"bralette" poems
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone outside a coffee shop, waiting
she plays Snake on an old Nokia that was discontinued long ago
her red dread locks are tucked neatly under a worn beanie
that she stole from the boy that she gave her virginity away to
in a skate park when she was nineteen
a twenty-six year old woman sits alone at her desk, writing
she has a one night stand whose name she doesn't remember sleeping in her bed
her mascara is running and her lips are dyed black from henna
that she stole from the girl who offered her shelter when she ran away to live
in her car and dingy motel rooms after college
a twenty-six year old woman sits outside a Stop and Shop, drinking Shasta
she recently tried to publish her book of poems , but it was rejected so:
her shorts barely covered her backside and she wore the bralette
that she stole from her brother's girlfriend while she was visiting
in the false hopes that he would register how badly she needed him (or anyone)
a twenty-six year old woman sits in a little blue rowboat, drilling holes into the bottom
she skims Red Kayak before she leaves home and ties rocks around her ankles
her thoughts are set on mentally regressing the pain of her teenage years
that she wishes she could steal back to at least put some emotion back
into her heart
it'd been better than feeling nothing at all
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
A man I am meant to love told me the amount of skin I show represents my right to consent.
Flesh = Yes
Clothes = No
"Deserving" is a word he used.
A grandfather told his grandchild she deserved to be abused based off the length of her skirt, but this is old news; same story.
Only, I've heard it one time too many and now I'm sick of it.
"Devastated" over my hypothetical **** he'd said,
as though his feelings mattered more than my right to my body.
Well, **** him.
I'm tired of prioritising people whose opinions are so archaic they can't see the crime in their words.
And his words hurt.
He defended the 'nature of men', claiming its an inbreed instinct,
tried to explain the appeal of women as though I don't already know.
Jokes on him.
I'm gay.
But I've never been under the illusion it's okay to objectify or intimidate your way into a person's life.
I've never felt entitled to a person I've liked
And there lies the generational divide
Because neither has my brother.
Being "unable to control certain urges" is just another lie they feed you to perpetuate a culture of ****
I'm seventeen, and yet I know the fear a predatory gaze can cause,
I've been leered at to the extent I honestly thought this is it.
This is the moment I've been warned about.
And then I thought "It's my own fault.
It's dark, it's after nine, I went out running in only a sports bra,
of cause I'm going to find trouble"
because I forgot that I'm not an object.
I'd been fed the same message so frequently it was ingrained into my fight or flight response.
Doesn't that speak for itself?
I'd been conditioned to accept the blame before the finger was even pointed.
So when my grandfather looked me in eye and said he thought girls where asking for it by the way they dressed,
I didn't have the energy to suppress my response.
I asked him if I'd been out drinking with friends wearing a sheer dress and matching bralette, and I was ***** would he consider it my fault.
His answer was met with stunned laughter.
Yes, he'd consider me to blame, and indicated his disappointment should weigh on my conscious.
I am shamed I have the same genetics as such a man.
At least I've learned to drown out his words so they can no longer effect me.
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 1:25 PM UTC
I read about her somewhere.
...
About a lady in a white bralette.
Always bloomed alongside the flowers, with a scent, that made you look at her like she’s one of them. She came into a life with the waves. Crashed into you like the ocean onto the shore. Her touch was feverish and her steps were light.
Like the falling leaves she tiptoed around you, danced with the flames and got you lost in her madness. The kind of madness, that makes you walk through the forest in the middle of the night. The kind of madness, that erases all gravity and lifts you high up in the sky. The kind of madness, that makes you drop sanity out of the palm of your hands.
But her unexpected visit was just it. A visit. As soon as the wind blew she disappeared. And she was gone. Gone with the wind. The gravity reappeared and your feet we’re back on the ground. The sudden twist of events was often too much for most to handle. I live, but many have fallen deeper in the madness that existed only with her existence.
Their souls will forever be heated, but their eyes will never see again.
If I loved her?
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 9:21 AM UTC
I bought a mannequin for $65
it was used, just like you.
it has a stain on its chest
where our matching birthmarks lie
two skin toned islands, both yours.
I carried it home on a rainy evening,
like that wine buzzed night we shared,
baked it your favorite cake,
chocolate, dulce de leche, strawberry.
it was vegan, just for you.
I dressed it up in the clothes you left:
yoga pants, leopard print bralette, black scarf.
your parting gifts.
I'm sure it's cold,
I'll put the space heater on high,
like I always did for you.
it doesn't talk much, it just sits
eyes vacant, without breath,
empty.
like you were at the end.
a fine replacement.
it was used,
just like you.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 8:22 PM UTC
why is it that womanhood is so vile? people bash our bodies opening us up like watermelons to see how sweet we are inside. squeezing our dreams and hopes like oranges into a glass cup. i think you are threatened of our bodies sweetness. threatened of our anger. get used to it. we are every fruit you wish you could pick from the tree. when our trees shed leaves you run because god for bid my ovaries drop an egg and my legs split like a canyon with a sanguine river flowing for a week. you get down on your knees begging for our bodies s so long that when you stand your ankles crack like the noise i make on my way up the stairs from the night shift. i let my spine arch on the bed creating an invisible hill that you will try to climb. we are becoming stronger by learning not to brush off the cruel cat calls you make when we walk by but instead we lift our middle fingers and tell you to woman up. tell you to grow some god **** ovaries because let's face it your ***** will never mount our courage. no it's not that i don't think you are strong but i know you need to change the way you speak to women. stop calling us a ***** just because we won't send you nudes. not even the pics we found on google of the old wrinkly breast. stop shaming me with my body parts. stop saying that's gay why the **** is something weird gay. do you remember when i said you are threatened of our anger no baby this is rage this is something i don't like to wear its like a heavy winter coat that clings to my sweaty carmel skin during florida winters. but don't be threatened of our sweetness we are honeycombs. our kisses are golden yellow and thick. we love the feeling of our honey dripping on your lips. we want you to covet our thoughts not our thighs. take in our cellulite like oxygen but not until you learn to march with us and fight for our basic human rights and show pride for us when we wear our flowly skirts and tight jeans because don't you dare say my lacy bralette was asking for it. if you understand now hit pause now and take a stroll over to the orange groves and peel back our thick layers of glory and now now baby you can taste our royalty
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC