The dream of a golden ring

I dreamt I lost my rings of gold
Those circles that resemble self
The ones I bought to marry me
I put them down while seeking others
Bright new selves to replace the old
I felt such panic when I lost the rings
The ones I discarded to try on the new
And looking down at ten slim digits
Saw foreign rings upon my fingers
All thin and made of matte plain silver
One engraved with an alien script
Code for a language I’ve yet to learn Read More

trust women


trust women
for they know things
like how to listen
and how to draw you out
they help you feel normal
for committing the mistakes
a normal woman makes
they help you reveal
all the shame
you learnt to conceal
long ago

trust women
to tell you the hard truth
show you new perspectives
reveal back to you
your world
one that is
clearer, fairer and kinder
or harsher, meaner, more unjust —
whichever the case may be Read More

Mirror repeats night

Mirror repeats night. A sestina about self, body, and self-expression.

Feminist Confessional

Avoiding the mirror,
the ritual repeats:
she drapes it with linen every night
while the magpies sing.
She doesn’t want to see her broken
self. She shuns her body.

The same body
that once seduced the mirror,
back when nothing was broken.
But cruel time repeats,
the days add up and soon there is nothing to sing
about. Bodies fade like curtains; they fade like the night.

She hides away in bed at night;
fat layers of feathers stifle her body
so it can no longer sing.
She has failed to mirror
the love she gives back at herself. Self-loathing repeats
and amplifies until she feels broken.

Her soul, it is broken,
needs elevating on pillows. It throbs in the night
while the pulse in her veins repeats
the pain. Heat swells in her body,
her mind a cool mirror
that refuses to sing.

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The gravity between us – Melita White

The gravity between us. My latest poem is part of the feminist writer’s challenge on Whisper and the Roar.

Whisper and the Roar

The gravity
That lies between
Is leaden with the death of us

Is heavy with false words
That float the void
Between realities

Weight brings to bear
Upon our minds
Great burdens of such gravity

Wet concrete blocks
To set our thoughts
In semblance of fertility

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things.

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Who am I?

Who cares?

The vapid blind stare of the internet stranger ranting pontificating deliberate insinuating contempt with intent to maim and to wound to cause pain and to snarl like a caged beast released. Let it out.

Who thinks?

The rapid shrink of the brain pool of thinkers we numb on devices distracting contenting while contempt is bred thickly. It’s over.

Who makes?

Our empty creations iterations of pixels and 0s and 1s and filters preset by the hip-set and all is clean and digital yet no longer from digits. No breath and no spit and no mark remains. We are cyborgs.
Read More

Why My Teeth Clench and My Shoulders Seize Up: Sexual Abuse and Coming to Terms with Trauma in the #MeToo Era.

My original MeToo story.

Feminist Confessional


When I think about writing this piece, I notice that my teeth are clenched and my shoulders are raised. I also feel that familiar, pleasant, slightly floaty feeling as if I’m not really here. I stare out the window vaguely without focus. It’s called dissociation, and I’ve only recently learned to label it as such. It’s pleasant, because it allows me to leave a painful situation, mentally, to check out, even if my body isn’t coping.

I’ve been encouraged for a few years by well-meaning medical folk to deal with the underlying trauma that is a contributing factor in my chronic illness; and I’ve tried hard to identify and move through it. I have had debilitating symptoms for over a decade now, most of which seem untreatable. I won’t delve into the full story of my health problems right now: suffice to say these symptoms and my pain levels are…

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