and you're far too fat
eat too little, you're worth less than that
insecure, oh, what for?
confident? then you're a whore
naked face, spots and all
you might as well hide behind a wall
painted and pretty, just what they want
unnatural and fake, the endless taunt
so how do you win when it's lose lose lose
"boys will be boys"
try standing in our shoes.

I got angry about sexism
January 2016
Therese Jul 11

there is a tree in my stomach

the roots run deep in my skin

nestled in the warmth and life

a familiar foreigner

it sprouts from my uterus

and lodges in my throat

anxiety drips from its leaves like rainwater
a cruel photosynthesis

my breath shallows as it crushes my lungs
my veins pump with poison of my own creation

or is this invasive

sown and watered and protected by others’ words

i know that it is growing and unfurling
twisting through my organs

reaching for the sunlight filtering from my mind

leaving behind a dark ocean of doubt

im up to my teeth 
and there is no drain

Samantha C Jul 8

When I was young I promised myself that when I grew up and got hot,
If I ever got cat-called, I would react.
I would scream,
Kick the bumper of their car,
Throw my overpriced drink in their face,
Be angry be pissed,
Take no shit from anyone who dared to look at me.

I grew up.
I'm not hot,
I'm okay enough to look at,
Okay enough to earn the attention of two middle aged children in a shitty silver four door car.
I promised myself
I would react.

I froze.
Took another faulty step
Felt my ankle struggle under the weight
The ends of my pants brushing my toes
Blood rising to my face.
Not a blush.
I was not flattered.
An inferno.
My mind in flames.
The heat trapped by my mouth
Glued shut by $20 lipstick from a brand owned by someone who hates what I am.

Didn't I promise myself?
I didn't react.
Hardly moved a muscle.
Too slow to even furrow my manicured eyebrows in rage.

I know now
That the world will always be cruel.
And the world will always think I'm

So what good is having my own pretty face
When everyone else thinks that it's theirs?
Nobody will ever own me
Not even myself.

Dusk Jun 29

Pretty girls get what they want
That’s the background radiation you grow up with
Princesses in every color (dress) waltz across your screen
Pretty curled pigtails and pink ribbons get you more
Than comfortable jeans and the Saints jersey your uncle bought you
“What a pretty girl!” your nana coos, reaching into her purse
Pretty is important, you decide.
So you ask your mom if she can curl your hair for school tomorrow, pretty please?

You’d be pretty if you smiled more
It’s leered at you at the bus terminal
After a long day of work, or school
But you take it to heart anyway
Smiling your way through life
Becoming a magazine cut-out of a girl
With a flawless smile glued on, even when you're tired
Or sad
Especially when you're angry
You decided pretty is important
More important than feelings, than yourself
So you ask your face to stretch a little wider for you, it doesn’t hurt too bad, right?

She was asking for it
He grumbles on the stand
His voice was rough against your paper thin skin and your magazine ready smile
He's right, you realize, as the jury starts to nod
Must have been asking for it, they think, you think
As they wash away his guilt, wash away what he did
Hes squeaky clean now, but you still feel rotten
Your insides decaying as your perfectly composed shell starts to crack.
She must have been asking for it, everyone thinks
Don't pretty girls get what they want?

There ain't no point
In studying  anything any more.
Bosses just choose female employees
Based on What they think  that  they would look
In the the nude
I guess that's their compensation
For not getting laid
By their "liberated" wives?
Such  is the End Result of Feminism!

You had no idea their claws were retracted

Otherwise you would have already reacted

Sickly green curtains flap slyly against breezes

Unaware the cold penetrating souls freezes

Lego houses built and toy train sets crashed

It seemed so natural until it simply flashed.

Metamorphosing into frail nothingness

The grown-up world like a land of otherness

Little children are meant to be seen not heard

Their conversations became oddly blurred

You didn't understand adults attempting baby talk

You observed your surroundings with eyes like a hawk

Noticing our infidelities, lies and injustice

And we ask why you so blindly trust us

Because you feared for our overflowing plates

And our shoulders stooping down under weights

Waiting for the world to annihilate and save us

Lest further action and responsibility enslave us.

Your repulsed understanding of gender

Made you create your own agenda

Assured you had no future without man

Your anger and disgust right then began

So early on God forsook you,

How his treachery shook you

Second to your brother so flawlessly imperfect

You were prodded to sit straight out of respect

For misogynistic elders you cared little for

Every inch of your being wanted to roar.

Indignation became your default setting

Even now they talk about your wedding

Like you're a prized lamb on display

Temporary until their time came to betray

And trade you under the label of moral obligation

Moral? You saw right through that fictional creation.

False deities they worshipped and offered

Their virgins how you despised the word

Like your value was measured by bloody skin

Starving and traumatised you became so so thin

Teeth barked and knees chattered cold

Your blue lips moaned: I've been sold

And your opinion never fucking mattered

Not even now that your soul is finally shattered.

Dedicated to Nawal El Saadawi
Quinn Jun 12

The devil wears white
To blend in with the pioneers
He tips his hat to the murderer
He buys a pint for the rapist
He averts his eyes from dark skin
He grabs a woman's arm
And tells her she is beautiful
And when she's not interested
His smile slips off
And the insults rain down on her
And he walks away
And shares a smile
With another wearing white
Who is passing by

I am a girl, I must be weak,
I must know that men are stronger,
I need reassurance that I should be pretty,
All because I am a daughter.

I am a girl, I must love pink,
I must wear a skirt and a dress,
But not too short or I ‘must’ be a slut,
But of course, a prude would never impress.

I am a girl, I must be 'asking for it’,
I mustn’t object when I am cat called on the street,
Because 'I have a nice ass’ and 'every man has free speech’
And I must want attention regarding the heels on my feet.

I am a girl and I should be paid less than a man,
I mustn’t be able to do the right amount of work,
I am supposed to have a clean job, such as a nurse,
A baker, or a hotel desk clerk.

I am a girl and this is what I was brought up to believe,
I was taught to be anchored,
To never cross the line between the sexes,
To never deceed the standard.

I am a girl and I am strong,
I will not be stereotyped by a colour,
I will never be your 'eye candy’,
Do not underestimate my gender.

Hunter Moyler May 20

When the Lord split the adam
It wasn't a clean cut.
A heftier half received the whole,
The other a supplicant for scraps at the
Table's Wayside.
(only if it didn't want those stinky leftovers

Eons since, not much's changed
The portlier portion still retains
Rights to nuke the other slice
When enmity sticks its foot in the
Meaty muck of the mind

"But it's not my fault," it says,
Still blaming that little snake it likes to hold
Like a teddy bear on a forlorn night

What God hath torn,
Let mankind reassemble.

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