Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freedom. Show all posts
Thursday, 21 March 2013
The Sand Woman
On the isle of Namow
When the breeze catches the delicate grains
Lying, lazing on the beach
She rises to meet the wave of the sea.
Carefully sculpted by a soft spray
She turns to face the water
Bidding the sun goodnight
And begin her inland journey.
The wolves sound with her first steps
Howling, teeth bared,
Desperate to take a piece of her
Back to their den for a midnight snack.
She strides forward, entering the brush,
The beasts squawking and barking in delight
Greedily greeting their visitor;
But her stride is steady.
She climbs the incline,
Bombarded by beaks and teeth and claws
Scraping, tearing, ripping
Leaving a sprinkling of sand on the forest floor.
The hounds break ranks and charge
Leaping viciously at her body
To devour what part of her they can;
But she continues, her face to the canopy.
Her arms are shredded
Her frame wobbles and wavers
Ready to collapse at any moment
As chunks of her coarse flesh are robbed from her.
She reaches a clearing, and the moon disappears
Paralyzing the animals in the bush.
The gentle wind embraces her broken figure
And, grain by grain, carries her back to the sea.
Scattered among the ripples in the water,
She will piece herself back together
And when the sun next passes through the sky,
She will begin her journey again, whole.
Poor Me
Feel sorry for us Albertans.
While we’re dealing with piles of snow
Complaining about how it just won’t go,
You sit there with sandals on your feet
Begging for change on the side of the road.
And while we battle the cold and the sleet,
Freezing off our baby toes,
You beat the heat
Barbequing scraps of meat
In a cardboard house.
“Poor me!” We cry
Towards the sky
As fluffy stuff flies by
Not thinking of you,
Who can’t choose
Between red or blue shoes,
And can’t get in to see an MD
For an useless knee
Infected with gangrene.
Because brushing off our cars is so hard.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Where am i?
I'm sorry.
I know those words don't mean much now,
But I've had them inside for so long
They have to come out.
And I don't care if you throw them away
Or save them and keep them close to you for a rainy day,
I don't care if they mean nothing to you
Because they mean something to me.
I'm dumb.
I had a chance to learn
to grow and understand the tears and burns
in my now thicker skin.
But instead I turned around
And found
that it was more fun at the time to rechurn
all the shit that passed before.
I'm lost.
I don't know what to do
Feeling so confused
and used
and untrue
to myself and everybody else
thinking we were cool
when I should have had the courage to admit we were fools.
I'm ______.
I can tell you about my mistakes
And the time I've taken
to put on the brakes
to heal from them (next to none).
But I'd rather tell you nothing.
I'd rather say "Hey" passing down Gateway
than ever sink back into the hole.
I'm here.
I don't know what's next
Or what will be your last text,
Or if what we had was the best
and we'll never get it back.
I know the past, I feel the present
I know I'm piecing together fragments
just to be here. Now.
I know those words don't mean much now,
But I've had them inside for so long
They have to come out.
And I don't care if you throw them away
Or save them and keep them close to you for a rainy day,
I don't care if they mean nothing to you
Because they mean something to me.
I'm dumb.
I had a chance to learn
to grow and understand the tears and burns
in my now thicker skin.
But instead I turned around
And found
that it was more fun at the time to rechurn
all the shit that passed before.
I'm lost.
I don't know what to do
Feeling so confused
and used
and untrue
to myself and everybody else
thinking we were cool
when I should have had the courage to admit we were fools.
I'm ______.
I can tell you about my mistakes
And the time I've taken
to put on the brakes
to heal from them (next to none).
But I'd rather tell you nothing.
I'd rather say "Hey" passing down Gateway
than ever sink back into the hole.
I'm here.
I don't know what's next
Or what will be your last text,
Or if what we had was the best
and we'll never get it back.
I know the past, I feel the present
I know I'm piecing together fragments
just to be here. Now.
Monday, 18 March 2013
For Coy
I'm fuming,
like a volcano, stewing;
these stories stir the pot
and the hot broth splashes
on to our mouldy kitchen floor.
Why can't you let us be us
And collectively
we can come to understand
it's not 'her' and 'he'
it's 'us' and 'me'.
A fluffy skirt doesn't mark a fairy,
Or a fruit,
Or a fag.
It marks an individual
so original
I hope they scare you right out of your pants.
And into a dress.
Friday, 8 March 2013
Happy International Women's Day!!!!
Welcome to International Women's Day!
Here's a recent conversation I had with a very good friend of mine
A: Oh! Today is International Women's Day!
M: Oh cool. When is International Men's Day?
A: It's been International Men's Day for the past... I don't know how many years. Let us have our one freakin' day!
True, it seems a little strange to be celebrating International Women's Day when we don't have an International Men's Day. It makes me think that there really is no push for equality. Why don't we have an International Men's Day following IWD? Besides, I have a hard time believing that the countries, the people that should be celebrating IWD actually do. I doubt that women who are oppressed have a completed day of freedom today and will go back to their regular lives tomorrow. Maybe they do. But what is the goal of today? Is it to celebrate being a women here and all over the world? Is it to educate ourselves and other women of all races, ages, and religions about the hardships that are endured? Is it to look to the future and hope that the suffragettes haven't sacrificed in vain?
To me, today is a day to be thankful for what I have because of what women before me have gained and taught me. I have the right to get on a plane and go to a different country unescorted. I have the right to wear shorts and not be penalized for it. I have the right to paint my fingernails. I have the right to talk to men in public, un-chaperoned. I have been taught to stand up for myself and what I believe in. I have been taught that I am a strong and independent person. I have been taught to love and care for people, not matter what their gender or sexual preference is. I have been taught that everyone has a value, and it is a shame to diminish that value.
In lieu of all of this...
Thanks Mom!
Here's a recent conversation I had with a very good friend of mine
A: Oh! Today is International Women's Day!
M: Oh cool. When is International Men's Day?
A: It's been International Men's Day for the past... I don't know how many years. Let us have our one freakin' day!
True, it seems a little strange to be celebrating International Women's Day when we don't have an International Men's Day. It makes me think that there really is no push for equality. Why don't we have an International Men's Day following IWD? Besides, I have a hard time believing that the countries, the people that should be celebrating IWD actually do. I doubt that women who are oppressed have a completed day of freedom today and will go back to their regular lives tomorrow. Maybe they do. But what is the goal of today? Is it to celebrate being a women here and all over the world? Is it to educate ourselves and other women of all races, ages, and religions about the hardships that are endured? Is it to look to the future and hope that the suffragettes haven't sacrificed in vain?
To me, today is a day to be thankful for what I have because of what women before me have gained and taught me. I have the right to get on a plane and go to a different country unescorted. I have the right to wear shorts and not be penalized for it. I have the right to paint my fingernails. I have the right to talk to men in public, un-chaperoned. I have been taught to stand up for myself and what I believe in. I have been taught that I am a strong and independent person. I have been taught to love and care for people, not matter what their gender or sexual preference is. I have been taught that everyone has a value, and it is a shame to diminish that value.
In lieu of all of this...
Thanks Mom!
Saturday, 12 January 2013
read the comments ppl!
I came across this article on my Facebook today:
http://everydayfeminism.com/2013/01/i-lost-a-job-for-calling-out-the-companys-rape-apology/
Dan Solomon writes an interesting article. He explains how he was fired for expressing his personal views on his blog. Claire St. Amant, who writes for CultureMap questioned the accountability of a rape victim because she was underage, and sometimes young people lie about what happens in their lives. In her article, she says that a medical exam was done and the girl showed signs of trauma, which indicates rape, but she questions the credibility of the situation. There were two people in the truck, and only those two people know what really happened.
Dan gets upset, responds in his own way, and is told his employers are very unhappy and they cannot work with him anymore. Dan argues that treating the victim like a liar is not acceptable.
BUT!!!!!!
I love reading the comments on blogs and online articles. Most of the time I skim the article and go straight to the comments. The best part about the comments section, is the immediacy that you get from hundreds of people across the globe. I had to trace back to the original article that started this whole thing.
http://dallas.culturemap.com/newsdetail/life-crime-highland-park-baseball-star-charged-with-sexual-assault-rape/
I quickly read the article and went down to the comments section. From Solomon's article, I was expecting a lot of "she's a liar", "i bet she just doesn't want to be called a slut so she made it up", "poor Ryan, he doesn't deserve this", comments that I'm not used to, that I would not be able to understand or agree with readily. The best thing about comments is the fire they ignite when you know you're protected by a screen. What else could be in the comments section that would make me more fired up than I was when I read the article?
Many of the commenters were outraged at the article. Some people referred to Solomon's article about how he was fired. Some people claimed it was a publicity stunt by Amant. All sorts of people were digging into Amant for her horrible journalism in this matter. One comment agreed that there is no way to know exactly what happened in the truck, but that her questioning of the victim's validity was wrong. Another comment was from a prosecutor of sex crimes. They explained that the medical exam for rape does not provide hard evidence against the aggressor. It gives us clues as to what happened, but it is not a "smoking gun".
But then I stumbled upon my gold mine.
Mary 2 months ago
And this:
Stay out harms way 2 months ago
And this:
I. Love. Comments.
There's something in the moment after you read something online, and the power you have behind the computer that creates this need to respond so strongly. It's incredible!
My personal views are more in line with "Mary" in the 3rd section of comments above. I don't believe doubting victims is the best way to encourage fairness in sexual assault cases, even if they aren't being honest. I was appalled by what I read on Solomon's article, but what made me want to go to the original article was "why". Why does Amant feel the way she does? Why are people supporting her statements? Maybe they feels sorry for this young man, who could have had a fantastic future, but now, being accused of rape, will struggle against it forever. Maybe they knows people who claimed to be victims, but weren't in the end. Maybe they knows someone who is in jail for something they did not do.
In the end, I wound up thinking about how much I love the comments section. Where else can you find such open dialogue? You can't exactly go into a coffee shop and start screaming at an article in a newspaper for being such horrible news. Sometimes I feel like the comments section shows me a bit of that person. In a moment, they are provoked to speak without having to adhere to decorum. They can curse, they can be rude, they can let free their assumptions without being reprimanded.
Have I mentioned how much I like reading the comments?
http://everydayfeminism.com/2013/01/i-lost-a-job-for-calling-out-the-companys-rape-apology/
Dan Solomon writes an interesting article. He explains how he was fired for expressing his personal views on his blog. Claire St. Amant, who writes for CultureMap questioned the accountability of a rape victim because she was underage, and sometimes young people lie about what happens in their lives. In her article, she says that a medical exam was done and the girl showed signs of trauma, which indicates rape, but she questions the credibility of the situation. There were two people in the truck, and only those two people know what really happened.
Dan gets upset, responds in his own way, and is told his employers are very unhappy and they cannot work with him anymore. Dan argues that treating the victim like a liar is not acceptable.
BUT!!!!!!
I love reading the comments on blogs and online articles. Most of the time I skim the article and go straight to the comments. The best part about the comments section, is the immediacy that you get from hundreds of people across the globe. I had to trace back to the original article that started this whole thing.
http://dallas.culturemap.com/newsdetail/life-crime-highland-park-baseball-star-charged-with-sexual-assault-rape/
I quickly read the article and went down to the comments section. From Solomon's article, I was expecting a lot of "she's a liar", "i bet she just doesn't want to be called a slut so she made it up", "poor Ryan, he doesn't deserve this", comments that I'm not used to, that I would not be able to understand or agree with readily. The best thing about comments is the fire they ignite when you know you're protected by a screen. What else could be in the comments section that would make me more fired up than I was when I read the article?
Many of the commenters were outraged at the article. Some people referred to Solomon's article about how he was fired. Some people claimed it was a publicity stunt by Amant. All sorts of people were digging into Amant for her horrible journalism in this matter. One comment agreed that there is no way to know exactly what happened in the truck, but that her questioning of the victim's validity was wrong. Another comment was from a prosecutor of sex crimes. They explained that the medical exam for rape does not provide hard evidence against the aggressor. It gives us clues as to what happened, but it is not a "smoking gun".
But then I stumbled upon my gold mine.
Mary 2 months ago
And this:
And this:
I. Love. Comments.
There's something in the moment after you read something online, and the power you have behind the computer that creates this need to respond so strongly. It's incredible!
My personal views are more in line with "Mary" in the 3rd section of comments above. I don't believe doubting victims is the best way to encourage fairness in sexual assault cases, even if they aren't being honest. I was appalled by what I read on Solomon's article, but what made me want to go to the original article was "why". Why does Amant feel the way she does? Why are people supporting her statements? Maybe they feels sorry for this young man, who could have had a fantastic future, but now, being accused of rape, will struggle against it forever. Maybe they knows people who claimed to be victims, but weren't in the end. Maybe they knows someone who is in jail for something they did not do.
In the end, I wound up thinking about how much I love the comments section. Where else can you find such open dialogue? You can't exactly go into a coffee shop and start screaming at an article in a newspaper for being such horrible news. Sometimes I feel like the comments section shows me a bit of that person. In a moment, they are provoked to speak without having to adhere to decorum. They can curse, they can be rude, they can let free their assumptions without being reprimanded.
Have I mentioned how much I like reading the comments?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)