Filled with emptiness,
emptied of fullness.
Can’t quite put my finger
on what’s missing.

It’s not love,
nor closeness.
For my heart is safely held
in his courageous arms.

It’s not wonder,
nor commitment.
For my mind and body
are dedicated to this beautiful life.

What is it
that has me feel,
has me think,
has me desire to shrink?

Has me cry,
has me hide,
has me open up wide
and bellow on my knees?

Has me cry,
I ask myself why?

What is it?
Why is it?

That I’m so afraid to shine?

I have never encountered anyone who says women don’t have a right to express anger.

In the feminist discourse, there are many who conflate the use of the term “angry feminist” with meaning a woman does not have a right to express this particular emotion. It’s an important distinction to make.

This argument — that anyone perturbed by the manner in which modern feminists put forth their arguments is disallowing a woman’s anger — is a spurious claim which seeks once again to deflect responsibility and blame the other.

When we’re on the defensive (as feminists are); when we’re righteous…

There is a new phenomenon,
it’s time to be scared,
men have taken it one step further
I can hardly believe they dared.

They now fuck us with their eyes,
They no longer need the warmth of our thighs.
All it takes is just one look
And the righteous anger begins to rise.

One day, long ago, I may have smiled
nodded, or sent a flirtaceous hi
But that was before men became so vile
Now I just vomit back: #boybye

He looked my way without a warrant.
How dare he be so damn disgusting? …

Women’s studies.

I’m unsure what feelings and images those two words conjure deep in your being?

For me, it’s the power, strength, and sacredness of the feminine; the creation of balanced and beautiful relationships with men and women; sacred union; conscious birth, mothering, grand-mothering; the menstrual cycle; fertility; study of archetypes and Goddesses; the tales and practices of our ancestors; the seasons; the elements; nutrition and herbal medicine; stages of life such as maiden, mother, crone; death and rebirth; and the protection of our precious Earth.

That’s what the study of women means to me. It speaks to our innateness…

Why are you so angry,
so bitter, so jaded, so full
of spite, and division?
Were you always
so quick to lose your cool,
or were you engineered this way?

You used to write with eloquence,
with passion, warmth, and love.
But now you simply
swear and cuss,
pretend to be tough,
though we can all see through you.

You used to inspire me,
empower us.
But now you divide and blame,
bitterness abounds,
lots of fuss
about nothing.

You used to smile, your hair was sweet and your eyes lit up. But now you’re always frowning, you look so…

For those first few moments I’m not quite sure where I am. I hear a tapping at the window, which awakens my consciousness and brings me back to the soft, warm bed I sleep in.

It’s a bird, tap, tap tapping on my window. It pulls me swiftly back to earth from my velvety dream state and as I descend, my thoughts remind me of my descent to the Underworld.

It was five long, slow years ago that I awoke with a tangible feeling of disgust for my life. It was inexplicable, a sign of madness even; not something I…

You think you don’t know, but you do. You’ve always known. You’ve just forgotten.

It’s now time to remember.

You know that voice inside your head that asks, “Did you lock the door when you left the house?” That’s your intuition.

I prefer to call it something else: it’s you. You are inside, waiting to be heard, forever asking questions, always shedding doubt.

You are always there, always able to connect with yourself to ask the questions — but you don’t. Sometimes you listen, other times you’re too busy, or detached, or in denial that you don’t answer the call.

The anchor to Earth, the ocean of tears, the holding of space. The loving of men, the healing of rifts, the care of the young.

This is the feminine.

This archetype — so nurturing and giving, so soft, so knowing, so welcoming, has been our ally, and is the birthplace of all. Our grandmothers once celebrated their role as homemakers, childbearers, and wisdom-keepers, yet here we are, a collective of women, failing to connect with and understand the true power that lies in the embodiment of this archetype.

Instead, we embody and glorify the masculine — whilst at the same…

I am not bound by convention,
nor coloured by skin
or by tongue.
And I will not be told
that I cannot be one;
with my sisters and brothers
the fathers and mothers,
the sons and the daughters
of She.

I am not immune
to comments or words;
that cut like a knife
or a dagger with spurs.

But I am a woman,
and I am complete.
I am strong,
I am whole,
and I can foresee.

What many cannot
whilst blinded by hate,
by division, and habits,
and visons of fate.

I will not be told what to think…

Some women
spit venom,
twisted words,
hating men.

Blaming and dissing,
and not knowing when.
To stop, to look
to go deep within.
To ask oneself,
is it really him?

The finger is pointed,
the anger is deep.
Play the victim,
kill the patriarchy,
equal rights,
sounds so grim.

But we don’t need
more fighting
and war.
More division
and blame,
and making of laws.

No. We need justice,
union, and care.
We need respect and love
’cause if it’s not there;
We’ve no heart,
no morals,
no will to go on.
No creation,
no softness.
Polarity — gone.


Aimee Devlin

Helping conscience-driven women live The Self-Sufficient Life | Earthy & Unconventional | co-founder |

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