CONENT WARNING: This is a sensitive topic and there are mild references to gender-based violence.

Scary How It All Comes Right Around
by Gemma Murphy
We teach our daughters that to be cruel is to be kind
Being pushed over and taunted is fine
It just means that he likes you, it’s their way of flirting
Sweetie, it doesn’t matter if it is hurting
So let him give you a playful shove
Let the red from your blood become associated with love
Isn’t it romantic?
Bruises for your birthday
Broken bones for Christmas
A push is a hug.
A slap is a kiss.
A kick is a cuddle.
Don’t we make such a cute couple?
I know he loves me when he screams
Cause if he likes you, he’ll treat you mean
At least that’s what mummy taught me.
He’ll make you feel worthless
And that won’t even hurt less
When your brain’s black and blue
And your emotions are battered,
Sweetie, you should be flattered
You now fear the touch you used to crave
Isn’t it such a bloody shame?
This all started with skint knees in the playground.
Femininity and The Eyes of A Voyeur
by Ira Lapina
my hair has grown long for him
my body has been fitted for his arms
my lips are red for his desire
the temple of my body
has been designed so he can linger in
and take what he wants
and what he needs
my temple was made
so he can look
he can judge
it is for his eyes and
i seek his approval
then, i go the opposite
my hair has been cut short
my body, a lot more curvaceous
my lips are puckered, with tinges of pink
the temple of my body
has been designed to look different
however, it is still looked on
and i want his eyes to linger in
because it is different from the last
i seek his approval
because it does not cater to his fantasies
and then i realise
that the whole construct of my femininity
is in the eyes of his gaze
of his fantasy
my dreams, aspirations, hope
were all made for this fantasy
even going against it is a mere fantasy
then, all i have
are tools for me to use
and give to him
there is nothing for me
but maybe, even if it is from their gaze
i can also look at my creation
the temple that i have built
he will linger in
but i am the one who lives in it
to men, whatever i do will be an act
but if i were to perform for myself
even if they are the audience
the fact that i, too, am enjoying what i’m doing
is a step away
from the effervescent gaze of men
and a step into the gaze of my own conscious
Man Killed Mother
by Gregor Stratford
We imagined permanence,
while Mother knew change.
She adopted her cycle,
our ignorance innate.
We lost our reverence,
gave Mother mange,
broke her cycle,
sealed our fate.
Blind to consequence, alas
we coveted the final straw.
Burdening her fragile sky,
Nature became contrived.
Apes and their fatal gas
assured the endless thaw.
We were always set to die.
Mother could have lived.