I can’t lend my voice to the #Me Too movement. Too many years of self- inflicted silence has shredded my vocal chords, castrated my tongue, broken my teeth, chewed away my lips, amputated my fingertips, blinded my vision, gangrened my feet and locked me in place.
Arlene Antoinette writes from a broken down folding table that is perfectly placed in front of a window that looks out on an overgrown garden. Please check out addition pieces by Arlene in Foxglove Journal, the Feminine Collective, I am not a silent Poet, Tuck Magazine, Little Rose Magazine and GirlSense and NonSense.
‘Girl’ posts a photo of her cat ‘Girl’ posts a photo of her avocado toast (white woman) ‘Girl’ posts a photo of herself - she hashtags #metoo (started by a black woman) Privacy surrendered in a selective process Vulnerability as empowerment Backstage this ‘boy’ types out slut/fuck/cunt But at the same time 15 different victims are typing “thank you” and 15 different victims are writing their own me too’s ‘Girl’ blocks ‘boy’ Sees an ad on the side of her screen for selfie sticks and a t-shirt that says “feminist”
“One is too few, but two are too many”*
Reclamation of self through a selfie Performative act most likely to be labeled as a thot She writes about her dreams or maybe she’s a part of the protesting Thirsty bitches, getting unwanted dms at 2 am Followed by a photo of his dick, had he shown it in public he would have been arrested Constant tensions: hyper-real masquerade and a desire to blend these different spaces Sincerity as simulacraty “Blonde bombshell” stands in front of her mirror She kind of wants to dye her hair She clicked “maybe” on that FaceBook invite to protest the school shootings She doesn’t know what to do about that article she read on child sex trafficking She cried while watching her ex's Snapchat story “One is too few but two are too many”
*Title and closing are quoted from Donna Haraway's "A Cyborg Manifesto"
Aubrey Schuring is a sociology student, photographer, and writer living in Utah where she studies the relationships between nature, identity, feminism, and art.
Previously published in The Camel Saloon- January 2011
We walk in a quiet march under heavy clouds, mist falling mini pearls clinging to our coats.
The singing has ended for the night, the song still in our minds, our throats swore by the meaning of the words.
Tomorrow we will be in the City of Cities, all the world will hear. We are some of the many millions wanting change in the kingdoms of government...
We move on, our numbers blurring the sight of us...
Thunder rumbling in the distance, countries beginning to bow.
Not enough bullets, or fire, or depravity can weigh us down like the old days lying, lying, so much lying...
We are no longer meek. Our strength is our will pushing down the walls with our flood of flesh.
In the mourning we will sing. We will sing. And they will listen.
Stephen Jarrell Williams has had over 1,000 poems published nationally and internationally in print and online magazines. He has been “the poet on call” for Billy Graham’s Decision Magazine, called by some The Great Poet of Doom, and has been the Editor of Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, and UFO Gigolo online magazines.
This isn't a welcome mat This is an ancient prayer rug This isn't an apartment This is a palace
No chairs; no hats These are thrones These are crowns
I am the king of hearts bleeding everywhere Oh, yes it appears I have given myself a lobotomy
I’ve fallen off the deck with what is mightier than my sword into a pool of dirty laundry, as hairy as this seems
This isn't dancing This is Darwinian growing pains This isn't living This isn’t dying in fashion, this is dying with style
John Maurer is a 23-year-old writer that writes fiction, poetry, and everything in-between, but his work always strives to portray that what is true is beautiful. He has been previously published in Claudius Speaks, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Thought Catalog, and others.@JohnPMaurer