Tag Archives: Activism

Somebody’s Daughter

27 Aug

They talk about them

as  if  they  were  never  somebody’s  daughter

Birthed by immaculate conception perhaps?


the thought wouldn’t make the Holy land




an ailing ego,

the incessant need to domineer

the desire to                 disconnect

from the body linked in blessed union



The perimeters

lined with glinting eyes

calculating cold conclusions

filled with the audacity

to shoot loaded remarks

out of cavalier privilege issued mouths


get a real job”

As if

walking the low track,

fighting off pummeling johns,

preying predator pimps,

and sucking cocks

while trying to not notice the empty baby seat in the back

is easier than punching in at a 9 to 5


I guess

you are only somebody’s daughter

if you were born into

class, privilege, options, family vacations that entail airplanes

and polite drinking parents, college funds, and single family dwelling homes.


not having any of these


your abrasive path to budding breasts leaves you



We weren’t all born into equal measures

this is fact.

it does not strip away the right to respect

nor reduce the body

to flesh born to extract pleasure

and fulfill   fuck   fantasies

you wouldn’t fathom

asking a wife      or a girlfriend for

Fuck N O


If you don’t know what floods

these people have  kept at bay

while walking that strip of concrete

much alike Moses holding back the sea

if you have no idea

of the shattered glass castles

and fires they had to survive

to even be standing today

if you can

walk away

without being able to relate and remain unphased,

or are unable to see

the human in her face.

Then save your judgements

for somewhere they may be fucking valid

I will not skirt around the issue

and hear the inhumanity

d r i b b l e

out of slippery sloped mouths.


The fact remains,

they are

and have always been

somebody’s daughter

Universal Love

13 Aug

During my consumption of the book, “The Secret”, I was in Nicaragua building a school. I stood rooftop before any of the other team members had risen, thinking about what I would choose as my “love signal”. This signal would be something that I would see or hear and be reminded that the Universe does indeed love me. One girl I know chose the colour yellow and it was on that rooftop I decided that my symbolic love identifier would be a honking horn.

Moments after I chose it, a loud exchange of horns happened between two or more vehicles somewhere in the maze of cobblestone streets. I smiled. It was as if the Universe hugged me.

Two years later and I am waterside on a very different endeavor. Honoring the water with others and trying to preserve the land and river from a third hydroelectric dam development.

Three days into the camp we post signs all along the highway. Some of them read: “Keep the Peace“, “No Site C Here“, “I’m saying NO for my children, grandchildren, and those who come after“.

Later that day passing vehicles began to honk their horns to show support for the cause. What surprised most of us, is the fact that most of these honkers were truckers who worked for the industry. It was a shake-off-your-stereotypes event where you really find out who cares.

For the next 2 days, every hour was graced with the welcomed sound of a vehicle horn. I closed my eyes, lifted my shoulders up towards my neck and faced the sky. Saying a big “thankyou” to the Universe.

What we were accomplishing there was building a solid base to build from and creating a ripple. There is much more to be done, more words to be said, and more connections to be made. Yet there is a strong presence of hope that we will succeed in protecting one of Mother Earths vital arteries. Preserving what we have for our future generations because “they have a right to know a landscape like their ancestors did”.

I have more the share about this journey and experience and it’s all based in love, because… I love that undammed river.

Signed and Sealed with Love,


Dr. Eric Perry

Psychology to Motivate | Inspire | Uplift


Love Boldly & Live Authentically

Megha Bose

A peek into Megha's mind

Sweta Ojha

A Personified Narrative

The Naga

Critical. Crazy. Catastrophic.


let the conversation begin


I was born not knowing and have only little time to change that here and there

Moontime Warrior

A Blog by Erica Violet Lee

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