The Art of a Woman

woman is Art 

meant to be seen, not heard 

with Skin of Porcelain, 

Clear and Ivory 

with Eyes of Glass, 

Foggy and Void of Light 

woman is Art 

stuck with the awareness of 

the glass that she is 

trapped behind but she must appear Aloof 

for the spectator likes his art Lobotomized 

woman must be Paralyzed

have no passion, no desires 

outside of the spectator 

woman is Art

they prefer woman Dead

His Body

I knew this was his body

when he felt under my skirt,

hairless

white stockings and mary janes

his standard

I knew this was his body

when I said no to his touch

and he poured submission into my drink

telling me I was his

I don’t understand what I did wrong

I was wearing jeans

I knew this was his body

When I told him to remove my womb

because I couldn’t bare the weight of the moon

Whirling me around

A tide invariably smashing against the rock

He refused because of a husband I wasn’t even promised to

His body, his body, his body

Never mine

My consciousness is forced to live 

Under the weight of the moon

Smashing against the tide, day in,

day out

Always in his body

never mine

Lady Liberty

She stands as the symbol for freedom

Her crown sits on top of green hair

Carrying her torch in her right hand

Stoic expression, docile, immobile, portrait

A face made of copper, not stone,

The ideal woman

Honored to be the face of freedom,

Lady Liberty

It’s a scary reality 

when a statue has more liberties than a woman

If a woman, flesh and bones and beating heart,

dares to hold her right hand up in the sky

She faces persecution and murder

As she marches for the use of her own body,

As she marches for equal pay

As she marches for her freedom

Humanity in a woman is a fatal flaw

Our wombs are deemed as a weakness,

When she is the very source of life

She sculpted our hearts to love, our hands to create,

Create poetry and art that make our hearts melt

And yet you disgrace her, 

Calling her irrational and lesser than

Show some respect to your creator

But remember that we are so much more than our wombs

We are the goddesses of war and wisdom as well as love

And don’t act like inequality stopped you from beatings and mass slaughter

You’ve been hitting women for centuries

Medusa was cursed to be protected from Poseidon,

And Perseus still took her head,

Her head, used as a weapon to turn more and more women into statues

You beat, choke, stab every last soliloquy,

Every last human quality

She becomes a portrait

A statue,

Finally worthy of liberty

Header by Sophia Johnson