Tag Archives: feminist poetry

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i love you so much
you are so special
i have never felt this before
you make me feel
you have taught me how to feel
(no words, silence at 4am, staring at the ceiling while a man sleeps)
i am so sorry
i’m sorry
but i know i won’t hurt you again
i would never hurt you
you have to trust me
you can trust me
why do you hate men
you read too many books
that’s not fair
(no words, silence as a chest repeatedly slams into my face)
i promise this won’t happen again
i don’t know why i did it
you’re so amazing
you’re strong
i didn’t mean to
i love you so much
wow you’re so sexy
you’re strong
i’m not a rapist
i would never do that
how could anyone do that
you made me feel like i’m a rapist when you told me to stop
i would never do that to you
(no words, silence as my head is pushed downwards)
i’m sorry i pushed you
i’m sorry i did that
i don’t know why
i don’t know why
i don’t know why

they never know why
none of them ever fucking know why

body

deem only my body of use,
so I use it.
my rage has no outward path,
so I use it.
I make the marks of rage,
weave with it, the raffia thread
across and over my skin,
the only thing I have of use.
like Frida, like Sylvia.
only my body is of use.
so I decorate it with
black sheaths and red ribbons.
I cannot pick up my pen or paintbrush,
and my outward rage has
no use, no road.
but my body is my totem,
so they say,
a nationalised service.
I do not get to say what is wrong
or right.
so I decorate and mutilate,
pour water on this block of clay.
this will not end with an armless Venus.
it is not mine.
I tremble with the shining scissors,
and wonder why I never
comment on the ugliness of
Male shoes-
yet the shaved head of a woman
makes me Feel

cracks

some people think
I am a trodden-on sapling.
a pathetic thing
made up of fragile acronyms,
they think I should shake like
a tin full of thumbtacks.
should they feel afraid? 

I have seen rivets on
many wrists, on secret wrists;
heard the wailing
of secret mouths and
felt the fearful breath
of so many pairs of secret lungs
on my shoulder. 

not a trodden-on thing. no.
a swimmer in the naȉve sea –
a swallower of salty water,
I can’t deny.
but I never drowned
in the space between the cracks.
I am not afraid. are you? 

septic tank

inside my chest
there is a nuclear reactor.
so don’t forget,
you are made of water.

your torn pink flesh
cannot mask what you are,
cannot save you from
my burning core.

inside my chest
there is a dying star.
but I am still alive
and I can still destroy you.

you are not you anymore.
not a special strawberry
growing from a crack in the patio.
you are a shit inside a septic tank.

inside my chest
there is a great black hole
that only I have the key to.
you do not have it now.

the dirt

women, the balm
balm for my wounds
seamstresses of my heart
blood in my blood
those men never related to me
they just wanted my eyes wide
and my mouth wide
maybe I wanted their eyes wide too
or maybe I just wanted a new father
but they are not in my blood,
like you women are in my blood.
come, warriors
on the other side
of the world
inside a phone screen
or ten tube stops away
come,
over bread and oil,
or cigarettes
or creating –
you warriors,
you make my bones strong
and my mind agile.
let me do the same for you
and let me stop apologising
for needing you
you pearls,
you islands,
you sisters.
cry,
and I will cry too
and we will
lock our fingers together
and keep growing out of the dirt.

snow

little moon baby
eyes like mine
deeper than black holes
telling tales of destruction
her hand rests on my hip
and I would never compare her to
a doll, but
the words to describe someone so
precious and delicate escape me
her skin is snow
so how do I melt when
it’s mine that is warm?
we will never understand us or them
those beasts of brawn and hair
they fill the holes but don’t heal
I wonder if I want to love her
as I wish I loved myself

titanic

a girl
just as lost as I was,
reached out with
a perfectly manicured hand.
queen captain of the new Titanic,
weathering a storm you
could never know
(not even in your worst nightmares).
the lies of boys brought us together
brought us to a three-hour phone
conversation before we even knew
who we were.
that’s not how us damaged girls are
supposed to act, but
even then we knew where
our blood was best directed.
a girl,
with more beauty and soul than
you could ever understand
(or would deserve).
they should be the ones eating our pain
digesting it whole and
letting it fester in their rotten guts
but that
is not how life works, so on
and on we will go.
she does not need to prove anything
to you, but look how she
glimmers in the light as
a pearl
even when you try to cast your shadow.
fuck you,
we live.

magic

how can you
ever repay
goddesses
who gave you life?
a debt so enormous
unending
and true
yet never once
expected.

woman bore you,
in her body
laughed in the face
of the foul
modern expectation of her life
her work
never finished,
as you grew and squalled.

she bore a life,
and watched it
destroyed by
things she
could never control.
with her own pain
a searing
knife in the heart,
yours, a thousand
needles in her eyes.

yet
she carried you.
she is not made of magic
she is a foundation
on which you built your
independence,
expected by all as
a cornerstone of life

life tells us
she is not made of magic
but look
deeply into her loving eyes,
and it is what you will see
plainer than cotton
clearer than summer sky.
her magic imbues
us all.

honey

your peaceful dreams
they dissolve
like sugar cubes in
below-average cups of tea

and your nightmares,
they stick to you
like hard golden toffees
stick to broken teeth

by now you should know
that sweetness rots your gums
and gives you gaping cavities
that are costly to repair

you may crave the
dripping satisfaction of syrup
in your little mouth
on your little tongue

but do you really want to remember
the honey trickling down your throat
when you are scrutinizing
the size of your hips again?

my darling, no
replace the lid of the biscuit tin
and be grateful that nobody
wants to see beneath your summer dress