My mother never eats toast on a plate, she holds the bread in her long hands and eats over the kitchen sink. I think these are the moments she prefers, looking out to the garden, morning sun dim and blue and made of all the forgiving in the world easier here in morning’s two-part
TagPoetry
Home
Where I come from, I’m the devil’s incarnation The fallen woman Lilith. You see, there’s always a dichotomy at play: The sinner, not the saint. The whore and the prostitute. I am the one without a hymen The one mothers spend lifetimes protecting their daughters from becoming. Even by cutting off their clitoris By subjecting
Rise
Tattoos are forbidden by their god Their god who is them Your body will not enter heaven The body cannot be a canvas Skin cannot be art It has to carry its wounds Visible, scarred, shamed Violated with no chance Of empowerment The bodies are a cradle of shame The inherent female guilt Your yellow
Privileged Exile
You read the words of Mahmoud Darwish, his nostalgia, revolution and melancholia swirl the desert dust over times and places to reach your eye. Yes, I swear. This is how the tear settled on my dry cheek. And Nizar Qabbani whose eroticism, love and poetic (but also political) fight for social justice make you tingle
[Kulturbahn #35] March 20th – March 26th
► Monday: Fighting the Far-Right Surge – Women’s Rights Now! Although far-right politicians persistently violate and attack women’s rights, a new wave of feminism that takes an intersectional approach is growing internationally. The fight has been undertaken against female rights violations and conflicts of all types – from autonomy to reproductive rights, the wage gap,
Untitled: A Poem
I thiNk of love More than aNythiNg else. My skin always Bruised very Easily It is the oNly Physical RepReseNtatioN of How My MiNd experieNces life. My soul TurNs Black aNd Blue as easily as My skin Does. From the smallest Bumps, EvEn a Good thinG If pRessed too lonG, too strongly. The iNk emBedded
when your home is burning down
A poem in two parts. Pt. I I was born to this old and broken house and now it sits, aflame, and I weep. we live in a mostly burning neighborhood; we watch as we set our own fires; we know we have been swimming in gasoline since we moved in. “why are you shocked?”