feminist slam poetry

girls like her may always look put together, well-trimmed and polished.
girls like her may always look like they stepped straight out of their packaging.

girls like her might make you feel venemous.
girls like her might make you green with envy and red with rage.
girls like her may have everything they want, and everything you want, too.
girls like her may make you forget that despite what you tell yourself,

girls like her have bad days and bad pasts just like the rest of us.
girls like her come from poor families. girls like her have abusive partners.
girls like her are stuffed full of regrets and secrets and riddled with scars.

girls like her are no different from girls like you.
girls like her may look at girls like you and want to switch places.
girls like her might want to see a girl like you in the mirror.

girls like her can be unhappy.
girls like her may not want to be part of girls like her.
girls like her do not deserve unjustified hatred.

girls like you are just as beautiful.
girls like you have to remember that.
and girls like you have to learn that

girls like her and girls like you are just girls.

girls are beautiful.
girls are exquisite.
girls do not need to compete with each other for first place.
there is no first place. there is no trophy to be won.
you win this game by loving yourself and loving each other.

this is not a race.
believe that you are beautiful, and you have crossed your very own finish line.
nobody is in the running for your own self-love but you.

stop comparing yourself to girls like her.
you are not meant to look like her because you are not her.
you are you.
you are supposed to look like you.

there are no categories here.
no girls like her or girls like you.

there’s just a bunch of beautiful girls.

—  girls -c.h. // instagram: @evanescent.love (via @poeticaffinity) 
Poetry Recommendation: Blythe Baird “Give Me A God I Can Relate To”
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“You threatened me not to write this, but I am a force of nature and you will never tell me what to do again”

Give Me a God I Can Relate To” Is slam poet Blythe Baird’s debut collection.

The collection is largely a critique of society that examines the world through the lens of intersectional feminism that delves into rape culture and misogyny, as well as eating disorders, family relationships, and being part of the lgbtq community.

This collection is beautiful in the way a forest fire is beautiful. The language isn’t overly flowery, but each poem is written with blunt and powerful honesty that forces you to face what she is saying, even if it “isn’t something we like to discuss”. Each line grabs you by the shoulders and looks you straight in the eye, and there’s no way not to listen. The honesty of the collection is also what makes it so relatable, even if you’ve never been where she’s been or if you turn a blind eye at the things she’s writing about, you’ve seen it and heard it and there is no way to erase that from who you are. 

Even though this is a collection of page poems they read like spoken word, which can be attributed to her history as a slam poet. Her honesty and passion carries throughout the collection, thus giving it one of the strongest voices I’ve ever encountered in a collection of poetry. Each line is laced with emotion and power, the kind that doesn’t care what you think because she’s calling it like she sees it, and it’s magnificent.

Overall, Blythe has managed to beautifully capture what it’s like to be a girl growing up today as well as deliver critiques on the very bedrock of society, all while giving advice and offering insights that are wise beyond her years. Whether you’re interested in feminism, on the hunt for a book that will make you think, or simply enjoy poetry this collection is for you.

my body is not 
a monster.

my body is not
to be hidden under beds
or behind closet doors,

my body is not 
something society
should be afraid of.

my body is its own
planet.

it has rolling hills
and dimpled craters,
arching mountains
and darkened caverns.

my body has its own
sky;
glittering in my gaze
is its version of a starry night.

learn how to love me right,
and you can scoop entire
oceans out of me.

love me wrong,
and my sky becomes
a thunderstorm. 

i am my own
home. 

i know no terrain
better than my skin,
can climb no mountain 
better than the rise and fall
of my torso.

there is no greater
celestial being,
no stronger goddess,
than a woman who knows 
her own worth,
who finds herself 
to be ethereal. 

perhaps that is why
you have tried so hard
to shut us away.

—  goddess -c.h. // instagram: @evanescent.love (via @poeticaffinity)
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📸: To Make Monsters Out of Girls by @ladybookmad

I finished it, and oh my god…this book, separate from her “the women are some kind of magic” series, spoke to me on a level above spiritual. I never realized that other people have felt the same way I have until I read this poetry collection. I think it’s safe to say that Amanda Lovelace did an astounding job, once again. If you’re healing or have healed, I highly recommend this book to read. It helped me so much to accept the past and to remember what I deserve.

☼ the ten most beautiful compliments men ever gave me ☼

(1) Insults does not sound good in a pretty girl’s mouth 

We are lucky then, old man, because I am not pretty and I am not your girl 

I am a badass bitch and I intend to set your whole world on fire 


(2) You look so much better with make up on, you should wear it more often. 

The classic opening line of the guy that wants you to suck his dick and thinks it is going to happen

Well fuckboy, you look so much better when you shut the fuck up

Guess none of us is going to have what they want. 


(3) You are so annoying

I am a difficult person that knows exactly how difficult she is ; but number 3 is music to my ears

Because if I annoy the men that want to make me small

 If i am loud and take up enough space for them to feel threaten

 Then i adore what i am, despite how difficult i might be


(4) You fight like a girl 

Yes I do.

Because I am a girl, and my daily life looks more like fighting than living. 

So I am fighting like a girl, this ancient art form. 

Because I’ve learnt all of its secrets from my mother, 

That had been taught by her mother, 

That had been taught by her mother 

That had been taught by her mother. 

And she sew up my armor in the secret of our home, 

And she tied up dread and grief to craft my banner 

And she showed me that what looks like the world to you, is actually the battlefield of women, 

And she warned me against the ambushes I will not be able to escape. 

And she prepared me for the war while I dreamt of the quiet 


(5) You are too ugly for me to fuck you 

quickly followed by number (6) You are too ugly for me to date you

If your ultimate criteria to judge 

If you want to kiss, hug, fuck, cherish, like, love, date, empregnate, marry, divorce 

A woman is how ugly she is or she is not

Then you are too sexist for me to even take the time 

To acknowledge that you are breathing human body.


(7) You look like a lesbian 

Oh, do you think so ? 

More important : do you think other girls would think so ? 

(and by other girls, I really mean, girls who like girls and might be interested in liking me ?)

(I am just asking for a friend.) 


(8) When you laugh, you sound like a witch

You know who else sounded like a witch ?

 All the women guilty only of not fitting into the right boxes, 

That you throw into the flams without any remorses, 

And all the women that chased after you

 For making you pay the painful death of their sisters

And all the women that never got caught 

But spent the rest of their lives teaching their daughters revenge



(9) Boys would not date you because you are too scary 

I am sorry to tell you that, darling, but if you are afraid of me, it is not because I’m scary 

It is because you are looking for a pretty wallpaper instead of a woman, 

Because you can’t stand to confront a woman that speaks her mind, 

Actually, you can’t stand to confront a woman that has a mind at all, 

Because you are not looking for a relationship, you are looking for a power trip.


(10) In the end, you are like all the other girls I know. 

By that, do you mean that I am clever, ressourceful, funny, 

Caring, trustworhty, witty, hardworking, loyal, free, 

Important, smart, fascinating, brave, uncanny ? 

Because that is my experience of “the other girls”

And trust me, if I could be anything in this world, 

I wish I could be just a little bit more like the other girls I know. 

Watch on femnipotent.tumblr.com

“To JK Rowling, from Cho Chang” by Rachel Rostad

When you put me in your books, millions of Asian girls across America rejoiced! Finally, a potential Halloween costume that wasn’t a geisha or Mulan! What’s not to love about me? I’m everyone’s favorite character! I totally get to fight tons of Death Eaters and have a great sense of humor and am full of complex emotions!

Oh wait. That’s the version of Harry Potter where I’m not fucking worthless.

First of all, you put me in Ravenclaw. Of course the only Asian at Hogwarts would be in the nerdy house. Too bad there wasn’t a house that specialized in computers and math and karate, huh?

I know, you thought you were being tolerant.
Between me, Dean, and the Indian twins, Hogwarts has like…five brown people? It doesn’t matter we’re all minor characters. Nah, you’re not racist!
Just like how you’re not homophobic, because Dumbledore’s totally gay!
Of course it’s never said in the books, but man. Hasn’t society come so far?
Now gays don’t just have to be closeted in real life—they can even be closeted fictionally!

Ms. Rowling. Let’s talk about my name. Cho. Chang.
Cho and Chang are both last names. They are both Korean last names.
I am supposed to be Chinese.
Me being named “Cho Changis like a Frenchman being named “Garcia Sanchez.”

So thank you. Thank you for giving me no heritage. Thank you for giving me a name as generic as a ninja costume. As chopstick hair ornaments.
Ms. Rowling, I know you’re just the latest participant in a long tradition of turning Asian women into a tragic fetish.
Madame Butterfly. Japanese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself.
Miss Saigon. Vietnamese woman falls in love with a white soldier, is abandoned, kills herself.
Memoirs Of A Geisha. Lucy Liu in leather. Schoolgirl porn.
So let me cry over boys more than I speak.
Let me fulfill your diversity quota.
Just one more brown girl mourning her white hero.

No wonder Harry Potter’s got yellow fever.
We giggle behind small hands and “no speak Engrish.”
What else could a man see in me?
What else could I be but what you made me?
Subordinate. Submissive. Subplot.

Go ahead. Tell me I’m overreacting.
Ignore the fact that your books have sold 400 million copies worldwide.
I am plastered across movie screens,
a bestselling caricature.

Last summer,
I met a boy who spoke like rain against windows. -
He had his father’s blue eyes.
He’d press his wrist against mine and say he was too pale.
That my skin was so much more beautiful.
To him, I was Pacific sunset,
almond milk, a porcelain cup.
When he left me, I told myself I should have seen it coming.
I wasn’t sure I was sad but I cried anyway.
Girls who look like me are supposed to cry over boys who look like him.
I’d seen all the movies and read all the books.
We were just following the plot.

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Yo girl on the 2015 YPL stage!