ink & honor

Instagram: @logannmartintran 

Venus hated psyche
(the simple mortal woman)
for stealing the love of a god
as nothing is more deadly
than a god in love
(cupid bent the world to return to his beloved)
—  love is the most powerful weapon the mortals ever invented cried venus(l.e.h)

Instagram: loganmartintran

You know what I want to see more of?

I want to see more Indian men unabashedly praise Indian women.

I want to see more Indian men take pride in Indian women’s unbreakable strength, dedication, and dignity.

I want to see more Indian men defend the Indian women who bravely choose to wear cultural attire and ornaments despite possible backlash.

I want to see more Indian men noisily applaud Indian women who speak their mother-tongues in foreign lands.  

I want to see more Indian men wholeheartedly encourage Indian women who pour their hearts and souls into their passions.

I want to see more Indian men extol the virtues of Indian women who value unwavering loyalty to their families, their partners, and themselves. 

I want to see more Indian men roar with fiery rage when Indian women are assaulted, abused, raped, and murdered.

I want to see more Indian men bluntly shut down attempts to degrade, objectify, and mock Indian women.

I want to see more Indian men vocally protest when Indian women are robbed of their cultural wealth by those who trivialize and commercialize it.

I want to see more Indian men engage in discussions about using their privilege to build a safer, kinder, more humane world for Indian women.

I want to see more Indian men recognize the deep potential that lies within daughters who will one day become powerful, radiant Indian women.

I want to see more Indian men shamelessly brag about the timeless, mesmerizing beauty of Indian women.

I want to see more Indian men respect Indian women for the humans that they are.

I want to see more Indian men honor Indian women for the goddesses that they are.

little, red backpack

i remember the little, red backpack
you gave to me
as a young girl
with bangs sticking to my forehead
and scratched up knees.
it had
wheels and a handle to match
and made the most
atrocious sound on the sidewalks
that connected my house
to the other houses
of friends
i would count myself lucky to have.

the bag carried rocks and thorns
to and fro
that i had collected
from the sleepovers that left me tired
and worn
and the play dates that left me dreaming
of better days
when my hands would find ways
to move better
and my feet would find ways
to dance more.

the bag carried my handfuls
of thoughts and passions
tucking each one in every pocket
every crevice
every open space
waiting to be filled
with secrets and whispers

the little, red backpack
with wheels and a handle to match
helped carry my fears
as i walked back and forth
from me to you
and i sit here
only hoping
i still had
the little, red backpack
with wheels and a handle to match
to help carry the weight
of all these words.

Ensnared

By: A sad, sad goat.


Why do we raise her
To be delicate if,
Once she’s a woman,
We criticize her for being weak ?

Why do we tell her
How gorgeous she is
If we will later call her a whore
Because her clothes display her beauty?

Why do we read her
Love stories,
Convince her that romance
Is the only place she can find happiness,
Then when she goes out in
Search of her Prince Charming
We inform her just how
Desperate and slutty she is?

Why do we force her
Into dresses and bows,
Show her just how much her
Appearance should matter,
Yet when she’s grown and
Smothered in makeup,
Desperately wishing to change her face,
We call her fake
Because she’s trying to fit our standards?

Why do we condemn our women
For falling into the traps we’ve
Set for them since birth?

Instead of fragile
Why don’t we call her
Strong?
Why don’t we call her
Bold?
Why don’t we tell her that she’s
Talented
Brilliant
Honorable
Brave
Powerful?

Why don’t we tell our girls
Everything they’re capable of
So they grow up
To achieve it?

Instagram: @loganmartintran