"This is not a love poem.
I’m not going to write about how I love your laugh and that it sounds so much better than my favourite song.
I’m not going to write about how your smile brightens up my day like the sun.
I’m not going to write about how you gave me butterflies when you called my name from across the street.
I’m not going to write about how you held my hand so softly that I thought I was going to disappear.
Fuck you for treating me like more than just a friend and expecting me not to get feelings for you.
Fuck love poems.
It was always all about you."
"Do not be quiet
for fear of making others uncomfortable.
Do not crawl on your hands and knees for them.
Do not hide your anger.
Do not be silent to comfort their ignorance.
Stand up and fight.
Stand with the survivors, link your hands together
and scream for their right to be safe in this world.
Scream for your right.
When they tell you you’re too sensitive
take the word rape culture
and shove it down their throat.
Force their eyes open and say
“Look around you.
This is what you’re doing.
This is what you’re supporting
every time you toss around the word ‘rape’ talking about a video game,
every time you ask, ‘Well, what was she wearing?’
Every time you make a joke
and every time you laugh at one.”
This is not a joke.
This is the world we live in.
And do not stop.
Do not stop until we all can walk down the street at night
without clutching our car keys
with clenched fists and white knuckles
out of fear of simply living in this world
where sexual assault is a regular occurrence
and a laughing matter.
So raise your fist instead
and punch rape culture’s fucking teeth in."
"One of the hardest things about being a poet
is picking up guys, see
you can’t just walk up to someone and say
“hi. I really like something about your ears and I was wondering
what do you think god is made of?”
You can’t just go home with someone and say
“I know you’re trying to get laid, but
I was wondering,
how do you feel about looking at your window
and making up stories for the people who walk by
or laying in your bed and telling me about your childhood,
I know it’s small but I don’t mind you being close to me
I’m not crazy,
yes, I know we just met.”
One of the hardest things about being a poet
is I’ve wrote a million poems about yes.
I have thousands of poems about how I want you
to grab me and kiss me and tell me I’m yours, but
I’ve never written a poem for no.
They tell me I have a way with words, but the truth is,
I’m just reciting the lines and there isn’t a clever metaphor or rhyme
for please get your tongue out of my throat.
I shouldn’t have gone home with you.
There is no play on words
for when you ask me if I want to take this to your room
my voice box becomes as useful as air to a fish
so I nod.
My poems tell me to nod, my outfit tells me to nod, I came home with you,
so I must want to go to your room, right?
The feminist in me is screaming,
my face is screaming,
you ask me if I’m ok
you really are a nice guy
and I just keep nodding
everything is alright.
When you finish,
you kiss me.
Then you look at my eyes for the first time all night
wipe away my tears
ask me if I was crying.
I laugh. Of course not.
The truth is my tongue knows how to give you
exactly what you want but
it doesn’t know how to form the words
“you have the same smile as my ex boyfriend
and fucking you makes me cry.”
I am a poet.
I have millions of words racing through my mind
at 160 mph every second
so I think “no” might have gotten stuck in traffic
somewhere between my mind in my mouth
I thought you would see it in my eyes.
I didn’t mean to make you into my monster.
When you kissed me goodbye
I think you could finally taste it on my lips."