The Musings of a Modern Feminist

An amateur poet's take on feminism

Tag Archives: body image

From the Soul

Tears fall
At the latest jibe
At how tall
Or short
Or fat
Or thin
Or that
We wear the wrong
Clothes, make up
Shoes; We mus conform
To their made up
And regulations.

We’re being made
Less than human.
Not even close
To a woman:
Little more
Than a mass
Of parts
To be passed
Between men.

We cry
And weep
As our sisters’
Blood seeps
Into the soil
Crying for justice.


The Whole Industry

We’re back to feminism this week. So I present this week’s poem:

They say it’s not enough
Never enough
You need more stuff
To make yourself acceptable
Too much fat
Too little
It’s just that
it’s in the wrong place
The wrong distribution.

Here, buy this cream
This serum
It’ll make you seem
For just an instant

Then you need to buy more
And more
And more
And more….

You must be paler
Or darker
Or thinner
Just not yourself
Never yourself.


Sorry for not posting last week. I have a lot on my plate right now and I don’t really have time to sit down and write poetry so updates will be somewhat sporadic for quite a while.

Anyway, rather than comment on Halloween and the problems surrounding that, I decided to write a poem about heroines. I love comic books (DC especially) but the way in which the heroines are presented has always…bothered me. Especially now the DC-52 reboot is in full swing. They seem to be little more than Dreamgirls, a mythical creature whose sole purpose is┬átitillation.

A tiny waist,
Long flowing hair,
She saves the world
Here and there.
In string bikini,
In battle thong
She sings again
The same song.
‘Come here,
To me.
Is this what you seek?
No fear
Come see!
A piece of meat.
Because why I’m here
What I’m meant to be
Is your captive Dreamgirl.’
She does not seek
Affection or love
After she flies in
Down from above.
She seeks only
To fulfil
Your every dream
And she will!
She’ll be all yours
She’ll stand up straight
Or be on all fours.
She’ll stretch and distort
Her female frame,
Like a sort of strange
Twisted game.
She’ll be strong, independent
If that does it for you.
Or meek, subservient;
That’s OK too.
She’ll knee and punch
And viciously kick
Villains twisted
And villains sick.
Then, as always,
Return to be
Your captive Dreamgirl.
She’ll go fight crime,
Save the day,
Then find the time
To be sexy,
A seductress
Yet so very empty.
Her sexuality
Is not hers
For it is your will
That she prefers.
So when day is done,
The world is safe,
Villain in jail,
She’ll return to your place
As ever and forever to be
Your empty, your hopeless,
Your captive Dreamgirl

Don’t believe the lies

I’m sorry for the late release, but I was at school so it took me ages to get round to the release. It isn’t my best work (it’s the first poem to have significant racial themes), but it isn’t too horrendous.

Don’t believe the lies.
My darlings we are worth more
Be neither used nor abused
That is not what we’re for.

We are told what we’re ‘worth’,
What we ‘should’ be,
Little more than sex dolls that speak
But that is not me.

I’m not an object to be used,
To give a man his fill.
That I will not swallow;
It is too bitter a pill.

What if I was gangly and sallow?
Or small, deformed, grotesque?
Would that make me any less of a person?
Would I be worth any less?

Since I’m black is the more,
Something extra that I should be?
Something dangerous, an animal, a tigress
Lithe but savage yet sexy?

For East Asians is there more?
Something else that you should be?
Submissive, always quiet, subservient
Polite and distant, yet sexy?

And for Latinas is there more?
Something extra that you should be?
Loud, mouthy, in-your-face
Exotic and boisterous, yet sexy?

My sisters you know this is not true,
There is nothing more you ‘should’ be,
Not savage nor quiet nor mouthy
You don’t even have to be sexy!

And so I tell you, please don’t give in.
If it takes a thousand tries
I will tell you once and once again,
Do not believe the lies!

Do not be silenced.

Yesterday I watched a documentary called Killing us Softly 4 about sexist advertising and its effect on society. After watching it I was inspired to write this poem that I call Do Not Be Silenced.

Black is not beautiful.
Bigger is not better.
These are the fetters
That bind us to Chanel.
But now let us channel
Our beauty, our femininety.
Do not be silenced. Do not be bound.
Stand up and shout ’til we are found
To be right.
We are women.
We are not breasts
Nor waists
Nor legs so thin they waste
Away into nothingness.
We are mothers, we are teachers.
We are nurses, shopkeepers, doctors and preachers
So preach!
Do not be silenced. Do not be bound.
Stand up and shout ’til we are found
To be right.
We have minds, we have wills
We have needs and we have skills
That we can do like no one else can.
We are beautiful. We are proud.
So scream it from the rooftops so loud
That we cannot be ignored!
Black may be beautiful.
Bigger may be better.
But dont let these be fetters
To bind you to some brand.
Ladies, let us band
Together and show them the truth.
We are all of us one of a kind,
Each with our own body, each our own mind.
So let this be our motto, let this be our mantra:
We will not be silenced. We will not be bound.

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