Poems from holbertj
Since when has speech become akin to sex?
All accountability falls out, lifeless, writhing
On the floor in a snake’s pattern.
I do not...
Sexism is akin to he who carries it.
Lightéd upon a cock’s feather and all
Too eager to shout at his own feet.
For he that is cocky and...
I exist in Jane Austen.
Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park.
I exist in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.
I exist in books I’ve never read...
My boyfriend laughs at feminist rants,
And the term “faggot” still escapes his lips,
Leaping through a screen.
This is not what I remember...
An open letter to the love of my life:
Every moment I’m away from you seeps into my bones,
Signaling the distance,
Reminding me that I’m...