Sometimes you've got to give yourself a moral pep talk to inspire your feminism. And, while there's plenty of conversation about feminism in the age of Trump, sometimes it can be hard to feel personally inspired, no matter how committed to the cause you are. In other words, sometimes, it can be hard to feel like you embody feminism.
And that's despite the fact that today's feminism is more inclusive than ever. Writer and philosopher Katha Pollitt, in the New York Times, writes:
"Feminism has changed ... “Feminism is cool now,” explained one [NYU student], citing the movement against sexual assault on campus as one factor and the influence of pop culture idols like Beyoncé and Emma Watson as another. The goals may be the same as ever, but the movement feels different. It is more interracial, younger, queerer and far more internet savvy than it was a decade or so ago."
There's a sure-fire way to kick your feminism into high gear, though: make it matter to you. And there's no better way to connect on a personal level than through poetry. These eight poems will do the job.
1
"Respect" by Melissa Studdard
she held it tight like a kegel ball
and wondered
at the struggle Atlas had
carrying such a tiny thing
on his back
2
"The Valleys Are So Lush and Steep" by Trace Peterson
As my body reaches a kind of equilibrium, I am trying to have as small a percentage of me as possible be fabricated as method acting and as great a possibility as a pink skull half-shaven skyline be real. The valleys are so lush and steep. How to end not wanting to be myself being not quite myself.
3
"Do Not Speak of the Dead" by Cecilia Llompart
In a dream, I am ungendered, and the moon
is just the moon having a thought of itself.
4
"A Woman Is Talking to Death" by Judy Grahn
I am the woman who stopped on the bridge
and this is the man who was there
our lovers teeth are white geese flying
above us, but we ourselves are
easily squished.
5
"Maine Coast" by Lillian-Yvonne Bertram
6
"Macha" by Monica McClure
I am so bloody in my own bath
of wild hairs
that I couldn't possibly
join you tonight
for that colonial thing
7
"Wild Tongue" by Rebecca Seiferle
If we spoke of Plato, and we don’t; each of us
was banished from the womb by virtue
of having a womb, to this unpredictable realm
where each of us would have to discover
her self, that wild tongue—never delineated,
even in shadow, upon the philosopher’s cave wall.
