In class I learned that everything is made of atoms. The entire human body is made of atoms. I learned that atoms are mostly empty space, housing only a small amount of matter in the center, at the heart. My body is mostly empty space. All my matter is about as big as a raisin. All my love for things and people, my heartbreaks, my sadness, my scars, my anger; can fit on the head of a pin. I can’t figure out why I take up so much space when I’m so empty inside. I can’t figure out why all these years of evolution, all the way back to the Big Bang and how we all came to be from nothing, made big bodies that house so much in so little. I can’t dissolve and fold into myself, I cannot disappear. Lost into space. I am here and I take space. I’m sorry. I wish I could compact myself, push until I’m so small you cannot find me underfoot, I wish that I could disappear. But I can’t. And neither can you. I am here. I am alive. My body is alive. And I will not hurt it. I will not push it, I will not force it to be smaller than it is because all those years of evolution, the heat of making me exist, the pain, the sacrifice, made my body into what it is today. I will not disrespect that process, I will not disrespect the force that made my soul be. I will live inside this empty home and I will love until it fills every space in my goddamn body. I will love my body until it is brimming with it. I will love everything that made me be until I am not empty anymore. Because my soul is bigger than a raisin, my soul is what makes me be, my soul is in all that empty space and I will not crush it. I will not limit myself to a head of a pin. I am so much more than that. And so is every part of my body. -illustrated and written by Tiara Dewintha |
What’s in it for you, undressing me with your eyes?
Was it my working pants that’s bothering you? It’s simply a pair of long black pants What’s in it for you, sliding yourself slyly in this narrow walkway? Was it because I ignored when you flirtatiously called my name? You know I couldn’t be bothered by that. What’s in it for you, brushing your hand against my butt you piece of shit? Was it because I was naïve? Was it because I won’t tell anyone? Was it because I was only 16? Or… Was it because I liked it? And when I looked at you, I’m looking at the face of a predator. I froze and was confused. You wouldn’t wipe that smug off your face. Now, I’m not scared of you. But the memory still engraves in me. And it left a scar for only I can see. So….what’s in it for you, really? written by Siti Fatimah Hey you pretty one,
I can see those little devil horns on your head I know you hate it. You hate it when people stop and stare like you are a monster an ugly monster. "But they are just horns" you say. You think that girls are supposed to have flowers for crowns and candies for smiles Like all the other girls all the pretty girls But you do have flowers for a crown and they are the pretties flowers from your garden You decorated your horns with those pretty flowers and you pick the pretties ones Your smiles is the sweetest taste of candy that can be found from the cockroach infested candy store where girls are not allowed in So what if I tell you that I won't help you break those horns? Though I would've eaten those horns for you And it will be the tastiest horns I've ever consumed in my life Because I think that you've the pretties horns. I've seen a lot of monsters roaming around on the streets With their stupid faces and their stupid smiles Hiding their real sadness behind those stupid smiles and stupid faces Saving them from letting everyone knowing the truth They have horns too just like you But they hide it under their stupid smile and stupid faces They are afraid to show their horns But not you. "But they're just horns" You're the prettiest monster I have ever seen in my life. written by Nana Wahab I’m tired of victims having to hear that they’re “lucky” that it didn’t go farther that it didn’t escalate faster that they didn’t end up like someone else. how dare you use someone else’s struggle to try and soothe her to try and pacify her to try and silence her into thinking that she is “lucky” for suffering in the way that she has. as if her pain or anyone else’s is more important or more valid, as if somehow they have a right to speak out and she doesn't. how dare you suggest that she is lucky when there are people out there who carry the screams of their victims inside them, who continue to harass and molest and assault, because our justice system is not the only flawed thing in this nation. That night, she saw a glimpse of emancipation escape it’s way through that door Along with love-making myths and old tales of love. Love was now long gone for her Love died that night she remember running Back home Trying to find comfort in running the run she didn’t run when she had her legs trapped into a hell hole , tied up and wide open. His hands, a necklace too tight for her neck. Woman to woman, she purposely confided in you Hoping that loosing her womanhood in such a circumstance would bring her closer and you could free her from her demons and share her piece of mind You knew what they had done to her but for some, they said “poor people do not fight cases in court” As if calling her poor reduced the intense amount of justice that needed to be justified You see the world does not favor people like her Cause people like her are targeted knowing that there will be no justice for her. Not only are they paralyzed sexually but it goes deeper than that mentally and emotionally This was a curse that escalated into destiny That people like her were to never make it past through that door So now she doesn’t know how to stay alive It seems like everyday a piece of her dies when she meets the villains and they tell her “Well you shouldn’t have gone to his place ” as if her being in his house in a sexy tight dress gave him a ticket to claim her sexual property through that door as she waved goodbye to her sacred future …. Through that door it had all started off as just a turn up but ended off as the loss of her dignity and the start of her misery . photo by amatos written by tiara dewintha warm thanks to the people of surface noise located at textile center 200 jalan sultan #04-16 singapore We are excited to announce that our first issue will be out in June. We want your voice and talent! "Grrrl Germs" is taking contributions all the way through 8 May 2016.
If you have poems/ rants/ articles/ collages/ drawings/ photography etc. that you would like to contribute, email at [email protected]. We would like to emphasize on self-identifying girls with a focus on personal growth & ways in which feminism has challenged and pushed us alongside creative works on seasons and memories. Thank you again, a million times, for the love and support! |