My True Love is Me

By: Helena Nikitopoulos IG: @wordsbyhelena

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I sit in a field of daisies

because all my favourite dandelions

flew away

 

as I cry out to my distant lovers

I am silenced

by the white-yellow flowers

melting on my tongue

 

as I stand up, fighting the urge to cry

at the intensity of the sun’s eye,

I settle back down into the grassy field

As stems of daisies caress me,

Whispering,

You are exactly where you need to be

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The Man

By: Abbigail L.M, IG: @abbigailm

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I look in the mirror through the eyes of a man

because a woman loves me in a sentimental way

a way in which flesh is nothing

but a shell for my humanly characteristics

where I am kind and intelligent.

to a woman, I am a brain and bones.

Bones that were built through what feels like endless years of being told 

they were never good enough.

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Everyday as my flesh ages so slightly,

my bones and my brain become

more of who I am meant to be.

As long as the two continue to grow,

I will loose my worth

as the flesh of a woman like myself

are only pleasing for so long.

to a man,

my worth will fade as my appearance does

but my suffering wil continue

as long as I am controlled by

even nothing more than the idea of a man.

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THE PEACOCK AND THE PIGEON

By: Maya Mele, IG: @Mykasreads 

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FOR IF I WERE A HOMELY PIGEON, SIN WOULD NOT HAVE BESTOWED ME.FOR IF I WERE LIKE THE MODEST PIGEON, THE EGOS OF ALL WOULD LEAVE ME REST. MY FEATHERS WOULD BE DENUDED OF ALLURING PATTERNS AND BLANKETED WITH ASH TO PRESENT ME AS GRAY. FOR THE PIGEON ENCOUNTERS SENSATIONS OF SOLELY CONTENT EVERY PASSING DAY.

NIGHT AND MORNING, THE PIGEON TRIES TO SING; I HEAR HER WORDS AND THE DISARRAY. BUT IF I WERE THE PIGEON, I WOULD NOT CARE FOR SONG, FOR IT IS THE LACK OF JOY THAT MY BEAUTY BRINGS UPON. FOR THE FEELINGS SUPPOSED TO RISE WITHIN MY HEART FAIL TO SPAWN WHAT I HAVE LOST FOR SO LONG. BUT THE PIGEON IS CONTENT AND NEVER FAILS TO EXPRESS HER JOY FROM NIGHT TILL DAWN. FOR IF I WERE LIKE THE HIDEOUS PIGEON, I WOULD NO LONGER PERCH UPON LUSH TREES.FOR I WOULD SIT WHERE THE PIGEON LIVES, AMONG THE UNWANTED AND DISPLEASED.

I CARE NO MORE FOR BEAUTY, NOR FOR THE EYES OF ALL FOR ALL I DESIRE IS THE ACTION OF WITHDRAWAL. THUS, IN MY DESOLATE CAVE, I NOW RESIDE, WHERE I NO LONGER BEAR APHRODITE'S HAND. WHOSE ONCE GENTLE TOUCH HAS BECOME A WRETCHED CLUTCH. FOR IF I WERE THE HOMELY PIGEON WOULD NOT FEEL THIS PAIN. FOR NOW, I LAY IN BEAUTY'S OLDEN GRAVE. 

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