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Category Archives: Poems

Dragon Lady

Date - December 22, 2014     By Amanda Ginsburg

She’s been pushed to the brinks
A whipped beating here, a degrading insult there
The fire rumbled in her belly
With anger and fury…
Stay out of her way!
Oh yes her lashing out
Once she stands up for herself
Will break your trust
But the disrespect towards her
Has broken her trust in you.
She used to be a good person
Till the abuses compounded on her
And she ruptured like a
Nothing but loving kindness towards her
Nothing but tenderness and light.
She’ll calm down one day
But now there are sensitivities…
Her raging fire has even burnt
Truth without kindness is a falsehood
May we all learn a lesson
And keep at bay our projections
Till Dragon Lady finds a sense of peace
And from her rage, be free…

The Male Paradigm

Date - November 11, 2014     By Joshua C. Robinson

At six years old, I thought boys and girls were the same.

At seven, I noticed some of my classmates wore dresses.

Eight, a girl kissed me on the cheek it was gross.

9, my mom said, we know who’s really in charge, and she laughed.

Ten years old, I had my first crush, her last name was Jackson, and I wanted to swim with


Around my 11th birthday we had sex Ed at school, the boys were taught to respect women



room, and the girls told us they received maxi pads from Ms. Slipke.

6th grade, I went to a Christian Academy for a year that didn’t believe in Sex Ed.

7th grade, I would have my first girlfriend this year, and she would stick her tongue down my

throat when we first kissed.

8th, Ali Katz told me what a period really was, but I was still confused.

Ninth, high school, I wanted to kiss every girl I saw.

Sophomore year, I wanted to kiss one girl, forever.

Junior year, we almost broke up a lot, then she’d apologize and say it was her period’s fault.


kinda made sense.

Seniors, we broke up, she was enraged, sad, still in love, I knew enough to apologize and


to kiss her.

College Year 1, in an open long distance relationship, AKA a mistake.

College Year 2, in a committed long distace relationship, AKA very difficult, too difficult


College Year 3, mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

College Year 4, mistake, sadness, cruelty, mistake, hospitals.

College Year 5, we both almost died. No period.

Year 1, deeply respecting women, but they are creeped out by me. No sex.

Year 2, reading a lot of feminist poetry, it’s better than most poetry.

Year 3, moved to a city, women are just people again. Some of them wear dresses. One of


is miraculous.

Year 4, falling in love, real, difficult, wonderful love.

We talk about her period casually. Year 5, we live in a massive city. We talk about her

period casually. I still don’t fully understand,because that’s impossible. That’s okay. And, I

love her. Period.


Date - October 11, 2014     By Connie Koprowicz

I tried to hold my sanity

In my hands

But it ran between by fingers like

Melted butter

Leaving slippery grease on my half-hearted grip

grown weak from arm wrestling

and cradling babies old enough to walk.

So I let that sanity jello slosh!

Jello soup sanity in a skull-shaped Tupperware container –

That’s the way I hold my stake on this world.

Wearing a woman’s gloves made of honey:




Point of inflection

Date - August 18, 2014     By Julia Robinson

in surges
of hormonal waves
bomb thoughts of death
by the kettle;
as I sip sickly sweet tea
my mind tortures me
images of burning
at the stake.

Do other women
go through this?

I collapse in bed unable
to stop howling
to the stars
veiled by the glare
of the sun;
unaware of reason
for this bellowing pain.

Pretending herodom
I actually try
to lift my head.
Leaving behind
a tear stained pillow
I stumble
around cruel ideas
out of the room,
from this floor
where my feet ambulate
and head into the woods.

Another’s pace
is walking me
vertigo slow
I am half blind
stuck between worlds;
A heave stops me
my breath shallow, fast
too close to…
in the emergency
my hand moves to my head
I tap
tap tap tap
on the sensitive
body soul points
i tap
thinking behind the
waterfall before my eyes
‘what’s the point?’
but its enormity
shimmers behind the shadows
a shaft of light
shining through the dark:
this is the heroic beginning
the hardest point of all:
a first tiny gesture of peace
even as the bombs continue to explode.

Lightning Storms

Date - July 2, 2014     By Amanda Ginsburg

The slam of the door shot like lightning in my nerves. A sad rain cloud flooded my face Because you may leave me while I’m bleeding. These lightning rainstorms have broken many. Whether it’s about money, poverty, children or bitchery. So I took Birth Control Pills in order to chill, To carry sunshine in a warm smile. Then the convulsions, the acne, the fits of rage took me down the road of the Salem Witch Trials. So I went to the Doctor who told me to do Art not Science. I outgrew my symptoms through a great creative alliance! Now I have you and you have me. The Sun is shining in a soft melody. My skin no longer shocks and I can see that once again

I’m forgiven while I’m bleeding.

Working in the Village

Date - July 1, 2014     By Amanda Ginsburg

Fire me! Fire Me! Just go ahead and Fire Me!

Cigarette burns like pillaged villages and I am screaming.

Blood pours between my legs like hot iron being casted

into knives and swords.

I Quit! I Quit! I’ll go ahead and Quit!

For these fireball hormones and these war zones only

want to surrender to peace after all

as I withdrawl into something bolder; a recovered soldier,a

humbled artist that cries to sleep at night

till the battles on the body is over.

Hire Me! Hire Me! Just go ahead and Hire Me!

I promise you Springtime and Lilly’s in the sun.

The war is over, the village rebuilt itself,

And my PMS is gone!


Date - July 1, 2014     By Julia Robinson

Bang! Here again
my beautiful walls
reduced to the sheerness
of falling curtains of tears,
safety lost
as flies become monsters
buzzing in my shadow.
All I withstood
as the month flew by
comes up through me
hounding my nerves
into the desperateness of a fox
too exhausted
to run any more
from the baying
of the hounds.

Untitled 2

Date - June 27, 2014     By Amy Bennett

you heal, give presents and presence to your self. Be extra kind to your body and your heart. They don’t have thoughts or words of their own, just feelings and emotions. I like to take candle lit bubble baths and plan early bed times and

indulge my cozy whims to read or watch fun stuff, on hard not fun anniversaries. You will get through this. grieving, coping, and healing does get better with time. I promise.Know that it really does get better. I find that crying really helps. To me crying is not a sign of weakness, but of self love. That you are strong enough to let go of things you don’t have to carry any more. Give your self permission to take and need a personal day. 24 hours off of doing only what you want, and enjoying being you. I recommend hot spiced cider, chamomile tea and a candle lit bubble bath.If you can have some one read out loud to you while you relax it is really nice. I hope you feel better soon.

Untitled 1

Date - June 27, 2014     By Amy Bennett

NO! pms,- you do not get to post insane things to facebook, call people at 4 am and ruin my life, just because you have more hormones than a pack of raging, wild, rabid, hungry she- beasts. NO I will not fuel your fire with salt, chocolate, alcohol, or especially caffeine. tie me to the masts, its going to be a storm. If all goes well, I’ll be fine and no one will know any thing is up. as long as I dont take any advice from my friends the( beautiful) wicked sea- sirens who are in the same phase of the moon I’m in. all will be well. Started the day off with crying, anger, back to crying then both at the same time- also I think I have enough adrenalin to , well just tie me to a tree or some thing so we don’t find out.

It is here again – the unwanted guest

Date - June 11, 2014     By Julia Robinson

I: Between Moons.

Protected by layers

of university papers

I am a woman

emasculated by

blue cowboy jeans

that stride into the world:

a mental smoke screen

disguising the stranglehold of

an invisible western burka

that leaves any femininity

out in the cold.

II: The Unwanted Guest.

That bitch is here again

Without as much as an invite

Squatting in my body for

An eternity of days

scaring me and my loved ones

into egg shell walkers;

her barbed tongue

puts salt willingly

into the unhealed wounds

of my loved ones

without permission

to use my voice.

Her force of conviction

Weakens me to wondering

if she is actually the real one

imprisoned the rest of the month

in the jail of my negation

allowed only now

her true expression

as I, a sweet fake

as silent as a traitor,

cower in our mind’s corner

impotently observing

her harsh rule,

as my false smile

covers over the stench

faking normality.

III: A Bloody Surprise, again.

Reduced to the rip

of primeval pain

crusading up from where

we once had a tail bone

crashing into

fertility’s death.

Mourning sneered at

by vomity blood

curdling into

thick sticky

balsamic vinegar.

Body pulsating

ripples bigger

than its physical

falling into

borders dissolving.

Straightening into

a last protest,

my stomach splits in two

too weak to hold out

as the pain knocks me

heavily back inside;

Unable now to reach

the fantasy

of the disappearing

outer world,

hanging on to a

threadbare hope

that the tiny blue pill

will hold out


this rush

of ghastly femininity.

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