Margaret Fuller


She, with elusive fluidity,

was  an advocate for all female creatures.

Beginning to entertain the idea that women are on this earth

to quench more than the painfully dry mouths  of men.


Sick of the sting of a blood stained needle point,

she was aroused by a more  intellectual nature.

A nature not like the Mother

not like the Almighty father--the Universe… no.

A nature of blood, sweat, and tears.

A nature that men too often took  credit for,

too often took for granted.


god forbid she wield a pen and paper,

Pouring out more than her dotings and forelorns

Captivating on the degradation of the female species with words.

Not just any words, specific words,

artfully and meticulously placed to convey truths

Truths that could have been prevented by the art of listening.


In a society dominated by the groin of men,

Coming forth from the womb gasping

for the knowledge that had once been used to suffocate her mother’s mother.

Unclasping the hands that were, by tradition,

supposed to cut her vocal cords

rendering her a small white elephant.


Her father-- using his privilege

granted to him simply because of his sex,

Gave his daughter a gift that would continue on to her daughter’s daughter.

Striking her pen with the delicacy of a peaceful protest

Rather than disregarding, turning a blind eye;

Acknowledging -- respecting.


A gift, not enveloped in lavish wrappings,

But rather a hard stronghold

Encasing whispers not of secret, but of truth.

For secrets are meant to be kept, truths to be set free.

Free from the stale sweetness of a leaf

To nourish her mind like a wet-nurse to a fledgling


This new found knowledge gave her wisdom beyond her years

Inspiring women whose mouths had been sewn shut by men,

To take shears, bloodying their lips,

spitting forth their proclamations,

demanding their right to life.


She had the privilege of knowing from a young age that,

no one was above or below her

But rather collectively on the same playing field

Some constantly reaching for the sky

While  others are crouched,

seeking out what their mother’s left for them.


All the while continuously beaten down by the unconscionable behavior

of the ones boasting at their abilities to jump, jump above

just to come crashing down

on the backs of those of superior intellect

shoveling dirt into their mouths,
Unable to speak, unable to be heard.


Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Our world


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