Creativity641

Every time a women makes 87 cents

A man makes a dollar

For every time a woman gets spoken down on

A man is the speaker

For every time a woman gets called weak

A man is weaker

I'm so mad I can hardly write poetry anymore, 

every word rushes out and tumbles down, 

knocking the inside of my skull, 

a dull roar that follows me to school and home again. 

One girl’s lanky frame against the dark turf field,

lit up by fluorescent lights 

She saunters toward the building 

holding another girl’s hand

Is this what it feels like?

To not be considered human?

To be some invalid,

Invisible thing

That almost nobody wants?

Is this what it feels like?

To be rejected and turned away?

You vacuum the carpet in the same direction, 
straight lines like ribs, hoping to be noticed, 
hoping someone sees proof of you, 
the ghost of your hands pressed into the fibers. 

Head towards the sky

Eyes open

Hearts open

Looking for a shooting star

A spark of equality

A spark of freedom

Eyes search the sky

Spend hours searching

Looking

Hoping

Wishing to wish