Feminism by M.W

Feminism

 

Equality

That is what feminism means

It doesn’t mean that they praise women by diminishing men

It doesn’t give us the right to think that women are better than men

That is not what it means to be a feminist

Feminists fight for equal power

We fight for women to have EQUAL opportunities as men

To be allowed on the same sports teams

To be paid the same

To be treated with the same respect

To wear our hair short and have baggy shorts without being called out for it

We deserve to dress and act the way we want

We don’t have to follow the perfect picture that society paints of us

Tall but not to tall

Skinny but not too skinny

Wear makeup but not too much

Have a gracious attitude and cater to other people’s every needs

Have long hair and tan skin

I say why should we?

We should be allowed to wear our hair in messy bun

To wear the amount of makeup we choose

To be so short that have to look up when having a conversation or so tall that you can never wear heels

We should be allowed to have curves

We should be allowed to love ourselves without everyone saying that we are overconfident

Girls

Love your body

And love yourself

Paper Plane by M.M.

EXT – Camp Harstrick – DAY Sam, a somber 11-year-old, sits in the back of a minivan driven by his MOM. His forehead rest on the window. Meeting his gaze is 11-year-old Suzy, an equally somber girl. Other children are milling about the entrance to a camp. A sign reads, Camp Harstrick. The minivan slowly pulls away and the two children remain eye contact.

 

INT – SAM’S ROOM – DAY Sam lays on his stomach on his bed and looks out the window. After a few moments, he rolls onto his back and sighs. He looks to the desk in his room. His eyes widen and he begins to grin. He rolls off the bed and walks to his desk. He takes out a piece of paper and a pen and begins writing. All that can be seen is, Dear Suzy.

CUT TO Sam grabs his piggy bank,

INT – ENTRYWAY -DAY Sam pulls on his shoes.

CUT TO Sam puts on his coat.

 

EXT – POST OFFICE – DAY Sam, piggy bank in one hand and letter in the other, walks in front of the post office, looks up at it for a moment, and then begins walking up the stairs.

 

INT – POST OFFICE – DAY Sam walks to the desk where stamps are sold. He puts the letter on the desk, turns his piggy bank upside down and shakes it. The excitement drains from his face as he realizes that he can’t pay to send his letter.

INT – SAM’S ROOM – DAY Sam is sitting at his desk, slouching dejectedly. He glances at the letter,sighs, and turns to the window. His eyes narrow as a thought occurs to him. He slowly turns back to the letter sitting on his desk. He begins folding it.

EXT – SAM’S HOUSE – DAY Sam sticks his head out of his room’s window and looks around. He holds out a pinwheel to check the wind direction and speed, and then pulls his head back inside. He emerges a moment later with a paper airplane in hand. He aims and then throws it.

INT – SUZY’S ROOM – Day Suzy is sitting at the desk in her room, reading a book. Behind her, the wind rustles the drapes that line her open window. Suddenly, the paper airplane flies into the room and lands on the floor. Suzy looks up from her book, puzzled, and turns around. CUT TO BLACK

THE END

Depression Poem by D.M.

All my thoughts got jumbled in my head, when I found out my dad was dead.

I sat in my room for hours and just cried, I couldn’t fight it no matter how hard I tried.

The worst part was the memories, every time I thought of him it would emphasize my miseries.

It creeps up on me when I least expect it, there’s nothing I can do but try and reject it.

That’s how I got to thinking that life is fucked up, even if you’re good, your life gets screwed up.

Im jumping over imaginary hurdles, no matter how fast I go I feel like I’m going slower than a turtle.

I know things will get better although I’d wish he’d come back, but he’s gone for good and he left my heart black.

My sky will be blue again I have hope, for now just get through it and try to cope.

I love him and I always will, and I know the solution isn’t in this pill.

Death by M.T.

Let’s talk about death

No one wants to, no one does

We all shove it far away in the back of our minds

Until it punches us square in the face and knocks us down

People always say,

“I never saw it coming”

“I could never have prepared for this”

“One day she was there and the next she was gone”

“We just don’t talk about death in this family”

Has no one figured it out?

That our way IS NOT WORKING?

I am sick of this feeling

This feeling that I can’t control the process of death.

We all pass away

This is not a new thing in the world

Yet time and time again

It comes as a surprise

Sometimes I think,

What if I die tomorrow?

Because as ridiculous as that sounds

It’s just as likely to happen to me as the next guy

Three deaths in less than 6 months

All of the sudden, unexpected.

Three people too young to die

Is that not enough proof that it could happen to any of us?

One of us might have a heart attack in our sleep

Or crash a car driving back from a day skiing

Hit our head while skating on ice

I know this because it happened.

To actual people.

Incredible people with long lives ahead of them,

Just gone for no reason.

I don’t fucking get it

But at this point why am I surprised?

Shouldn’t I have that understanding by now?

Human life is a lot more fragile than we think it is

With medicine and money you’ll feel invincible

But in the blink of an eye it can happen to you.

I think I’ve learned one thing at least:

I have learned to Live in a way that if I die tomorrow,

My loved ones will be proud of the life that I lived

To do things that are worth celebrating once I’m gone

To spend my time on this earth with actions that people will share with others,

When I’m not there to tell those stories myself.

To love the people that I share this life with

My time here with the ones I love is more valuable than anything

To remember that they could be gone tomorrow, just like me

To love them when they aren’t there too

I have learned love endlessly

Because love has no boundaries

It transcends time, distance, and conflict

Love is stronger than death.

It has no end

This poem began with death

But as I write, it is ending with love

Death is about love.

Mirror by L.M.

She takes one look in the mirror and starts to cry,

Ugly

She wonders why she ate today, she was doing so well,

Fat

She hears the whispers and murmurs of people talking about her,

Worthless

She looks down at the scars on her wrists, legs, and stomach,

Unlovable

Little does she know, that when he looks at her he sees

Beauty

When he sees her scars, he feels her pain

Not ugly,

Beautiful

Not fat,

Perfect

Not worthless,

She is his world

Not unlovable,

Adored

Collection of Poetry by O. K.

Thursday march 3rd 2016

‘I have nothing else to give so it is a pot full of yellow corn to warm your belly in the winter’

let the fire crackle and the metal fence warm your toes

I have nothing else to give you so I give you time.

time to sit and share

your worries and your wonders, I open myself to you so you can see my soul

I give you my soul because I have nothing else to give.

A soul that cares

the trees grow naked, the sun goes away

a soul that never ceases to think of running away

I have nothing else to give you so I give you my love.

love that makes you feel strong

on the days that you feel defeated and to love feels so hard

laugh so loud it echos for miles

a love that will last well after we walk down the aisle

‘It’s all I have to give

and all anyone needs to live

to go on living inside

when the world outside no longer seems to care

remember

I love you’

 

Baca workshop

I lost who I am

let go of approval

Be one with the world. not my world

let go of the control and need for change

be still and watch the waves

take a step back let me see

all of the things the world has to offer me

 

Baca Workshop

Something happened to me when I was found myself in a dark pit

cobwebs of lies

whipping winds of betrayal

I am in the wrong?

short skirt and tighter shirt

let me show you how to really flirt

you stare at me, longing for anything to let you know I am okay

cold anger stirs in my heart. eyes wander astray

my head dizzy and chest tight

please god help me tell me how to go back

how to make things right

I’m in a pit trapped in insecurities, don’t take one step or they will call you out for your insanity

i am alone

but i have it all!

the nice hair, long legs big boobs and all

f*** you don’t see my mirror, the image that flashes back wants to disappear

the pressure for perfect it’s all too much

take me to the time in the park with my mom, the sun’s shining soft touch

i’m sorry i made things complicated

your words of affirmation are silent

my frustration is getting violent

i long for something deeper

an adventure far away in another world, something simple

somewhere that i feel safe and have a smile dimple to dimple

 

Come Slowly by R.C.

Come slowly, dear

watch your step and get over here.

Silly boy,

I can hear your heart and I smell you fear.

Come in to me,

I’ll show you your dream.

But don’t you ever think you’ll cross me again,

because next time I’ll show you the short end.

Crawl

scrape

run away

maybe tomorrow but not today.

GIve me your cheek

so I can beat it like clay.

I know that you won’t bleed

because if you follow my lead

you’ll only turn red. In the face in the sky

your pretty sunset’s gunna be mine.

Ink’ll splatter on the horizon

but you’ll never see ‘cause I want you stupid eyes on.

Me

me

look at me

The whole wide world will come down to my feet.

I know I’m short not tall

but I’ll be bigger than them all.

And when the storm I made has torn you down

I’ll hold you tight so you don’t drown.

And while your lungs

are choking I’ll use your tears to boil my enemies tongues.

Don’t get mad at me, I love you and I know what’s best so don’t you dare stand up

just stay down

Ill watch over you and I’ll watch my crown,

your precious

I hate you

but Ill keep you safe

don’t worry

but stress it

It’s your fault

but i’m sorry

and you really don’t deserve me

but i am the victim Ill and Ill always be

so don’t you ever question me .

Sail away you silly boy I can’t wait to watch you sink

but I love you

sail safe

I hope you make it back to your place

so I can erode you into dust for my champagne

 

Grief Will Get Easier to Carry by S.Z.

On February 8 of this year, just as I was finishing up a yoga class, my husband burst into the studio with three words, “Sarah. Your dad.” Thus began a furious drive to the emergency room at a hospital in Westminster, where I arrived a half hour after he was gone, greeted by my mom and brother, and the three of us “clung to each other, crying for dad, the man we loved” as Helen Macdonald described a similar scene in her book H is for Hawk, a memoir about the sudden loss of her own father.

Since that evening, grief has been my new constant companion. It has affected my cognitive ability, as Joan Didion describes in The Year of Magical Thinking. There have been days where thinking anything of substance has been impossible. It has left me swimming in memories in photographs–my own version of Didion’s “vortex effect.” I spent the first few weeks after his death going through literally every single photo of my father that I could find and wove them–all 1000 of them–into a photo slide show for family and friends. In this way, I think I was doing what Elizabeth Alexander described as her purpose for writing about her husband in The Light of the World: “And so I write to fix him in place, to pass time in his company, to make sure I remember, even though I know I will never forget.” Looking at the photos kept Dad close, made memories salient, allowed me to hold on to him though he was just so suddenly gone.

I sought to make sense of the hole. In my world, my dad had always been terra firma as Elizabeth Alexander describes the role parents play–”terra firma, to stand, to be planted in the earth” like a 100-year-old oak tree that stands through storms that knock down most other trees. Though Dad’s presence had changed in recent years due to his Parkinson’s-related condition, the fact that he was there was resolute. Though a lot of things in my life have shifted in my nearly 43 years, the existence of my father was constant, assured, reliable. I am Sarah and my father is Ted Zerwin. This was a truth never to be questioned. Terra firma.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

The loss was “obliterative,” as Didion describes, “dislocating to both body and mind.” She explains that “grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it.” And that has been true for me. Following the shock of the loss, and long after the funeral is over, Didion describes an “unending absence that follows, a void.” That’s where I am right now, trying to understand it, trying to wrap my head around what it means that my father is gone. How do I move forward carrying such loss?

Macdonald explains what she learned in the wake of her father’s death: “You see that life will become a thing made of holes. Absences. Losses. Things that were there and are no longer. And you realise, too, that you have to grow around and between the gaps.” Yes–holes, absences, losses. These are part of human life. We love and then there is loss. How do we grow around and between the gaps? Love. More of it. Kindness. Patience with ourselves and others. Gratitude. For Macdonald, this lesson came in training Mabel, the hawk she adopted following her father’s death. Only through love, patience, kindness, and gratitude was she able to forge an authentic connection with the hawk. This helped her to grow around and between the gaps of her loss.

Alexander said of her husband’s death: “I could not have kept [his] death from happening, and from happening to us. It happened; it is part of who we are; it is our beauty and our terror. We must be gleaners from what life has set before us.” We love and then there is loss. And what I glean from my loss are the lessons my father taught me: love boldly, give unsparingly, seek to make a difference in the lives of others. And though the grief will never leave, people tell me it will get easier to carry.