Fourth Poem (very rough draft)

I'm trying to find the word you remind me of
And I can only think of one.
I'm scared that I am using it wrong
But it's the only one that comes up.
Well that's not true.
"Bull" and "shit" are two words
That do come to mind, but the first
Actually seems more aggressive.
In my Feminist Thought class this semester,
We read texts about the feminist movement.
We go in depth about the inclusion of all women
In the movement in order to gain
A wider and more relevant perspective
Of those being a oppressed
Because, if isn't obvious,
We are not all white, middle-class women.
Intersectionality is a beautiful idea,
But there were several obstacles
Before finding a more appropriate way
To include all types of women.
Within the movement,
White feminism (or white women)
Oppressed women of color,
Women of different socio-economic backgrounds,
Women of "other"
By not acknowledging that they had
Different experiences than the "typical" woman.
But they were all fighting for the same cause, right?
Equality between women and men.
Equality between white women and white men.
To keep this short and not actually
Teach a course within this piece,
The feminist movement did not always
Lend an ear to women who experienced
Different types of oppression at the same time.
Ignorance from white feminism
Lead women to oppress women and their experiences.
But how is that possible?
How can the oppressed oppress?
In earlier stages of feminism,
White women spoke for all women
Because they did believe that all women
Would want the same benefits of sexual equality.
They believed solidarity kept the movement
Strong.
But solidarity is not assuming that
One group of people knows what is best
For all people.
That all of those being oppressed
Have the same experiences.
As hard as it is to believe
That's the way you made me feel.
Oppressed.
Saying that if someone dared to disagree
With the ways things were being done
That it would hurt our solidarity.
That if I had bad criticism,
That I shouldn't say a thing.
That if I said something against it,
I was okay with being oppressed by
The one that is actually oppressing me.
Yet every word coming out of your mouth
Felt like a slap in the face.
It felt like you were spitting at my feet
As you tried to make me see guilt
In my disagreement.
Just because I do not like the way
Things were executed does not mean
I am not down for the cause.
It does not mean that I do not realize that
I am being oppressed.
Believe me, I look in the mirror everyday
Notice my skin tone, my cheap clothing,
My breasts, I know that most odds are against me.
But you know what's really clear, too?
The fact that another person of color
Oppresses my speech as well.
Now you may not look at it that way,
Or else you might have not have said what you did,
But as I heard you speak,
As I heard every word spill out of your mouth,
It almost seemed like you were trying to preach,
But you were a blind preacher
Who didn't realize that every person not yelling an "Amen"
Had their mouth stitched, bleeding
As they tried to get their own opinion out.
You point fingers to the outside for their ignorance
But never look at a mirror because you
Don't dare have yourself pointed out.
You're right,
There isn't solidarity within the community of color,
But not hearing different perspectives
Does not make us unionize,
It only makes people like me invisible, mute.
But I write this poem to make you hear me.
Because I do not agree with you
And because I will not be a victim
Of another form of oppression.

Third Poem

I asked for an umbrella because
It seemed like the most reasonable
Thing to do.
I borrowed her hooded jacket because
She assumed I needed it.
I walked through the puddles and
Made it seem like it was
My only choice.
But here's the answer they never
Asked for:
I love the rain like people love snow.
The first rain of spring and
I wanted to feel it all over me.

Second Poem

Sometimes we get called crazy.
Sometimes we get called fake.
We are told we are not real artists
Because how hard can it really be
To string a few words together?
When I can express myself
Through pen or typing
I feel myself breathing the sanity
That I lacked for too long.
My words make me feel real
To this world where I sometimes
Feel that I am drowning in.
7.2 billion on this planet
And I'm the only one that can
Assure myself that I am breathing,
That I am alive and no one else
Can do that for me.
Yes, poetry is very convenient to write,
But cannot be written without
The passion of life:
The most real and sane thing
I have ever felt.