Category: feminism

stop teaching girls to accept verbal abuse as affection

let’s stop teaching girls to accept verbal abusive as affection; there have been so many romance novels that i’ve read where the heroine falls for a guy who is cold and mistreats them and then the story proceeds with the heroine forgiving the guy because his past is troubled. are we women not also troubled ...

Nothing

  It hurts to be looked at like I'm nothing. As if I'm just an object That you can pick up and place In your shopping cart. It hurts To know the things going through Your mind are not safe. When you smirk And scoff, mock and jeer, Do you not understand The fear that grips ...

Just love

Love when the lights are Off and the music has gone silent. Love when the room is empty. Love when you are standing Alone in front of the mirror. Love when you smile awkwardly, Love the stretchmarks That trace your skin lovingly. Love the little fat On your stomach, Shimmy and wiggle and Love the ...

my womb is not my own;

Like Eve, I fell, And like Lilith, I am punished. My womb is not my own; Pale hands caress and judge As I spread my thighs with my  own authorization; my womb is not my own; Pain wrecks havoc inside of me, I curl Up like the fetus inside me; my womb is not my ...

I am

in all honesty, i am a compassionate person; a woman, female born, society defined, I am all and I am nothing; I crave the rays of sunlight, i dance under the crescent petals of night, i shiver when the sky weeps, i cheer when the droplets twirl in the white sky; I am human, I ...

The curse of Patriarchy

Do you wish me to be as miserable as you? I am told me to be strong, independent, opinonated and proud yet you tell me to quiet down...why is that? Am I too strong for you? When you hunch over and hide your body to take up less space, I valiantly step forward, head thrown ...

b

black is beautiful

melt my uniqueness away, perm my roots, and bleach my skin until no black remains– but don't they know, that my black is beautiful?

A

A housewife’s plea

Don't you know what this awful, heartrending, heavy feeling is called?Empty, I am empty. A black hole seems almost limited to the expanse of my misery. Ambiguity and mystique seems almost the same to me; I, who am discarded in the drift of time, barely holding on, I rock and pray to a God who ...

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