Disturbed, distressed, disgusted Is how I feel My stomach churns The body shivers I am nauseous With vivid memories When I read or hear Of sexual predators Do they feel like me?
gender violence poetry
On the night you were born, she was in agony for the hours and hours of insurmountable pain! On the night you were born, she laughed with pure joy
There are traces of rage engrained deep in your eyes They never seem empty but full of seeing too much You try to tuck away this anger, this sinister stirring of blood red
A Pakistan Story Of all turmoil in this troubled world, my heart sinks learning of Malala. For three years she wrote a diary about loving school: language, history, algebra.
This was written for a Femicide art exhibit in March of 2009. Things have not changed, only are getting worse.