An Ink-Stained Life

Who would be a virgin, if they could change time? To be pure is a controversial crime, but being 'easy' is not? Preachings from peers to be abstinent, To save ourselves for when we have found our 'soulmate,' Is that why you have been absent since we made love? Sex is uncomplicated. The joining of two bodies into one To form a being that lives by the sun, for tomorrow And for every day that begins anew. By you I am told to be "subservient" in respect to your morals And your 'standards.' But I am not the innocent flower that becomes me Waiting patiently to be plucked by your hands that reek of patriarchy and misogyny, While falling deeper and deeper into your pool of infinite quicksand; I am not Fifty Shades of Defenseless, I am Fifty Shades of Power. As Women, we are labeled 'prudes' for being sexually unexplored, While being slut-shamed if we are carnally stupendous in nature. "To be or not to be that is the q...

My Inkwell pen struggles to form a beginning, Creating streaks and blots on the journal paper. Black holes where my words seem to go, A mild case of writer’s block. The cold air thrashes against my skin Creeping its way through the cracked window. With each new gust against the stained glass the draft Filled with frozen air startles me into a strange calm. I am to write a poem, a poem that has meaning, But don’t all poems have meaning? Should I be writing about Death, Birth, Rebirth? There are no instructions to follow yet it feels like there should be. Isn’t the way the raindrops slide down the tulip’s petals like a steady stream Trickling down a gentle slope good enough? Who decides what goes into a poem Anyway? Probably the little devil on your shoulder. Aren’t poems all written for a specific purpose, to entice and hypnotize? I want my reader to feel something, a surge of uncomfortable emotion. I want to have the words twirl amongst the pag...