The Musings of a Modern Feminist

An amateur poet's take on feminism

Tag Archives: feminism

Over and Over and Over Again

I know that I’ve already written about street harassment before. But it’s something that does deeply affect me. The harassment that I have faced has always been brief and fairly mild: a quick grope, a catcall, a leer. But nonetheless, it’s something that ruins my day; I end up miserable, irritable, I cry. I hope that people realise that catcalls, leers and gropes aren’t compliments, having someone shout ‘hey sugar tits’ isn’t flattering, it’s often frightening. Having my space invaded, having someone reduce me to the sacks of fat a carry on my chest or lower back is not pleasant.

But I digress, I present to you: over and over and over again

Light touch
Quick feel
Hours, or days
‘Till it heals.

How did you walk?
What did you wear?
Make up on your face?
Flowers in your hair?

They think you’re pretty!
It’s just attention.
Nothing bad
Just a bit of fun!

I close my eyes
See the leers
Got to shut out
The pain, the tears.

But it passes,
And fades away
For a few short weeks
For a few short days.

Until that light tough
That quick feel
And it’s hours, or days
‘Till it heals.



A brief encounter

He looks and gawks and ogles and stares
At my legs and hips and bum and hair
Taking me apart peace by piece
Heart pounding like a dog in heat.

He cares not for my voice nor my name
Just for my fleshy mortal frame
Possessing my image for his delight
To keep him company one lonely night.

Leaving me bare, vulnerable, alone
A naked girl so far from home.
Not a scrap of cloth to hide behind
To shield me from his lecherous mind.

I remember the place those like him gave me
A caged sex toy,  never to be free.
He moves on, a sigh of relief
A harrowing encounter, though very brief.

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.

We Count Too

I suppose this poem is fairly self explanatory and was inspired by this a short piece on tumblr

So remember, We Count Too – enjoy!

We are fans
We are not attention seekers
We like Hans
And DC
And Marvel
We like to see
Our favourite characters
In cross overs
And ships
Just as much as you.

We are not treats
Or accesories
Tender meats
To be comsumed at your pleasure.
We are human
In every weight and measure.
Do not dismiss us
Or deride us
Because we challenge your
Sick power fantasy.

Don’t we deserve our space?
To talk and discuss online
The case
Of Who Shot First
Without being told to sit down
Or at worst
Threatened with assault or rape?
Why do we deserve to be raped?
Why are we ‘ugly dykes’
For opening our mouths?

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.

Wilful Ignorance

I guess I wrote this one for the women and POC (People Of Colour) who cannot, and refuse not, to see racism or sexism around them. Who see the problematic portrayals of women and POC by both privileged and unprivileged groups alike but prefer to live with the blinkers on and collaborate rather than acknowledge and try to make a change. It is also the first poem I’ve ever written completely in free verse so I dunno how it has turned out.


They are blind to see

The sexism before them

The racism

They refuse to become

Alert. Aware.

To comprehend.

Instead they hide

They bury their heads in the sand

And say ‘It’s OK’ ‘Nothing is wrong’

Whilst staring at their bodies

In revulsion

In disgust

They do not know

And they do not believe

That we do not lie.

We know what we see

And when we try

To explain?

‘You are paranoid’

‘The world is post-feminist, colour-blind’

‘There is nothing wrong.’

But please,

Do not go through life



Just consuming.

Lest the filth consume you

Lest it make you hate yourself

Hate who you are.

Remove the plugs from your ears

Shake the dust from your mind

Wipe the mud from your eyes


To be a Catholic

This is a poem I wrote some time ago after one of the many disputes I have had with feminists about my faith versus my feminism. There seems to be a perception that I cannot be a proper feminist because I am a Catholic and this poem is a reply to that perception.


Catholic feminism:

An oxymoron?

Is Catholicism

So misogynist?

Teaching love of neighbour

Is that so wrong?

To do a person a favour

Is that chauvinist?

Perhaps some teachings

Appear at odds

With my feminist leanings.

But not so.

Sexual health

Has its root

In the spiritual wealth

Of Scripture.

But that is unimportant

In the face

Of giving thanks

To God.

Love all you meet

And all those you don’t

And always treat

Them like your own.

Love, love is what counts

That is the root of it all.

Ignoring that is tantamount

To ripping out my faith’s soul.

So do not tell me I’m not a feminist

Because I follow the Pope.

All true Catholics are on the list

Because of that Love.

To Catholics I say,

Pick up the cause!

Because that is the only way

We can follow Our Lord.

Women are God’s children

Loved by Him

Just as much as men.

Remember that.


New Year

Happy New Year to my fellow feminists! I am back after my hiatus because things are all good now. It will be a hard year, with new battles and new challenges and the same old misogyny over and over again. So, since it’s the new year, I thought that I would open with a poem about the new year. The properly feminist stuff will start up from next week!

New beginning,

New year;

New hopes,

New fears.

New disputes,

Old fights;

Trying to gain

The same rights

As our neighbours

And our friends.

Starting new battles

To meet the same ends.

It’s a fresh start

And a new year

So march on

Without fear.

Take each other’s hand

And take up the cause

Without hesitation

And without pause.


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 titillation.

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

Just a teenage girl

I would first like to apologise for the late release; i’ve been so busy the blog went completely out of my head! But now here is the conclusion to last week’s poem. Enjoy!

Just a young teenage girl
With my make up bag.
Trying on all different look
From a girly mag.

Just a young teenage girl
Buying a mini skirt.
‘Maybe i’ll buy some high heels to.
I need to learn to flirt.’

Just a young teenage girl
Starting to fit in.
Know how to dress and speak and act
I’m finally starting to win!

Just an older teenage girl
With my first boyfriend.
He likes me for my compliance
So to his will I bend.

Just an older teenage girl
Going on the Pill.
He doesn’t want me to get pregnant see,
So I never will.

Just an older teenage girl
And apparently I’ve won.
I’ve got everything a girl is meant to have
But it isn’t any fun.

One day i’ll be more than ‘just a girl’
Who’s trying to fit in.
One day i’ll just be myself
Then i’ll truly win.

%d bloggers like this: