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I’m sure it’ll be a great party
even though I’m dressed like a Barbie
it’s all in good fun
I won’t drink more than one
and they probably won’t even card me.

I’m sure the flyers aren’t serious
the cover girls all look delirious
the guys all wear suits
while the women “let loose”
but I can’t justify the criteria.

I’m sure it was one great big joke
the way your fraternal friends spoke
it wasn’t the way
you called me your bae
it’s just that I’ve never been groped.

I’m sure it wasn’t your fault
and it wasn’t really assault
so let’s just forget
the ***** and the sweat
and take it with a grain of salt.

I’m sure there’s nothing to fear
and in nine months to a year
we’ll give in to fate
and when you graduate
we can shack up and share a career.

Now I’m sure I was being naive
turns out your name wasn’t Steve
and all the support
you swore not to retort
leaves me nothing to do but to grieve.
limerick written from the perspective of a victimized young woman

for peace in solidarity

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojleMU9rZ4k
Lunna Ramos Nov 2018
dear black woman,
i hear you.
the beats of your heart
coming from the core of earth.
from the time of your birth.
i hear you.

dear dark woman,
i feel you.
the pain from your wombs
can be feel across the continent
to all of your homes.
i feel you.

dear creative woman,
i stand by you.
and everytime you cry
we all cry at the same time
and we stand by you.

dear african child,
i. got. you.
you’re the daughter of our ancestors.
the voice of freedom
that raises against our skin
i got you.

dear yemanjá,
i salute you.
the queen of nature.
mother of the oceans.
odoyá.
i salute you.

dear magic woman,
i believe you.
i believe in the strength of your soul
the curves of your body
the beauty of your hips.
the power of your blood.
and i believe you.
W Winchester Mar 2016
I remember walking in,
taking a shot
and taking off my clothes

I remember being the first one in the pool.
I remember him asking if I was
"just going to hang out in a wet bikini
for the rest of the night"
I remember telling him yes
and him responding
"I am more than okay with that."

I remember playing never have I ever
and losing within the first five minutes
I remember a group of boys chanting
at me and Emily to "kiss! kiss! kiss! kiss!"

I remember playing beer pong
with ***** instead

I remember checking the time
and not giving a **** about
going home

I remember a baby-faced boy
who'd never been kissed

I remember him asking me "Wanna makeout?"
I remember saying yes, I remember following him
to the tennis courts and taking off my bikini
I remember getting on my knees,
but let's say I don't remember
what happened next
Kind of felt like a fever dream/ I also feel like if you're following me you should know that I've never published a poem about the same man twice.
Maple Mathers Feb 2016
Yet, where is the fun

When my best friends tonight
won't know me, come morning?
(All poems original Copyright of Eva Denali Will © 2015, 2016)

This is the epitome of interactions within Southern California's Top, private universities; when you're on scholarship, unaffiliated with Greek Life, and without an agenda and/or facade. Entities more superfluous and shallow than one could ever fathom, save for when in happenstance.
And they all taste cotton candy sweet
While I am the bitter aftermath of cigarettes smoke
Because when you're a mallard in a sea of swans
You start praying for the echo of gun shots proclaiming duck season
Hannah Holliday Sep 2015
It is not all about the fashion trends
or the latest shoes on the runway
about just the liquor or the tequila shots
not just about the boys or the dj's playlist
not just about monogrammed bags
or monogrammed shirts, hats, or ***** packs
Not just about the house or the cook or the decorations
or the long *** nights, or the laid back days
it's about the things we do for others to make a difference
it's about friendship, it's about sisterhood, and it's about family
Noandy Feb 2015
Through sleepless night my demon plays
A discreet prelude soundless and damp
Only to show the song it never able to sing
For its voice was tombstone as heavy as life

They said, find a demon who walks with yours
And since we can neither walk nor sing a song
We shall exchange letters in various forms
I will write my blood into words and yours into notes

And in the letters you sent to me at night
Are countable melodies that turn into bats
Which morph my nocturnal agony into dreamless ballad
With uncertainty of a sincerity I can never pay back

We are in different worlds but our demons are in the same
It was your countless letters of wordless phrases
Which keep us sane in a dying perfumed universe
Of self-abhorrence and longing never attained

And in my contemplation towards my ancient lover still
I came to reek that immortality and eternity
Are just unrequited sorrow for stories and blatant history
Of unfathomed longing never has been fulfilled

In a sorority painted by degraded hopes
Nothing mattered anymore as long as we walk
Upon the different dreams and on the same pavements
Caged by cracking skin and melted bones

And when we meet again in the letters
Or in outnumbered dreams
I hope it would be a blessed hell
Instead of broken old tales
ohjamie Sep 2014
Desks and chairs and messy hair
Student rankings, must compare.
Always having something due--
Wake up at eight, slept at two.

Coffee, Red Bull, I need more
To push through my every chore.
My health and sanity is growing ill,
But all I need is an Adderall pill.

"It will be worth it in the end," I'm told,
But this college thing is getting old.
Always working and losing sleep
Because I have straight As to keep.

"Amazing essay," "Good job!" they say,
But they don't know of the price I pay.
They never listen to what I need or want
Unless it's in Times New Roman, 12 pt font.
C S Cizek Sep 2014
East Hall Coop purrs, caged
in tough chicken wire. Third story Beta beaks cluck from their nest, threatening crickets nestled
in the humid grass finding shelter
from rowdy farmhands marching
the birds to slaughter. Cattail stems, moonshine bottles, even colored gloves straight from the box lie in the grass.
JP Goss Apr 2014
“Amanda,” she said, in a bold assertion
“We really are the same
Person.” Limp in the dew and
Wise like a sage, no wound cut
No blood shed, yet,
There was something this
Bandage shut,
Something yawning, gaping
But I don’t know what…
How sad! She’s crying, that Amanda,
Shrugging ‘gainst the colic rain
And almost lost in the copes-y veranda,
Weeping softly on
Those concrete flats, wearing “Red Tom’s
And” both “Dating Matts” while
I saw her fear in that moment, appalling, stalling
With soroitous heart, “and fear of falling!”
Binding them tightly: “That’s US haha!”

How many laughs does a limp spirit draw?
—(a disparaged few or none at all…)
Still, she writes, “I am so glad” (a huff annoyed
From Amanda, distant and sad, that I
Can’t tell why “you” ever “joined.”)
But this is not my place, a passerby,
To pick up trash, inane and lonely,
To cast my judgments and inquire—why?

To heal the unbroken with words unspoken
But scratched on refuse, she may
“[heart] you” but refuse you, too
The spirit of [heart] in Amanda awoken
—(But she refused it, too!)
And then be a token
Some stranger takes home.

— The End —