Feminist Poetry - Tumblr Posts
wannabe ghosts
Specters
fruits of crossroads
wilt from bruises
deep rivulets
wrinkles carved into her face
hungrily
smile at the lost muses
nebulous eyes
hunted
haunted by ghosts
virile oaths crumble to lies
piteous floorboards are waxed
feverishly
discoloring jeans
a discolored organ pumps blood
mechanically
the door will open
free a flood
yet
a fire alights
begins to kindle in her lungs
reminds her
of all their damned tongues
forgotten Prozac
unearths an amnesiac
she gets up
discovers the phantoms’ tombs
abandoning her scars, she runs
realizing that there’s much more to a woman
than a lifetime
of sewing the dead’s
loose thread
© Margaux Emmanuel
Words From Before
/
Women power my body:
they are neither consumed for calories
- eat their love and labour -
nor burned for fuel on pyres
- their bodies have always fueled hatred -
yet they are the force behind
every action, each choice.
/
My mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell.
We consist of cells and stars and oceans;
we subsist on truth and tales and lies.
My mother told me I have in me
my grandmothers' mitochondria
- I don't know who told her -
but she wants to believe it so I believe it too
- my mother told me so I want it to be true...
/
Being a woman is just:
[inherits mother's dreams and trauma][inherits grandmother's trauma and mitochondria][inherits great-grandmother's dreams and trauma][inherits]
...
I never research for poems or I start writing essays;
I just listen to my elders,
listen to my ancestors,
and get lost there instead.
Listen to my self and my body and the 'verse.
/
In the shower I let my body be
itself
its curves not hidden by tucks and layers,
not displayed in heels and high-waisted jeans,
not stuffed into bras
and smuggled into knickers;
I just let the water run, let my calloused hands smooth my soft body, wash and stroke away the hurts I've caused.
My hair tangles, it wants to be short.
But my body just is
as it is
as it is.
/
Powered by the mitochondria of my grandmothers
and their grandmothers
and theirs
and the 'verse.
/
AKB 2020
obsessed with paris paloma's entire discography, but one that stood out to me was "last woman on earth" from the cacophony album.
I've heard so many takes on the 'man or bear' discourse, and this piece of art is my favorite response. it speaks of a woman whose dying wish is to finally be respected.
I've heard of so many cases where men have violated even the deceased. this song feels like an outcry from the daughters of those victims.
she says she'd rather be with the bears, be burned, or be scattered in the oceans—anything rather than be buried in a grave where men can still find her. she'll get tattoos so her body will be considered 'ruined,' because only then will they leave her alone.
she says if you love her, wait for her body to turn blue and decay, so she'll finally be undesirable again. so that even in death, her body is still hers.
this is rage. this is girlhood. give my girl paris paloma the audience she deserves.