We’ve got to keep reminding ourselves that there’s power in anger and how we direct it. We’ve got to remember to care. We’ve got to remember to not let “those” moments slip by. We’ve got to remind ourselves about what’s important. Posted with gratitude for the writing class that’s reminding me not to get too complacent, not to lose sight. It’s gratitude for all the incredible women writers who inspire, who push, who challenge, who contend. Thanks to the great women who never stop moving.




Stick a finger in the hole in your tights, then pull

You can scream too if you want to

You’d think a rip, shred, tear, rend, rift

Would run right through, undo

It won’t.


They will.


Pick at the thread on the hem of your dress

Feel the scourge in weakened stitch

Tug, then watch the seam cut through

High up your thigh, sleek cheek

You bitch.

Pluck at the curve above your breast,

The collar hiding all the rest

And rend right down where they lie, bare

You think you’re hiding something there?

You’re sick.

Slut, whore, harlot,


You wear that shit, you play the game

You’re seeking, creeping, hopping round

A parrot in a pidgeon’s crowd

And every inching of your wings

Brings mites and smidgens tumbling in.

Watch out, love, preserve the rest

Before you fall at their behest.


Try not to get yourself done in.

Categories: Poetry

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