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Being A Woman by Melissa Ryan

I want to text my sister

Don’t go

That going out at night isn’t allowed for her

Tell her “avoid the moon,”

That monsters change under its light

From men to wolves, they hunt in packs

And they must not find you alone

I text my sister

 If there's an emergency then I can come right now 

 I can get you out of this just tell me how

 i'm right here outside with everything you asked me to bring

Waiting for the text from my sister

My body is preparing 

To run away with itself

preparing for everything that could possibly go wrong 

because it has gone wrong- so. many. times.

I want to text my sister but

I'm tired of constant vigilance 

And I'm tired of constant vigils

And we act surprised

every time another woman gets killed

don't be too nice it'll get you killed

don't be so rude it'll get you killed

And we’re socialized into a politeness that still gets us killed

I text my sister

It is not your fault

the fact is that victims are rarely believed

the fact is that Justice is barely achieved 

the fact is that it costs us so much more to just be

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Iranian American by University of Michigan Slam Team

To all the people that dislike my people

when you greet my people with visa bans

economic sanctions 

and threats of war

let me show you how Iranians greet people 

it's with a hug and two kisses on the cheek

sometimes three if we like you a lot

it's not a crime to say hello to a

stranger and get to know them

the deepest connection can come from the places you least expect

to all the people that dislike my people

when you chuckle behind my back with your friends 

imitating the language of my mother tongue as I speak

let me show you the beauty of the Persian language

let me recite you the legendary works of Rumi and Hafez 

and when you hear the whirlwind of thousands of years of history culture and poetry

I hope that you come to appreciate my

language with as much love and respect that I do

to all the people that dislike my people

when you say my women are oppressed 

let me tell you about the women in my life

let me introduce you to my mother and grandmothers

who lived through war revolution and immigration and still

managed to become doctors and engineers

on top of being mothers and wives to their families

let me show you the fire that burns

within every Iranian woman

a flame of strength and courage that never dies

to all the people

when you say my people are corrupt 

I ask you to remember the ones whose voices

have been silenced 

the ones who didn't have a choice in their circumstances

the ones who are trapped in the unemployment and inflation 

that has gripped our country and won't let go 

I ask you to remember that a government

does not always represent its people

to all the people that dislike my people

when you so lightly send tweets about a World War III

let me remind you that a war in America

does not look the same as a war in the Middle East

let me show you the wrinkles on my

grandfather's face that have permanently

stayed from the last war less than 40 years ago 

let me show you the hidden scars of pain

of those who have been here to take a better opportunity of life

to all the people that dislike my people

when you tell my people to go back to where they came from 

let me ask you to do the same 

because we are all immigrants in this land

my people are Iranian and American we

are not one without the other 

so I will stay right where I am

to all the people that dislike my people

it's time to remove this divide of hate

and replace it with one of love

it is time to open your minds

and your hearts

so let's start this revolution of love

together hand in hand

together

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Women. Life. Freedom. by Parmida Barez

The scarf around her head became the noose around her neck. 

They lied to us the day they said it's us that they protect. 

What will you tell the mother crying loudly at the grave? 

The grave of her young daughter who was battered, beat, and shamed. 

Morality. They say, one musn’t dare to be indecent. 

How dare you talk of decency amongst your trail of victims

that cast a shadow when you walk with every two and fro.

There's blood that spills behind you brother 

only you would know.

But you don't care you live like king like kings  upon your throne, 

from money that was built from pieces of your people's bones. 

Of your people's skin and blood and of your people's hearts. 

But you take a bite and chew it up and rip them all apart. 

40 years of this oppression, 

40 years we've paid. 

40 years of forced confession, poverty, and pain. 

40 years of lying, cheating, hiding, disobeying. 

But 40 years is 40 years too long. We mustn't wait. 

Cause now the world can see us for exactly who we are.

And now the people of the world unite to show their scars. 

Now the people of the world display their broken hearts. 

And now the people of the world we're ringing the alarm!

And if not us then who my friends?

And if not now then when?

And we won't shut our mouths this time and we won't

all pretend.

The deaths of all the martyrs we have lost won't be in vain.

For Mahsa for our sisters and our

Brothers.

All the slayn! 

It's our body,

It's our choice,

It's our human right.

It's our freedom,

It's our voice.

For this we'll always fight.

We need the countries of the world to amplify our voices,

but more than that, we need the global leaders to make choices,

choices that support the innocent,

the good at heart.

Choices that keep criminals and perpetrators far. 

They've held our country hostage and the people and the soil,

where human rights was first

encrypted back when we were royal.

Baraye zan, baraye zendegi, baraye azadi.

Baraye jaan, Baraye hamvatan, baraye agahi.

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To the Holocaust Deniers Online

To the Holocaust Deniers Online by Logan Burwood

Gaslighting is the act of denying reality

And when you deny the holocaust

You are gaslighting every Jew

And we know what gas smells like

The chambers of your heart are filled with toxic fumes

And we know what gas chambers look like

Your mouth is a gas leak that ignites into hate

Do not put my name or my people in it again

We are done feeling fire

Done smelling smoke

Done accruing ash

And we are done buying into your bullshit

Holocaust Deniers,

You say you and all your clan will bring death to the Jewish People

We are not afraid of your numbers

We still have every number they gave us

Take a look, count them

All 6 million

Count them, Look at what they took from us

There were millions that stood against them then

Millions more that stand against hate now

We have fought against artists before

Artists who painted us as monsters in the little canvas of their minds

We have fought against popular liars before

Liars who spoke in little white lies like locusts forming a deathly plague

We have fought against those who hate us before

And we were the ones who won

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Feather Heart by Omar Mareen

The men in my village wake up with the sun

The sun who chases away the night

And so the cold is driven back again

While the warmth of the day tells us

That we are alive

That today the God of the Dead has not come claim our spirit

And in the sun we may follow in the footsteps of our fathers

Or return to the arms of our sons and daughters

Or we may kiss the ones we love

Because that is the sun

And under it we are free

But when your last night comes

You will hear the moon howling for your blood

Your feet too heavy to move 

Your breath lost in the sands 

And Anubis, God of the Dead will come to judge your soul

When you are judged by Anubis

Do not speak

Words cannot convince this Judge

You will die

Anubis will take your heart from your chest

It will be placed on the scales against Mayet

The feather against the heart

We cannot hope to question the Judge

But we can hope the scales weigh fair

If there is balance then Mayet will bring you justice

And you will come back

You will feel the sun once more

But if the feather says you may not return

Then Anubis will keep your heart

You will stay in the Underworld

You will never see the sun again

And you will disappear

This is why the men of my village wake with the sun

We pray to Anubis that we may stay here

With our fathers and daughters and sons 

We cannot ask Anubis to judge us different

Only that the scales may send us back 

The ones that we have lost

We must pray that Mayet’s feather is not tricked

Into keeping us away

That we stay warm and free in this sun

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Nesting Dolls by Christine Lourdes

On a trip back from Russia

My father presents me a gift 

A Russian Nesting Doll

He says, “This is your mother and you. 

Beautiful.”

He did not say my mother and I

Were cleverly made

Not carved from powerful oak

Not sturdy 

Not balanced

Not one-of-a-kind

Not worth more than his pocket change

My father said “Beautiful”

He meant “You are

A well-painted plaything

You, A toy bought and sold by men

You, A mantlepiece over fire admired by guests

You, A smaller version of you that can fit in his hands

And if he should have small hands

Then he will pry you open like oak seeds

And keep the smallest parts of you for him to hold

And you are never to grow larger than the vessel you are contained in

You will be asked to shrink on command

You will shrink so often 

You will start to do it even without being asked

You ask your father for a nesting doll of him

He says, “Fathers are not made this way”

And it takes a split of a second,

For you,

To realize,

That your father has never painted his face

Has never been pierced and coated in gold

Never been turned into a trophy-father

Never passed around or ignored in the room

And there is always enough room for him to grow

He has not been made to hide within himself

He does not keep smallness inside his gut

And is not forced to open himself up when asked

He is one of one

And you are not

You are a just one more

One more in a line of women who tear themselves in half

One more who one day will tear herself in half

One out of so many who have made themselves small enough to fit in

Fit in in a job

Fit in in a marriage

Fit in in a suitcase

Fit in in his hands

But just once,

You would like to know how it feels to grow

You would like to plant yourself firmly where you stand

To grow like the oak tree you were carved from

To not be cut down

To not be burned

To not be made small for anyone

And so you take the smallest nesting doll

From inside your smallest center

And you plant it

With hope,

That one day,

You can learn to grow again.

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While the Lioness Hunts - Poem by Ryan Cross

A female lion will wait for her purrfect moment

The Lioness is the serengeti’s queen  

She is unseen and 

Works more

Hunts more

Fights more

Risks more

Than cub fathers

Fathers are known as sleeping lions

And we let sleeping dogs lie

But there is a reason why

You bow down to a Queen

The lioness learns to hunt when she is still a cub

Watch your mother 

Sharpen your claws But hide them until you need them

And you will need them

Sharpen your tongue And hide it behind your fangs

Because others will try to hold it for you

When you are hunting you will be alone

When you are not hunting you will be alone

When you are raising your cubs you will be alone

You must do all this 

And stand with pride

You must always stand as a queen

Always a beautiful plaything 

A Murderess in a fur dress

Let them think 

“Oh well doesn’t she look cute in a pants suit”

Until the moment you bite off their head

It is a Lioness’ pride to see her cub

Grow into a queen

But so often watches the jungle take her pride away

Huntsman come and steal your heads

Mount as trophies of hunt and hang you dead

Lions will come another and another, larger and taller 

Take bites, pounce down, rule absolute as fathers

And after all this

a lioness will still mother children

She will still hunt day after burning day

Even while her heels are cut

Even while her body is small

Even while she carries her cubs

The lioness will make these sacrifices because 

That is what it means to be a queen