Women-Introducing Rishika Sangeeta

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[Poem by Rishika Sangeeta]

women are told
lies before they even understand the concept of truth
taught to be softer
sweeter
smile more
laugh less
lower your eyes you insolent witch
taught to unravel like a carpet beneath a man’s feet

there is a place for a young girls dreams
your mother tells you at 12
and it hangs itself inside closets
tucks itself silent and simmering in her snarling curls
perfumes the house with the aroma of spices and bitter compromise
you will understand when you are older she says
and her eyes shine at you like a sickle moon in an empty sky
too tired to put up a fight

women are taught
to belong
to surrender
like sheep led to slaughterhouses innocent of your deceit

women are taught
to quicken their pace as day passes into the jaws of black night
the dark hides terrors little one
and animal lust
and the only voice she hears is her mother’s
and it whispers
run!

women are taught
their bodies are commodities to be bought and sold to the highest bidder
her mother is careful to call it dowry
a bride price
as if the safe trappings of tradition and culture
somehow censors the truth
that she never belonged to herself
she never would

in this world
a woman willing to claim herself
is deadly
dangerous
an outlier

but listen to me
you belong first to the call in your veins
to the pulse in your throat
to this shell that carries you
battered and bruised through
the quagmire of living
and you are powerful
merely for existing
for enduring
for loving

never forget that

[Rishika Sangeeta is a therapist in training and a writer of romantic prose and poetry. She spends hours in communion with the dark and her heart in a constant quest to unearth some meaning from the mayhem of living.]

Bruised Knees-Introducing Rachel Finch

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[Poem by Rachel Finch]
My knees have known Bruises.
A spectrum of colour staining my skin as a reminder.
Pigments of who I am, altered at their hands.
Fists clenched to strike, clench, imprint.
Each stain a bolt, a language seeping into my essence; teaching.
My ribs have known bruises.
Painted, I am every female ancestor face first in the dirt.
My throat has known bruises.
I never felt so transparent as I did wearing lesions beneath a high collar.
Fading, my shell returns, burying the real wounds beneath it.
But I am wiser.
Healed I am every female ancestor face towards the Sun.

Rachel is a writer that speaks from her soul, expressing her trauma and strength through her work. She lives with Mental Illness, refusing to let it define her and is mother to four courageous children. In her free time she volunteers to support people through their own experiences of abuse, mental illness and recovery at Bruised But Not Broken.

Your Writing Wanted: Whisper and the Roar

Do you like the writing of Georgia Park, Christine Ray, David SomersetNadia GarofaloAakriti Kuntal, Nate Leland?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?  Consider submitting your writing to Whisper and the Roar.

The theme of submitted work need not be feminist, but the writer must be.

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send up to 3 pieces of original writing in either PDF or Word document attached to an email that includes a brief cover letter (example: Hello, my name is Charles Baudelaire! I love absinthe and dark corners, here are some of my poems!) Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. No e-zines, e-mags, e-presses, e-books, printed works.
  • Include a brief bio in the body of the email and a link to your website/where you write/where you want people to go if they’re interested in more of your writing.
  • Understand that you will not be paid for your submission. We are a small collective, and can only offer support in building your platform and showing your work to our own audience.
  • Understand we do not own the rights to your work, the rights are yours and yours only. We only publish your piece once, with the potential to reblog.
  • Allow up to 4-6 weeks for a response.
  • If you prefer to send a blind manuscript, do not include your name or a cover letter in the attached document.
  • Send submissions to: whisperandtheroar@gmail.com

Your Writing Wanted: Whisper and the Roar

Do you like the writing of Georgia Park, Christine Ray, David SomersetNadia GarofaloAakriti Kuntal, Nate Leland?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?  Consider submitting your writing to Whisper and the Roar.

The theme of submitted work need not be feminist, but the writer must be.

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send up to 3 pieces of original writing in either PDF or Word document attached to an email that includes a brief cover letter (example: Hello, my name is Charles Baudelaire! I love absinthe and dark corners, here are some of my poems!) Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. No e-zines, e-mags, e-presses, e-books, printed works.
  • Include a brief bio in the body of the email and a link to your website/where you write/where you want people to go if they’re interested in more of your writing.
  • Understand that you will not be paid for your submission. We are a small collective, and can only offer support in building your platform and showing your work to our own audience.
  • Understand we do not own the rights to your work, the rights are yours and yours only. We only publish your piece once, with the potential to reblog.
  • Allow up to 4-6 weeks for a response.
  • If you prefer to send a blind manuscript, do not include your name or a cover letter in the attached document.
  • Send submissions to: whisperandtheroar@gmail.com

A striking mix of poetry and story

@KaremIBarratt I am she, Who screamed at the night, Demanding justice for her blood, Spilled by a knife, Legs held by the mothers who Were supposed to love her. I am she, Who held her baby tight, As the bombs teared her world, Walls falling down, her child Of light, now the colour of earth. […]

via She — Singing Heart

DON’T BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR VERMIN SUPREME

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[Poem and photo by Leah Mueller]

[ Contact Leah Here]

I voted for a pint of my poems

on my door slightly before dusk,

and found them to be

extra kind to each other today.

I voted for a huge wave

of your profile picture,

with whom I was excited to

see my awkward pre-teen, years later.

I voted for $1,000 per month

helping me in an interesting niche market.

I voted for me with an hour.

This made me be exact.

I voted for a protest vote.

In fact, the skull looks nice.

I voted for a lot of lunacy.

I voted for Mother’s Day.

I voted for Hillary Clinton

in a cool video and wild music.

I voted for a product that my sister

built of automatic weapons,

on top of everything else.

I voted for a fine-toothed comb.

I voted for a hard rain.

I voted for legal marijuana, though.

I voted for me, but less bad,

for someone that

blatantly broke the law.

I voted for a couple more than an hour

layover/plane change in Salt Lake City.

I voted for her mouth,

and literally committed Treason

by students in such situations.

I voted for a sign

telling people not to say anything.

There is already chosen.

America is not quite normal.

And if you’re a Mean One,

in battle with firecrackers

until dawn.

The Beginning-Introducing Aurora Pheonix

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[Art and poem by Aurora Pheonix]
It felt like miscarriage.
There was the requisite agony and attendant
gore – absent the maternal oxytocin glow. This being
erupted from her unbidden, extruding through
dry constricted orifices.
It wracked her – a clamped
down silent caterwauling black hole
wrenching her skinside in and curdling
the yolk of the skies.
This thing was a raw bloody
mangled mess, confounding hope of life.
Expecting putrefaction
it squirmed and whimpered
inexplicably birthed in desolate
Siberian confinement.

At the end of all that was known
she bore a poetess self

[Aurora Pheonix is a fledgling writer who is in the process of authoring a new life following a shocking incarceration. She was previously a clinical psychologist and suburban mom. Writing found her in captivity and has been an inescapable conduit to process her experience and reclaim her voice.]