Poetry Rivals 2016

Taking poetry from the page to the stage!


The curve of her breasts reflects
the eye of the camera lens
flash, flicker, flash
fake hair, fake eyelashes
and lashes of vinegar
with a chest good enough
to eat chips off.
And it’s glam, glam, glam
all I am who I am
but how did she get here?
Because there are girls
daydreaming over coffee tables;
the morning paper, telling fables
about a future of padded bras
and saving cash,
another scalpel, another gash
towards perfection,
her body: an investment.
And it’s not her fault
that a woman’s worth
is determined since her birth
to be her body, to be her sex,
to be questioned on her self-respect
whenever she stands naked
in a room full of wolves
in clothes as soft as lamb’s wool.
A girl, always at the gaze
of the guys, wolf-whistled
on the street since she was thirteen:
see, who needs an education
when you’ve got a pair of DDs?
Now she needs to reclaim her body,
shower away your judgement,
because your eyes made her dirty,
fooled her into thinking you cared
about the caption beside her head,
fooled her into thinking this was a choice
she made, and now her bed is laid,
she wonders if this is the only way
to assert her power in the world.
And as her picture is spread
like butter on breakfast toast,
there is born another girl,
dreaming of paradise,
wondering what she wants to be
when she grows up.


Carmina Masoliver