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Dear Daughters

 

Dear daughters,

I hope when you look up at me
you see more than surviving.
I hope you can smell gunpowder
on my torn open flesh-
see the wounds dripping from me
and know how hard I fought
to be your mother.

I pray you will fight, too,
because you are worth the war.
Worth should not have to claw
out of your bodies and make itself known.
Worth should live in the pit of your bellies,
festering and felt by you always.

You are not here for one reason;
you are here for a million.
Fight tooth and nail for these if you need to.
Do not survive this world, my daughters;
conquer it.

m.e. peters

 

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18.

I feel like a kid again when I am with you.
17 and shy.
18 and chasing
down the barrel of your loaded gun.

I wanted everything. I needed to feel it all.
Pleasure, pain.
A small scratch, a great ache.
As long as it belonged to you and me.

m.e. peters

 

 

___________________

Photo Credit: Lanaya

@writing.for.the.calm

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To Whom it May Concern

My boss told me he stares at my ass all day and it’s just a joke, lighten up. “Come on, I’m only kidding” he says. And it’s nothing, really. The comments and the stares. They are so small and meaningless; how dare I make mountains out of mole hills?

“Smile,” he commands. Because who would want to stare at a resting bitch face? I need to look pretty and what better way to make me smile than to order me to? No, he’s not threatening me. Because he smiles as he says it. He stops smiling when he tells me that men like their women “young and tight.” This is serious now. I need to remember biology. “Younger girls are just attracted to older men.”

Us women, we must love being told what to do. We must love being harassed at work. We fucking love it when you ask about our marriages and joke about them ending. We love it when you call us sweet cheeks. We fucking swoon over that shit. I am standing on my soapbox now- a mountain, if you will: tell me to smile one more time and I will cut your lips off to make it happen.

m.e. peters

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Target Practice- Advisory: Strong Content

*Trigger warning: rape

 

 
I went out to get obliterated. I went out to forget. To not feel a thing. I went out to be me, for a moment. Or at least the me that I wanted to be. I didn’t go out looking for your hands, your smirk, your smile when it was all over. I didn’t go out searching for a mess. In between my thighs, in between your best friend’s sheets, in the middle of my marrow. A mess you left I could not scrub clean. Even though I scrubbed three times that day. A mess I could not walk off because I could barely walk. My thighs still trembling a day later from all the fight I gave. I did not go looking for you. But you were looking for me and there I was, your easiest target yet.

m.e. peters