When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood
just how much words effect us.
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.
She floats on the saffron shore,
Holding a bamboo basket.
Her heart beats
Within the shelter
Of peanut shells.
Toys and textbooks ;
Picnics and pampering s ;
All collided on a roadside wall,
But death dropped her to be tossed.
The girl in a dirty frock –
She sells parched peanuts
For coins and eye pricks.
“Peanuts”, “Peanuts” – her withered call
Haunts her parents in the dungeon of a grave.
Her pale figure walks away with Time Teacher.
FABIYAS M V
Blowing through a vast crevasse –
from whirling tempest;
to calming balm on wounded skin;
to constant howl;
to sunlit kiss, onto warm lips –
I am a promise,
to the girl who waits,
within the cave, where no light shines;
where sucking blackness and decay
consumes and claws across
the barren expanse that is –
My inner child’s mind.
Little Kristin, girl of 7
(when time stopped)
suspended upon a bony pillar, sits,
engulfed by craggy mountain walls –
The cave of sorrows.
A black pit surrounds the tower,
held hostage by those who would keep her silent;
(protecting the illusion at all costs)
and as silent as the fear that creeps up
the lone pillar,
(coming for the light in her eyes)
killing slowly, methodically,
attacking light –
the light that creeps through cracks;
breaks through holes;
breathes life into darkness –
(minions of death vying to stay her shine).
Her holly-hobby night gown
(full of broken dreams)
tattered and torn,
crowns her dirty little feet.
A grayed white gag, beneath soiled cheeks –
(like apples, they used to say)
blackened by yesterday,
save for the dappled light that shines,
from green eyes –
just a glimpse…
A tiny flame flickers, within small hands –
(holding what was stolen)
keeping the beasts at bay...
(lighting a Mother’s way)
They say I was everything to the one in the photographs –
The light giver.
Her battery drained,
(strength offered to the shining moon)
Eradicated, liberated (grace or fear?)
Strength was my gift born
from her weakness -
my birthright, and soul’s mantra.
My soul was God’s gift -
was her gift –
I am battery doubled.
No more am I dirty black holes
hiding in shadow,
For I am wind…
I am nowhere,
I am past, present and future.
My soul is freedom blowing through the cracks
left by the black maker (innocence taker);
into my darkest depths;
holding the little girl (lost, no more) –
kissing her face;
drying her tears;
leaving the cave -
carrying my child home.
Together we light
the ancient halls,
Where I am the light maker now.
Winding my way from heaven to
kissing the nose’s of my five reasons
My soul is wind
from the heaven’s,
and these are the gifts
that my soul
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
You can tell the song of the girl too afraid to sing
To the beat of her own drum from miles away
Her song has no life
You can hear the song of the suppressor
Who makes that girl afraid to sing
To her own heartbeat
The suppressor’s song is sung loud
And with authority
To cover his own insecurities
You can differentiate between followers and leaders too
The followers sing an old familiar tune
Together so their voices blend
No one can hear individual voices
There is safety in numbers
The leader’s song breaks free
A melody that soars so high
That others look up to it
Some don’t fall into any set category
Their songs weave into everyone else’s
Trying different tunes and octaves
They belong nowhere and everywhere
And don’t stay anywhere for long
Others sing their song on a different frequency
That few can hear and enjoy
But who’s to say the song is good or bad
When we don’t take the time
To tune in and truly hear
The songs of man and girl alike
Flow and peak and weave
Through melodies and harmony
That never the earth will leave
Its so hard to say good-bye but I still cry,
Now that I realize that you gone out of my
life, girl I just can't stop writing poems
about you, I love so much, girl I'm about to
go insane all my days still look like rain,
girl I go through so much pain, I don't know
if I could remember my name, it feels like
I'm about to loose my mind, I know your legs
are tired, because you run through my all
the time, girl, over and over I think about
you, now I hope you see how much I'm still
in love with you.
I do not know?
LITTLE BLACK GIRL
Written By: Famekia Dingle
Little black girl hold your head high,
Don’t look down and let life’s joys pass you by.
You are one of My Father’s creations,
Beautiful and Strong
Don’t you ever let this world steer you wrong.
Stand up straight baby ebony, Stick your chest out,
Walk like you have gold minds diggin in your back yard.
Be proud of who you are and from where you come,
Believe me little black girl God don’t make no mistakes.
Don’t listen to the evil they say or
Allow the wicked they do to stop you.
Cause when you smile the heavens open and that’s a fact.
Go ahead let them hate you for that
Gods got your back.
Don’t think it strange when love passes you and gently lifts your chin,
Little black girl hold your head high
With God you’re sure to win.
Her eyes showed me a way,
Her unique smile let my tears go away,
Her Beautiful face made me to say,
Is this Love, or what???
Started to have feeling of love,
Started to behave nicely and different,
Started to smile when there was no reason to smile,
Still, Is this Love, or what??
Tried to approach her, but felt belittled, lowly, shy,
Tried to ask her for date, but felt afraid, scared, shocked,
Tried to express my love, felt would be rejected, hurt, unheard,
Well still, Is this love, or what?
I can fix anything, why not this thing,
I can talk to any girl, why not this girl,
I can really convince anyone, why not this one,
Came before many girl, why not this girl.
Do please not tell me its just nothing,
Do tell me how to do something about this thing...Love,
Do tell me anything about this thing…Love,
Will there be rejection or appreciation??????????
What woman wouldn’t want rubies or pure pearls,
Or winning a trip to cruise around the entire world?
What about having a diamond as deep as the ocean blue?
What is it that makes you desire the heart of diamonds so true?
Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, this I know to be true,
It is truly amazing to see them sparkle as we see them in view.
It matters not of what color, shape, or size they may be,
A diamond is still a diamond, a gem that is never free.
The endless beauty of a pure diamond is such a surprise,
To see a woman light up with excitement in her tender eyes.
When she is presented a beautiful diamond from her true love,
Who showers her with the best, its purity is like that of a Heavenly white dove.
With each passing day, we often forget how beautiful they are,
For when they sparkle, it reminds us of all of the wonderful , shining stars.
Whenever you go shopping, don’t be afraid to stop in,
A fine jeweler near you, carrying diamonds, a girl’s best friend.
Let the Deicide commence.
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.
I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways
Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own personal reality