I won’t stay quiet, I will shriek shrill,
Scream like a harpy, wail like a siren, peal like a coloratura – my crisp clean notes
bouncing through the air like voluminous pearls from
breath-filled blimp lungs; I will not be a
soft little mouse deficient in decibels, I will be large and my voice will thunder loud
and all will hear me roar like a woman
Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com
Side eyes as I slide by, my perfume thick and heady, like my thighs-I am expected to disguise the perfect of creation.
But they don’t get it yet, you see…to them the glory of the mystery is lost in the trees, and I am the forest, the goddess, the moon, and so are they; but shame runs out their vagina each month so they hide in lies and lives that are stories and stories of houses that have only hauntings roaming their halls at night.
And what of the days?
What have you made of them?
What have they made of you?
And what of the ways of the ancient wild women before you? What have you made of them, you soft bellied mute, you tender hearted fuse.
You chose society as your muse; they shushed your screaming from the moment you were born. And now, you shame your sister for her loud, her tears, her fears, her refusal to sit down and be quiet.
When did you become them?
Why did you become them?
Do you remember your right to feel it all, and the freedom of letting one else’s shit go, especially your own?
Susan M. Conway is an acclaimed fiction novelist, blogger, and mother of two. She resides in Northeast Georgia, where she lives a quiet life. In her spare time, she enjoys gardening and cooking for her family. Susan is a passionate and fiery social justice warrior, mental health advocate, and mentor in the BDSM, Kink, and Fetish lifestyles, striving to empower, embolden, and open healthy dialogues about a variety of social issues.
You can read more of her writing at The Ginger Post
You can read more of Rachel’s writing at Rohlerach
On the surface
it’s hard to tell
that my loathing
it’s a pervasive
all consuming beast
hell bent on shredding
every ounce of inhumanity
determined to compost all lies and
ready to food process all oppression
into convenient lozenges you can
suck on to remind you that this
shrill, loud woman will
you into civility
if you don’t
have the brains
to play nicely
Tamara Fricke is the 2010 co-winner of the Gertrude Claytor Award of the Academy of American Poets and is previously published by The Lyon Review, Meat for Tea, Attack Bear Press Poetry Vending Machine, Whisper and the Roar, We Will Not Be Silenced, and has been included in a number of compilations. Her poetry chapbook Our Requiem was released in 2014. She lives in Springfield, MA, with an ungrateful cat, where she writes grants professionally.
when women speak
and men don’t want to hear
what they have to say
they often label them
saying that they are shrill
that their voices
are high pitched and piercing
thereby dismissing their words
what label do we attach to men
when they raise their voices
in an effort to be heard
when no one wants to hear
what they have to say
is there a cutting
and negative label for them
or do we just say dangerous
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
you call me shrill
whenever I interrupt
whatever VERY important thing
you must be saying
to speak my truth
your tone patronizingly implying
that my voice is so shrill
it could break mirrors
whenever I am audacious enough
to steal the floor from you
but why settle for merely etching glass
when I could engrave metal
write my truth onto the very stars?
maybe I am a shrill
but that doesn’t make me wrong
© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved