Some say ‘Poetry Is Dead.’ At Open Press, we did an open call for small writers as a pledge to the artform. Get ready for some small voices- with big impact.
I Painted My Nails Sparkly
I painted my fingernails last night
For the first time in ten years
Shimmering gold and
Sparkling blue glitter
And for the first time ever
Not in secret
At my dad’s house
I used to paint them
Then scrub the colour off
Before going back to my mum’s
It’s not that my mum didn’t let me
Paint my nails
Only not fingernails
When we went to buy me a new bike
I could choose any colour I liked
Only not pink
I could try any hobby
I was curious about
Only not ballet
It’s a man’s world
My mum taught herself
How to survive in it
Then taught me
She taught me to be tough
She taught me how to make it here
She taught me
Not to argue my worth
But to prove it.
I was eleven
When my teacher asked for strong boys
To help carry sports equipment
I was the first one up from my seat
Carried more than they did
Next time he asked for strong people
But then he split us apart again
Let the boys play ice hockey
Left the girls to their own devices
So I joined the boys anyway
I don’t care for ice hockey
But I couldn’t stand the assumption
That only boys would play
Next time he asked
Who wanted to play
He asked everyone
That’s what my mum taught me
Anyone can do anything
No one should be shut out
Based on an assumption
Now I participate in classes
Physics
Astronomy
Quantum computing
Sometimes the only woman in the room
I hate standing out
But I choose bright colours anyway
Dresses from the back of my closet
Because I need them to remember
This field is not inherently male
Feminine does not mean inferior
People often think I aim to overachieve
But I only sharpen myself
When I am not treated
As an equal
It’s a man’s world
But I want to make it
On my own terms
So
I painted my nails sparkly.
Gorgon Girl
The mourning after my
first death:
stone eyes stuck staring
at glowing plastic stars
on the ceiling
of my childhood bedroom.
All of the softness in
my betrayed, blossomed
body hardened
by hungry hands.
Girlhood replaced with granite.
Pretty Prey for Persisus.
“Hush Hush now,”
He hissed.
His words forever haunting
the hollowness
of the grave he dug
inside my chest.
The raw throb
of my aching
underworld
reminding me
I was no longer me.
Childhood.
Minds clear, clean and unassuming.
Before the gargantuan head fuck
that all adults had once been children.
Then the pondering as to whether
the adults had ever felt like returning?
With the unknowingness that,
that was what they’d invented alcohol for.
Limelight
Spread open, named, conjured
Up by their selves
Breathing, slowly battered
By upcoming shoved hells
Placed limelight.
Paid by a dime
Thoughts linger in mind.
Subjected, long ago sublime
Bendingly comes to a bind
To the yolks of folks.
Yoked, tossed, and churned
To say the least.
Chewed and gobbled,
Calling for cries,
Out for release.
Meaning, it’s unjust
To systematic jaws. Thrust
To be bereft and bruised,
Produced to consume
Once again for procedure.
@aubreytiffany09
Nostalgia, tinted yellow like a sunburnt photograph. Garages and long driveways. The churches stained glass behind an alter I could never reach . My brother playing his favourite cereal box like a tambourine. Everybody loves Ramond is on and it smells like spaghetti for dinner again. Homework is a sin and I’m a stranger to her. I’d rather figure out how to do that thing with my eyeliner. Sunshine dancing on the cabinet doors. Highlighting the Cheerios wondering aimlessly across the counter tops. A mess of my brothers making. Shadows that slowly move with the setting sun. I’m going to bed with my hair wet. My dad in the doorway with one more “I love you more.”
A poison dart
for your heel stuck in the ice
cold, wept at the feet of a god
begging for a fresh start
the hunter of a wild dog
that will dare to beg twice
cut off at the legs, the arms
a body that falls into mine, simply
no amount of noise will sound the alarm
slowly etched into the regrets of history
dying, but still tending to the farm
forgiveness soon became easy
limitless, even in death
even in the haste of life
it seems forgiveness is all that is left ~