Each day this week, we’ve been bringing you tributes from young poets to Senna, our “Girl Rising” from Peru who will be appearing at the Women In The World Summit, which starts today. Today, meet Tashi Brown, a another member of Get Lit – Words Ignite.
“Senna: a warrior all girls should aspire to be,slaying your demons with No. 2 pencils, transforming your pain into art.“
See the Tashi’s full transcription below!
Senna: a warrior all girls should aspire to be, slaying your demons with No. 2 pencils, transforming your pain into art. You trudge through a treacherous toxic wasteland to pursue the education your father so desperately wanted I traverse not one but two hoods, my lips tainted with a mixture of ink and lead– I think I’m poisoned to the mind’s eye, clouded over with “enlightened” smoke Although we are worlds apart, I too see what roles women are reduced to my parents never fail at using my mother as an example; she never cared about her education her mind not open to cultivation born of the infectious disease sweeping the nation from generation to generation– (which makes no sense in a country where all information is at your fingertips)
It’s amazing how women are being brutalized by a society that is sexualized girls catering to the desires of grown men indoctrinated to inspire; clad in the uniform of an apron and a feather duster, we are the maids of the morning after
“This is a man’s world” - a constant reminder, and why I continue to carve a path with pens on parchment for these good girls - these hood girls who seek sanctuary at the ends of blunts I know there is no double for this stunt so I have to make it count- each line furthering our purpose
I write for that little girl who kept silent for the sake of her family taught to smile and nod, not once revealing the earthquake forming in her soul, shifting tectonic plates of emotion echoing in her ribcage, the crumbling buildings of her innocence anticipating demolition
I am the voice of minorities and one day we will realize there is nothing minor about us: we refuse to continue telling our six-year-old girls that their virtue is minor. Those same little girls who run rampant in schoolyards, trading skinned knees and double dutch ropes for STDs and double standards
But in developing countries, educated women are like suicide bombers, armed with their arsenals of pencils, paper and a burgundy bomb that beats a physical reminder that their heartbeat is the drum those soldiers march to
Senna: I can’t stress how much poetry changed my life– who knew ink would cut just as deep as a knife? It taught me to turn MY pain into art, marching to the beat of my own drum. on a mission not to preach but to teach all these girls – No! – these women– that there is a way out, a way to scream and shout: We will not bear the burden of perfection because it doesn’t exist. We will pay less attention to boys and more to books, with our words, we will rip the fabric of this nation and weave a tapestry of liberty, equality, and femininity
‘'This is a man’s world?” (maniacal laughter) this is my world. this is your world. this is our world.
It always has been…