SPEAK – GEORGIANN CARLSON

not everyone is allowed to SPEAK
or maybe it’s just that not everyone
is allowed to be heard
either way
speaking
and being heard
seems to be for men only
women can speak to each other
but their voices fall on deaf
male ears
when women SPEAK UP
or speak OUT
when they are SCREAMING
for an end to the violence against them
when they SHOUT
for the right
to own their own BODIES
it’s as if no sound
can be heard

women living
in a patriarchal culture
have no voice

men have stolen
their words


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

Un cadre semi-sauvage – Candice Louisa Daquin

Feminism in the late eighties

showed itself to me incompletely

a chain-smoking, pencil-thin waif

thought she was a sister

didn’t have a clean bra to burn

in the auditorium of quiet listeners

Luce Irigaray stood discussing; To Speak is Never Neutral

it was unpolitic of me to note she had high cheek bones

over vending machine chocolat chaud

with wet gloves and skinny scarfs, the outraged and the firm

discussed Julia Kristeva and her “chora”

an oeuvre of sorts

whether Simone de Beauvoir was existential or pawn to Sartre

what caused her to lose faith? Where once, she’d set her heart on being a nun

(was it true she seduced young girls in her forties?

are men penalized as harshly when they do the same?)

intertextuality, the semiotic, and abjection

Jacques Lacan mentioned once or twice

exhaling and crushing yellowed Gauloises in cold coffee

I twirled my styrofoam cup, wondering

if unconscious sexualized behavior was bred

or a fantasy of linguistics formed by men?

if we’d wear red satin panties for ourselves, if a lover were not coming over tonight?

what constituted attractive, versus appropriated?

the desire I had for a small shinned girl

who wore canary yellow bands in her black hair

it was decided Hélène Cixous held the greater respect for

her le rire de la méduse

and being a Jew whose Écriture feminine

defied the patriarchy

whilst the logic of Antilove spelt the self-hatred women have

woman as anti-narcissism resonated in my pierced ears

a love of what we do not have

though the idea of universal bisexuality or polymorphous perversity

deconstructed my simple belief

love is love

Cixous was influenced ironically by a man

Derrida who now is quoted in most lesbian textbooks as

a defining force, phallus again describing women

fortunately he understood belonging constituted of exclusion and

non-belonging was real

I had chewed my pencil

sat at the end of the room so long

memorizing the backs of everyone’s heads

maybe I wasn’t very good at being part

of a spirited group even if they were my sisters

there were times they still

looked at me side-ways with cats eye glance

you learn young, means girls aren’t always your friend

nevertheless I dwelt on the

shape of a woman by the window and how

in half-light she could appear

to shimmer like a lemon tree receiving rain

I recalled a

Paul Verlaine quote

“De baisers superficiels
Et des sentiments à fleur d’âme”

(Of kisses that brushed the surface
And feelings that shook the soul)

and wondered

if french philosophers and feminists

were as I …

limited by their longing for romance

without rules and stark observation

in the crepe listing

of afternoon

Broken promises- Megha Sood

Broken Promises

String of broken promises

and false hopes

makes our story

A succession of lies

built on the pyre of the dead truths

because you didn’t keep the promise

 

You surrendered to the patriarchy

You stirred and dissolved all the hope and love

in your infected vial of anger

You cannot save me again

because you didn’t keep the promise

 

Don’t you dare

ask me to look at the blinding light again

pushing again me against my boundaries

asking me to breathe against my wishes

because you didn’t keep the promise

 

You kept the stinking lies

tucked under false pretenses

I rose from the ashes

just to be burned alive on the pyre again

You can’t  keep weaving the same

web of deceit again

Don’t you dare

because you didn’t keep the promise

 

The more of you try to hide it

It spreads the infection more

The more you smirk

the more you feed your ego

the more our dreams are getting suffocated

You can’t tell me to keep me going on

because you didn’t keep the promise.

 

I’m standing right here

alone at the crossroads of life

betrayed and broken

waiting for the tune to change

though my heart keeps mourning

with every passing breath

Well, you didn’t keep the promise.

 

Photo by Sam Burriss on Unsplash


I’m an avid reader, loves to sing, an ardent lover of poetry and sometimes can scribble few lines too. Loves to dance in the rain, have an undying love for nature, can watch the beautiful sunset for hours. I have worked in the IT field for almost a decade as a manager, worked crazy hours and traveled around the world. In that busy schedule, I never got the time to creatively express my thoughts. Now every time I finish a poem, free verse anything it fills me with so much happiness and excitement and a feeling to have created something of my own.  I blog at Megha’s World – A potpourri of emotions.

We Were Friends-Alexa Reed

scream

[We Were Friends by Alexa Reed, The Scream by Emilie Errié]

We used to be friends. I mean, you were never my best friend. That’s Bridget, you know that. But after she and Mark got married, she didn’t have as much time to hang out and you like the same music as me, so we started hanging out more these last few months.

You would text me when you were going to the bar near my apartment and tell me the first one was on you. I would invite you whenever I went to that diner by your house and you would come by even if you’d already had food. You said “I can always eat dessert” and somehow we both ended up staying at the diner longer than I had planned because there always seemed to be something to talk about.

You would talk about whatever girl you were seeing that week and I would talk about Eddie. You were always willing to listen even when he wasn’t. That relationship was toxic in so many ways and I didn’t realize it soon enough but when I did I felt relief and sadness in equal measures. It was like a splinter had been removed, but the wound still needed time to heal.

Instead, you pounced on it. You came in and started talking about how this was great because it meant that I was single for the first time since we’d met and I should consider you. You started telling me what a nice guy you were, how you were there to help me move, how you always took care of me, how you would be so much better to me than he was, how you knew what I needed because you’d been listening to me for so long.

Now you complain that I put you in the Friendzone, as if that were a real place. The Friendzone is located somewhere on the other side of Narnia and seems to be populated only by men who thought that being nice to women would result in sex or otherwise it wasn’t worth their time.

HOW DARE YOU? How dare you find my heart when it was beaten and rip through it with your selfish needs? How dare you complain that friendship alone wasn’t a good enough reason to hang out with me? How dare you get angry because I didn’t uphold my end of some contract you created and didn’t tell me about? How dare you treat our friendship as some undercover spy job, as if you could detect the secret code that would unlock my vulva? You’d ask about my day, you always knew how to make me laugh, you made me think you actually cared, and then you took all of that away in one night.

So after the fight (and by the way, you’re so lucky I didn’t throw anything at you because I don’t even have words for how much I wanted to), I end up crying in Bridget’s kitchen. And then she tells me that she’s always thought you and I would be good together and she doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t try. And Mark says, “Yeah, after all the time the guy’s put in, doesn’t he deserve it?” Like my love is some kind of salary to be paid out.

I had to leave. So now I’m at home, and my heart is broken from Eddie, and I can’t go to Bridget because she and Mark are on the other side of some wall that I can’t see over. And I can’t go to you because I just found out that everything you’d ever done with or for me was designed to get me to be something I don’t want to be. And I feel like the biggest fool that ever there was because all of this time, I thought you were doing it just because we were friends.


[Emilie Errié is an artist whose work is filled with personal expressions and the exploration of the unknown. She enjoys working with ideas and finds great rewards in the overall artistic process.  She obtained her Bachelor’s in Photography and wishes to continue her artistic journey by pursuing an MFA]

[Alexa Reed is a white, Queer, agender, Vegan Atheist Socialist who hopes that zir words will help to dismantle the kyriarchy. Meanwhile, ze lives in Malden in zir cat Serenity, an adoptee with leukemia, sharp claws, and lots of energy. They enjoy snuggling in bed, cuddling on the couch, and sitting together in the office chair (Alexa typing while Serenity purrs from atop the headrest). Alexa’s other hobbies include posting on Facebook, yelling at the television, cooking, baking, and eating Vegan-friendly food. Ze started the Facebook account (linked) in an attempt to take zir writing seriously. Ze hopes to be part of 5 shows and 5 publications in 2017 and will announce all of them through that Facebook account.]

We Were Friends by Alexa Reed

scream

[We Were Friends by Alexa Reed, The Scream by Emilie Errié]

We used to be friends. I mean, you were never my best friend. That’s Bridget, you know that. But after she and Mark got married, she didn’t have as much time to hang out and you like the same music as me, so we started hanging out more these last few months.

You would text me when you were going to the bar near my apartment and tell me the first one was on you. I would invite you whenever I went to that diner by your house and you would come by even if you’d already had food. You said “I can always eat dessert” and somehow we both ended up staying at the diner longer than I had planned because there always seemed to be something to talk about.

You would talk about whatever girl you were seeing that week and I would talk about Eddie. You were always willing to listen even when he wasn’t. That relationship was toxic in so many ways and I didn’t realize it soon enough but when I did I felt relief and sadness in equal measures. It was like a splinter had been removed, but the wound still needed time to heal.

Instead, you pounced on it. You came in and started talking about how this was great because it meant that I was single for the first time since we’d met and I should consider you. You started telling me what a nice guy you were, how you were there to help me move, how you always took care of me, how you would be so much better to me than he was, how you knew what I needed because you’d been listening to me for so long.

Now you complain that I put you in the Friendzone, as if that were a real place. The Friendzone is located somewhere on the other side of Narnia and seems to be populated only by men who thought that being nice to women would result in sex or otherwise it wasn’t worth their time.

HOW DARE YOU? How dare you find my heart when it was beaten and rip through it with your selfish needs? How dare you complain that friendship alone wasn’t a good enough reason to hang out with me? How dare you get angry because I didn’t uphold my end of some contract you created and didn’t tell me about? How dare you treat our friendship as some undercover spy job, as if you could detect the secret code that would unlock my vulva? You’d ask about my day, you always knew how to make me laugh, you made me think you actually cared, and then you took all of that away in one night.

So after the fight (and by the way, you’re so lucky I didn’t throw anything at you because I don’t even have words for how much I wanted to), I end up crying in Bridget’s kitchen. And then she tells me that she’s always thought you and I would be good together and she doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t try. And Mark says, “Yeah, after all the time the guy’s put in, doesn’t he deserve it?” Like my love is some kind of salary to be paid out.

I had to leave. So now I’m at home, and my heart is broken from Eddie, and I can’t go to Bridget because she and Mark are on the other side of some wall that I can’t see over. And I can’t go to you because I just found out that everything you’d ever done with or for me was designed to get me to be something I don’t want to be. And I feel like the biggest fool that ever there was because all of this time, I thought you were doing it just because we were friends.

[Emilie Errié is an artist whose work is filled with personal expressions and the exploration of the unknown. She enjoys working with ideas and finds great rewards in the overall artistic process.  She obtained her Bachelor’s in Photography and wishes to continue her artistic journey by pursuing an MFA]

[Alexa Reed is a white, Queer, agender, Vegan Atheist Socialist who hopes that zir words will help to dismantle the kyriarchy. Meanwhile, ze lives in Malden in zir cat Serenity, an adoptee with leukemia, sharp claws, and lots of energy. They enjoy snuggling in bed, cuddling on the couch, and sitting together in the office chair (Alexa typing while Serenity purrs from atop the headrest). Alexa’s other hobbies include posting on Facebook, yelling at the television, cooking, baking, and eating Vegan-friendly food. Ze started the Facebook account (linked) in an attempt to take zir writing seriously. Ze hopes to be part of 5 shows and 5 publications in 2017 and will announce all of them through that Facebook account.]