Hello beautiful souls! Sheena here and I'll be posting the prompts beginning today until #day30. Joms.
PROMPT:
Where are you right now? What is happening around you? How does it sound, smell, taste, look and feel like? Today's prompt challenges you to be in the present moment. Choose a place to be in (it can even be the place you are in RIGHT NOW) and recreate the experience by writing a place poem. Examples of place poems include Ee Tiang Hong’s Perth and James Wright’s The Secret of Light .
BONUS CHALLENGE:
Begin your poem by mentioning a body part.
Happy writing!
#day26 #napowrimo #npwm #poetrycafekl #pckl #placepoetry
via Poetry Cafe KL
135: let love and live
I can live and let live,
but I can't love those who only love love
but refuse to live and love.
20170529 9.10am
I can live and let live,
but I can't love those who only love love
but not those who want to live and love.
2017-04-26 3.56pm
but I can't love those who only love love
but refuse to live and love.
20170529 9.10am
134: honor+y
---
my name is izzaty
and i've been told that it's a good name because the root form, "izzat", means 'noble',
i.e. doing the right thing, not the royalty kind;
today i learnt that
"izzat" actually means honor
i.e. 'it's your duty to make sure you don't ruin your and your family and community's reputation' kind
today i learnt that
"izzat" is the cause
of family feuds
raging friendzonees, rape revenges
and testosterone-fueled trigger-happy armies
all of whom simply can't take "live and let live" for an answer.
today i learnt that
it's hard to stomach the fact that i've been a prey of being my own living prayer,
to be the personification of dignity
whatever that may mean
and to be responsible for the brutal consequences if i don't
however that may be.
they say names are a prayer
and now the invisible burdens on my shoulders have shown its form.
they say names are a prayer
and now i thank God that of all the decisions my parents have made
my name has a "y" at the end of it.
133: start making bitch happen
here's something not many people realise:
i'm actually a bitch.
a word that someone godblessthem said stands for babe in total control of herself,
a term, according to my ex, to call wives and girlfriends in rap songs,
a man's best friend... that he will try his best to control.
on one hand if i'm fond of you i will slobber all over you and squeeze in for cuddles and pick up things for you likes there's no tomorrow
on the other, i can turn into an overprotective killing machine if you harm those in my care; use
my nails to tear your skin, sink
my fangs and rip out your heart, and then let
my gang round you up and shred you to pieces.
sorry, was that too psycho for you?
psyche, not sorry
because really, i wanted you to know
that no matter how much you think i can be domesticated
when push comes to shove,
i can be wilder than you ever imagined
i can equally love and loathe you to death
and if you want to see what i'm capable of,
i will let you feel my wrath.
2017-04-21 5.46pm
i'm actually a bitch.
a word that someone godblessthem said stands for babe in total control of herself,
a term, according to my ex, to call wives and girlfriends in rap songs,
a man's best friend... that he will try his best to control.
on one hand if i'm fond of you i will slobber all over you and squeeze in for cuddles and pick up things for you likes there's no tomorrow
on the other, i can turn into an overprotective killing machine if you harm those in my care; use
my nails to tear your skin, sink
my fangs and rip out your heart, and then let
my gang round you up and shred you to pieces.
sorry, was that too psycho for you?
psyche, not sorry
because really, i wanted you to know
that no matter how much you think i can be domesticated
when push comes to shove,
i can be wilder than you ever imagined
i can equally love and loathe you to death
and if you want to see what i'm capable of,
i will let you feel my wrath.
2017-04-21 5.46pm
132: wanederlust
how is it
that everyone else is onthego and underpressure and overworked and inbetweenjobs and inthemidstofeverything and
are constantly running and falling and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning spinning running running running spinning spinning faster and faster and faster and faster going oh so fast oh so steadily
and all i seem to do is spin and spill tears and run and ruin away?
how is it
that i can be full to the brim
and spill out only gas and steam?
how is it
that i constantly find myself tiptoeing at the tip of my sanity
and drown in dreadful nothingness?
that everyone else is onthego and underpressure and overworked and inbetweenjobs and inthemidstofeverything and
are constantly running and falling and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning and running and getting back up and spinning spinning running running running spinning spinning faster and faster and faster and faster going oh so fast oh so steadily
and all i seem to do is spin and spill tears and run and ruin away?
how is it
that i can be full to the brim
and spill out only gas and steam?
how is it
that i constantly find myself tiptoeing at the tip of my sanity
and drown in dreadful nothingness?
131: nts
in case you forgot,
you are more than blood and bones and tinglings and thoughts.
in case you forgot,
you are a complex being, fragile but loved but tired but brave.
in case you forgot,
you are human.
it's okay to just be.
it's okay to just feel
hell, it's okay to just feel sorry for yourself
sometimes
it's - okay, breathe, breathe, breathe
in
and
out
and in
and out and
internalising toxicity has never done you any good -- no matter how many times you replay all the guilt of the past three decades making you constantly feel like you are
out of time
out of control
out of your mind
but of all the things that you stop yourself from doing out of fear,
please don't stop yourself from living because you're scared of being burnt.
sometimes facing your fires is the only way to let out steam,
so go ahead:
shout at the sea at the top of your lungs at 2 in the morning --
use vibrating showerheads on lazy sunday mornings or lonely weekday nights --
down llaollao generously topped with rainbow sprinkles and crushed graham cookies --
let tears extinguish your flaming eyesmindtongueclenchedfists -- just
let it
all
out
and give yourself
permission
to accept that you may be an organised mess
that you may lose yourself in
but will eventually find your way out at some point.
instead of fixating on the hands of the hours and minutes and seconds tick tick ticking away
as you tick tick untick no tick get ticked off by the things in your neverending checklists
try to accept that you'll only be able to see yourself in retrospect so you can't timetravel back to fix your future but also
try not to worry too much if you can't seem to live in the present the way self-help books keep telling you to.
i know your eyes are covered with layers of open-burn smoke disney-tinted lenses underneath half-eyelids wishing they could remain closed
and it's okay that the only thing you can see most of the time are your hands wiping away frustrations from your eyes, creases from your forehead, and snot from your nostrils
because your sweaty palms and farmer-like digits and unpolished nails
have helped you verbalise what you think and want and need,
have clawed into your aggressor's hands at your most vulnerable,
have cupped water for you to gargle after supermintyhot mouthwash,
have on countless occasions placed antiseptic and plaster on your scraped knees,
have pushed yourself up after kissing the earth from falling down, thanking god, or both,
have touched and tickled and been tingled by those who have returned your love - no matter how brief; despite
having been born or shaped or grown or scarred in ways that are unacceptable in other people's eyes,
they are a part and a reflection of what you are and what you are capable of:
perfectly flawed but able to do and carry and protect and heal
more than you can possibly believe.
so please,
forgive yourself
as much and often as you give excuses for other peole being the way they are
for you not being more
for the times you regress and fall through
for all the opportunities you probably missed because you couldn't get up right away or in time or at all.
because really
it's okay
to not be okay all the time.
2017-04-19 6.26pm
you are more than blood and bones and tinglings and thoughts.
in case you forgot,
you are a complex being, fragile but loved but tired but brave.
in case you forgot,
you are human.
it's okay to just be.
it's okay to just feel
hell, it's okay to just feel sorry for yourself
sometimes
it's - okay, breathe, breathe, breathe
in
and
out
and in
and out and
internalising toxicity has never done you any good -- no matter how many times you replay all the guilt of the past three decades making you constantly feel like you are
out of time
out of control
out of your mind
but of all the things that you stop yourself from doing out of fear,
please don't stop yourself from living because you're scared of being burnt.
sometimes facing your fires is the only way to let out steam,
so go ahead:
shout at the sea at the top of your lungs at 2 in the morning --
use vibrating showerheads on lazy sunday mornings or lonely weekday nights --
down llaollao generously topped with rainbow sprinkles and crushed graham cookies --
let tears extinguish your flaming eyesmindtongueclenchedfists -- just
let it
all
out
and give yourself
permission
to accept that you may be an organised mess
that you may lose yourself in
but will eventually find your way out at some point.
instead of fixating on the hands of the hours and minutes and seconds tick tick ticking away
as you tick tick untick no tick get ticked off by the things in your neverending checklists
try to accept that you'll only be able to see yourself in retrospect so you can't timetravel back to fix your future but also
try not to worry too much if you can't seem to live in the present the way self-help books keep telling you to.
i know your eyes are covered with layers of open-burn smoke disney-tinted lenses underneath half-eyelids wishing they could remain closed
and it's okay that the only thing you can see most of the time are your hands wiping away frustrations from your eyes, creases from your forehead, and snot from your nostrils
because your sweaty palms and farmer-like digits and unpolished nails
have helped you verbalise what you think and want and need,
have clawed into your aggressor's hands at your most vulnerable,
have cupped water for you to gargle after supermintyhot mouthwash,
have on countless occasions placed antiseptic and plaster on your scraped knees,
have pushed yourself up after kissing the earth from falling down, thanking god, or both,
have touched and tickled and been tingled by those who have returned your love - no matter how brief; despite
having been born or shaped or grown or scarred in ways that are unacceptable in other people's eyes,
they are a part and a reflection of what you are and what you are capable of:
perfectly flawed but able to do and carry and protect and heal
more than you can possibly believe.
so please,
forgive yourself
as much and often as you give excuses for other peole being the way they are
for you not being more
for the times you regress and fall through
for all the opportunities you probably missed because you couldn't get up right away or in time or at all.
because really
it's okay
to not be okay all the time.
2017-04-19 6.26pm
130: over
thes
e
feel
ing
s a
re ju
st too
much;
i can't
seem to
sto
p mys
elf fro
m sp
ill
ing
al
l
ov
er
2017-04-19 11.25am
e
feel
ing
s a
re ju
st too
much;
i can't
seem to
sto
p mys
elf fro
m sp
ill
ing
al
l
ov
er
2017-04-19 11.25am
129: NaPoWriMo Day 7: pauper prince
Given by The Dirty Thirty Challenge: What does the billionaire wish for? #2017inkedwallsprompt07
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
---
when the earth keeps spinning and you wish it would stop
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
---
when the earth keeps spinning and you wish it would stop
when the pearly mansions have rooms that are more than enough
when food is abundant but there are no other mouths to feed
the only thing missing then are friends in deed.
2017-04-09 10.46pm
2017-04-09 10.46pm
128: NaPoWriMo Day 6: fairweathered
Day 6 Prompt
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
Write a poem written from your shadow's perspective.
Share us where is its fave place, and what does it think about you.
BONUS 1: use a social media format (Facebook statuses, Twitter, Instagram, or text messages).
#2017inkedwallsprompt06
---
she thinks
i'm a fairweather friend
because i'm only around when it's bright
and nowhere to be seen when it's dark.
she feels betrayed by me
but i wish she could see and hear
how ridiculous she sounds,
because
you see,
she goes by many names throughout the day
while i have none.
i guess there isn't any reason to
since i wouldn't be able to respond to anyone even if i did.
because no one speaks to you when all you can offer is silence.
you see,
the only world i know is hers and hers alone:
i can't hear anything because i have have ears
i can't see anything because i have no eyes
i can't feel anything because i have no brain, no skin, no heart
i can't do anything much, really
except for follow her around.
you see,
i was born with her against my will
and i live on even after she dies.
how is this fair?
she can't see
that darkness is where i call home.
where i rightfully belong,
with my kind.
you see,
i've never thought of her as a friend.
she can't see
that i am her captive.
2017-04-06 7.37pm
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
Write a poem written from your shadow's perspective.
Share us where is its fave place, and what does it think about you.
- Does your shadow listen to the same music?
- Does your shadow not like poems?
- Does your shadow want to take charge, for once?
- What would your shadow do?
BONUS 1: use a social media format (Facebook statuses, Twitter, Instagram, or text messages).
#2017inkedwallsprompt06
---
she thinks
i'm a fairweather friend
because i'm only around when it's bright
and nowhere to be seen when it's dark.
she feels betrayed by me
but i wish she could see and hear
how ridiculous she sounds,
because
you see,
she goes by many names throughout the day
while i have none.
i guess there isn't any reason to
since i wouldn't be able to respond to anyone even if i did.
because no one speaks to you when all you can offer is silence.
you see,
the only world i know is hers and hers alone:
i can't hear anything because i have have ears
i can't see anything because i have no eyes
i can't feel anything because i have no brain, no skin, no heart
i can't do anything much, really
except for follow her around.
you see,
i was born with her against my will
and i live on even after she dies.
how is this fair?
she can't see
that darkness is where i call home.
where i rightfully belong,
with my kind.
you see,
i've never thought of her as a friend.
she can't see
that i am her captive.
2017-04-06 7.37pm
127: NaPoWriMo Day 5: soup
I would swallow my words,
but only if they were served at the right time.
Perhaps, they can be garnished with mint and lime
to clear the stench of those that keep entering my mind;
I'm done with rotting flesh and sentences with slime.
In an effort to keep my new
lingua diet, I try hard to not be compromising;
my alphabets will be sauted with ginger, garlic, and cumin
and instead of plain water, I'll use the stock I'd been boiling.
I need even the soupbowl to be worth licking.
In fact, how about some dessert?
Unlike food for the body, I like food for thought served cold
and I have plenty of pennies for those that could
offer phrases with flavors and scents more bold
than most of the junk I grew up being told.
via PoetryCafeKL 6.01pm
---
Late (Day 5) prompt again, sorry! Here we go!
#pckl #day5 #napowrimo #npwm
Initially poem was yummier, but I forgot to keep the lid on, so... this burnt piece haha. 😅
---
Prompt Day 5
There is a very strong relationship between Malaysians and food, don't you agree?
For today's prompt, look at the poster (in the comments section!) from NaPoWriMo 2015 based on the poem "Eating Poetry" by Mark Strand.
In your writing, tell us how would you eat poetry.
Possible ideas on how to write:
Happy writing!
but only if they were served at the right time.
Perhaps, they can be garnished with mint and lime
to clear the stench of those that keep entering my mind;
I'm done with rotting flesh and sentences with slime.
In an effort to keep my new
lingua diet, I try hard to not be compromising;
my alphabets will be sauted with ginger, garlic, and cumin
and instead of plain water, I'll use the stock I'd been boiling.
I need even the soupbowl to be worth licking.
In fact, how about some dessert?
Unlike food for the body, I like food for thought served cold
and I have plenty of pennies for those that could
offer phrases with flavors and scents more bold
than most of the junk I grew up being told.
via PoetryCafeKL 6.01pm
---
Late (Day 5) prompt again, sorry! Here we go!
#pckl #day5 #napowrimo #npwm
Initially poem was yummier, but I forgot to keep the lid on, so... this burnt piece haha. 😅
---
Prompt Day 5
There is a very strong relationship between Malaysians and food, don't you agree?
For today's prompt, look at the poster (in the comments section!) from NaPoWriMo 2015 based on the poem "Eating Poetry" by Mark Strand.
In your writing, tell us how would you eat poetry.
Possible ideas on how to write:
- Think of your favourite food. Describe eating it, but replace the ingredients with other words/phrases related to poetry.
- The digestive system does not stop between lips and throat. Describe the journey your poem takes throughout the whole body.
- Eating is a way to gain nourishment. But are there other reasons we eat?
- Begin your poem with, "I would swallow my words, but..."
Happy writing!
126: NaPoWriMo Day 4: Still I Survive
Day 4's prompt, re: Maya Angelou's Still I Rise.
#pckl #day4 #napowrimo #npwm
---
My emotions twist and turn from troposphere heights to oceanbed lows;
sometimes I ✈ through and over ☁s and between 🌈s
other times I'm ⚓ed and suffocating with nowhere to go.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My mind is a circus with a one-way admission;
the 🎡 keeps me grounded, 🎢 pumps my adrenaline
but I keep getting lost in 👻 mazes of inhibitions.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My 💓 is an organ everbeating and overbattered;
keep being insisted that sticks and stones may only break bones but i doubt
there's sense in leaving verbal wounds untended, as blood keeps oozing out.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My chest is "endowed" which oft-translates to "My D wants your D";
because the chances of being cupped by 👹 on the street
are ridiculously higher than finding a cup with the right fit.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My legs are my vehicle to escape with an expiring key
they allow me to 🏃 and jump and 💃 and get down and dirty
but Doc said I'll have messed up knees by the time I hit thirty.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
---
Sorry for the late post! I had the idea yesterday but it took a while for the words to materialise in my head.
#pckl #day4 #napowrimo #npwm
---
My emotions twist and turn from troposphere heights to oceanbed lows;
sometimes I ✈ through and over ☁s and between 🌈s
other times I'm ⚓ed and suffocating with nowhere to go.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My mind is a circus with a one-way admission;
the 🎡 keeps me grounded, 🎢 pumps my adrenaline
but I keep getting lost in 👻 mazes of inhibitions.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My 💓 is an organ everbeating and overbattered;
keep being insisted that sticks and stones may only break bones but i doubt
there's sense in leaving verbal wounds untended, as blood keeps oozing out.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My chest is "endowed" which oft-translates to "My D wants your D";
because the chances of being cupped by 👹 on the street
are ridiculously higher than finding a cup with the right fit.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
My legs are my vehicle to escape with an expiring key
they allow me to 🏃 and jump and 💃 and get down and dirty
but Doc said I'll have messed up knees by the time I hit thirty.
Barely alive, but still I survive.
---
Sorry for the late post! I had the idea yesterday but it took a while for the words to materialise in my head.
125: NaPoWriMo Day 3: early departed
lids flutter open, close, half-open, squint; light glaring between the curtains, visually reminding it's rise and shine o'clock.
plop facedown into pillow to find workpants underneath, somehow slept on. moanday? great.
roll over to one side; moments pass and eyes eventually adjust to less-dimming room.
wait a minute.
turn to windowside to see it's quite bright out. but the alarms haven't gone off yet so maybe it's not that lat--"SHIT phone is dead, shitshitshit!"
iron crumpled pants,
grab hung top, sniff matching scarves
towel, on! mask? check! gooo
#pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm
1.57pm
via Poetry Cafe KL
----
Basically, haibun is the combination of two poems: a prose poem and haiku. For example:
In the shadow of the Nevado del Ruiz, rice farmers woke as if on any other morning. Their daily pleasures and worries were the same as always. Even the smoke and eruptions that afternoon were familiar—though masked by a thunderstorm—no one aware of the approaching lahars.
not the sound
but drops of rain
scatter ants
- 1985, by Robert Lee Brewer
We sometimes take routine things for granted. Your prompt for today is to write in haibun form, the short journey from your bed to the bathroom door. Note what you can see, hear, feel, touch, and smell and surprise us!
For a further guide on how to write haibun, here's a free PDF: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/EducationalResources/Guidelines-for-Writing-Haibun.pdf
Don't forget to tag your poems with #pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm after/before writing using this prompt!
plop facedown into pillow to find workpants underneath, somehow slept on. moanday? great.
roll over to one side; moments pass and eyes eventually adjust to less-dimming room.
wait a minute.
turn to windowside to see it's quite bright out. but the alarms haven't gone off yet so maybe it's not that lat--"SHIT phone is dead, shitshitshit!"
iron crumpled pants,
grab hung top, sniff matching scarves
towel, on! mask? check! gooo
#pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm
1.57pm
via Poetry Cafe KL
----
Prompt:
Almost everyone knows what's a haiku, but can you write in haibun form?Basically, haibun is the combination of two poems: a prose poem and haiku. For example:
In the shadow of the Nevado del Ruiz, rice farmers woke as if on any other morning. Their daily pleasures and worries were the same as always. Even the smoke and eruptions that afternoon were familiar—though masked by a thunderstorm—no one aware of the approaching lahars.
not the sound
but drops of rain
scatter ants
- 1985, by Robert Lee Brewer
We sometimes take routine things for granted. Your prompt for today is to write in haibun form, the short journey from your bed to the bathroom door. Note what you can see, hear, feel, touch, and smell and surprise us!
For a further guide on how to write haibun, here's a free PDF: http://www.hsa-haiku.org/EducationalResources/Guidelines-for-Writing-Haibun.pdf
Don't forget to tag your poems with #pckl #day3 #napowrimo #npwm after/before writing using this prompt!
124: NaPoWriMo Day 2: The light hits...
The light hits the walls
as instantly as the turning of eyeballs;
the murmurs subsided, as some ended their chitchats in hushed tones
while a few swiftly silenced and put away their phones,
and most leaned back and shifted in their seats for a comfier fit,
expecting to be enthralled, hypnotised and hit
by sentimental sights and songs as soon as the opening credits rolled in.
Though we fall somewhere in between
anticipating too much or expecting little to nothing,
it warms me that against all odds, by the end, we would all have in common one thing:
that for a moment in time we'll all have surrendered ourselves to be mesmerised in a shared secluded space
that we have, for whatever reason scheduled in our busy lives, to grace.
🎭
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
#2017inkedwallsday02 #2017inkedwallsprompt02
---
as instantly as the turning of eyeballs;
the murmurs subsided, as some ended their chitchats in hushed tones
while a few swiftly silenced and put away their phones,
and most leaned back and shifted in their seats for a comfier fit,
expecting to be enthralled, hypnotised and hit
by sentimental sights and songs as soon as the opening credits rolled in.
Though we fall somewhere in between
anticipating too much or expecting little to nothing,
it warms me that against all odds, by the end, we would all have in common one thing:
that for a moment in time we'll all have surrendered ourselves to be mesmerised in a shared secluded space
that we have, for whatever reason scheduled in our busy lives, to grace.
🎭
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
#2017inkedwallsday02 #2017inkedwallsprompt02
---
Prompt:
In 14 lines, describe your unusual Sunday. Begin with “The light hits...” BONUS: Include an encounter with an old flame. #2017inkedwallsprompt02123: NaPoWriMo Day 1: elaboracronymed
intensely feels but tries to refrain
zesty, feisty but covered in plain
zany but typically the same
agitated if provoked, but tame
trying but tried with a lot of stuff
yet I never seem to be enough.
#2017inkedwallsday1
#2017inkedwallsprompt01
A bit late oh well! 😅 #zspilledink
32017-04-03, 9.01am
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
---
#2017inkedwallsprompt01
zesty, feisty but covered in plain
zany but typically the same
agitated if provoked, but tame
trying but tried with a lot of stuff
yet I never seem to be enough.
#2017inkedwallsday1
#2017inkedwallsprompt01
A bit late oh well! 😅 #zspilledink
32017-04-03, 9.01am
via Spill the Ink Poetry Lab
---
Prompt:
Write an Acrostic Poem of your name#2017inkedwallsprompt01
posted from Bloggeroid
💜💜💜122: In a house with lacey white curtains
In our house with lacey white curtains
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and florals were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with fashionistas, not action figures;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my head is more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In my house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of lace and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2021-03-26 8.11pm
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and florals were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with fashionistas, not action figures;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my head is more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In my house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of lace and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2021-03-26 8.11pm
In our house with lacey white curtains
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and florals were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with Barbies, not Batman;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my headis more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In my house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of lace and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2017-09-16 7.11pm
---
In a house with lacey white curtains
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and flowers were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with Barbie, not Batman;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my head
is more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of laces and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2017-04-01, 12.18pm
(during Baraka Blue workshop at Rumah Khizanat)
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and florals were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with Barbies, not Batman;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my headis more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In our house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In my house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of lace and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2017-09-16 7.11pm
---
In a house with lacey white curtains
and a living room with flowers
- fresh, frail, framed, or fake -
laces and flowers were expected
to be displayed at all times
in appearance, and in character.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
girls are to play with Barbie, not Batman;
as if skirts and shields are mutually exclusive,
as if Barbies and Batmans aren't just dolls
with different styles and accessories.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
my ability to walk face forward in heels
with a dictionary on my head
is more important than facing a heel
head on in a combat.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
my womb is reason enough to carry a life
but not to determine my own.
In a house with lacey white curtains,
I am not made of laces and flowers.
And my womb is my internal tomb.
2017-04-01, 12.18pm
(during Baraka Blue workshop at Rumah Khizanat)
posted from Bloggeroid
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