We Will Not Be Silenced: The Lived Experience of Sexual Harassment and Sexual Assault, Told Powerfully Through Poetry, Prose, Essay and Art is in the best seller #1 position for Poetry Anthologies and the #1 New Release in Women’s Poetry on Amazon!
Please, if you have not yet purchased a copy, consider doing so for someone else if not for yourself. You can even purchase to give to a shelter or rape crisis center. We deliberately kept the cost low so most could afford a copy and the message in this incredible anthology would be spread.
my scent, not his scent, but by some changeling blood could spread the same smile on halloween. on christmas waking up in blankets it didn’t fall asleep in.
there’s bricks that hold down a red bottlebrush flower from 1994. remember, she called you honeysuckle, and thought rats had no bones.
i remember my small hand in his big glove, rough inside like sand paper. old yellow leather in a white truck stuck together with luck, cigarettes in a soft pack, right in your shirt pocket, next to the heart in my hand, in your glove in a warm cup of coffee,
i could live on that smell and skip meals for the month of october. just the memory of it, and the dregs of california pain.
i could armor myself in you. live in your flannel and die. carve a valknut in my chest over the hole where no light can get in.
but you’re the one with the valknut – you’re the one who earned it.
through a violent death, but you’d want the cross instead.
of a grin usually on the missing persons board at truck stops where famished men would pick up hitch-hiking girl-children run aways, escaping home to find themselves, smelling like violins in the attic here she is in red-hot-red, rose-red, blood-red, a portrait streak of glitter high-heels with no hosiery ankles with tattoos of talaria wings and a wink at an invisible camera
she’s such a gem, such a picture on the side of the road on her back holding out her upturned palms to catch the diving heavy rain, collecting it inside of the sinkhole of her open mouth, crooked THERE, like a tangled doll.
do you see that glorious photograph of her alive, when she felt so dead and here she is getting the flashing lights she craved, licking the gravel on sunset boulevard, dead as the moon only bright because the camera catches the last expression that her face made before she fell into that uncanny embrace of unknowable death, where the eyes, wide like wax stare out into another, unseen place blind to where everyone else remains now because she’s escaped and found herself
who killed—— ?
the best psychics in venice beach say his name was ——.
These days when you have a daughter
You don’t need to worry about if she can fit
a bracelet around her waist in a finely boned corset
the color of teeth and blood
Whether she’ll marry a farmer or an aristocrat
Have 3 boys and 1 girl
Because the world always needs more men
To be aristocrats and marry little girls
Nor do you have to worry about her burning at the stake
For making eyes at the pastors wife and
Wearing a red ribbon in her hair
You’ll have to tell her it’s okay to say GET THE FUCK AWAY to the guy who sits way too close on the train
When the train is empty and you’re alone
With a knife you left at home
and the mace your boyfriend said you’d never need
You’ll have to tell her college is important
Because if you don’t have it written down
your mind doesn’t exist
You don’t have to be the supermodel in the magazine with the thin thighs
But you can be the super-girl who has the strong legs to run from all the super-villains until you get back home and find your knife and
That the world will lie in your lap like a cat that purrrrrrs
That you can’t help but pet because it’s just so fucking soft
Even tho it bites and can and will use its claws when you least
expect it because Life’s like that — that’s how I had you
And when life’s bad you’ll wonder why you’re here and why you had no choice to be
And me as your mother will say I’m Sorry
But I love you
Girls have to stick together
Instead of fall apart in each other’s hands
And if it means anything
No matter where you go, what happens
You are the only perfect thing to ever lie in my lap.
i was once obscure like food stains under skirts or a film of oil on a flowers tongue but i grew to be a bigger blemish like a birthmark on gods face until i had to hide away so no one saw
death had come on many occasions and i, the greeter at the door would grin but i was not the company he was looking for when i’d invite him in thus i watched them all march out my loves; one-by-one and fall to ash and still i, never being the one sought out began to wear white instead of black to mourn; no coward soul is mine, in hopes he’d never return.