we got dressed up for dinner but didn’t go to the dance
it was prom night and we were wasting time in my friend’s basement
when the question was asked:
how many men in your life are you comfortable around?
‘well,’ we said, ‘what do we mean by comfortable?'
we defined it like this:
how many men in your life could hug you
without making you flinch?
none of us had more than a handful, ticking names with our fingertips.
my total was two-point-five:
because i’d trust my dad with my life in the way that
you have to question authority to know that it’s right,
so i don’t ever **** away in fear from his familial touch.
(i’m the only one of us whose father makes the cut.)
the second name on my list is a kid from AP physics.
his name is trent and i’ve had a platonic crush on him for like a year.
we’ve bonded this year over math socks and clorox and death jokes.
(a few hours after this basement conversation,
we’re going to an afterparty and he yells my name
from across the parking lot;
we meet each other, running, and he collides into me with joy.
i don’t flinch away— i meet him half-way.)
the point five is
tricky
see, half the time, my brother grabs me and it terrifies me,
begging for him to just let go because he’s hurting me,
i don’t like tickling because it leads to panic attacks—
i don’t like unsolicited men touching me let go of me let go of me.
when my brother reaches for me, i flinch—
half the time.
but when he wants to actually hug me,
he just lifts one arm from his side and lets me tuck myself
under his shoulder, loose and gentle and loving, like good siblings.
half the time, my brother is reaching, and that is terrifying.
half the time, my brother is offering, and that is comforting.
how many men in your life could hug you without making you flinch?
take
a minute to think about it, it takes a lot of reflection.
a man without boundaries,
who takes what he wants and touches you when he wants to,
a man who doesn’t care that i’m flinching—
rapists and assailants don’t have boundaries,
they don’t listen when you say stop let go of me let go—
how terrifying it is for someone you know to just
grab you whenever he wants to.
i don’t want your hyper-masculine hands touching me without asking.
not unless you’re part of my two-point-five person list.
otherwise, you're just going to make me flinch.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
i'm scared of a lot of things like clowns and spiders which sounds kind of normal but my room used to be infested i felt them crawl across my face with all eight legs while i laid awake in the summer heat i'm scared that my closet will be covered in cobwebs and skeletons;
i'm scared of airplane bathrooms.
my reflection doesn't look quite right in them
after eleven hours in the air
the bruises get so deep under my eyes
like i'm already zombified--
listless and tired and craving for something that
doesn't have a name;
i'm scared of not having a name
because then i won't be a person and it's
already hard pretending to be a person
so what happens if i lose that part of me
and stop being a person
without a name and without a face like how
airplane bathrooms always blur out my face
like how
airplane bathrooms always whisper my name
from the corners of my sleep-deprived brain
i can't keep my eyes focused straight
without a name without a name without a
faceless spiders crawling and
clowns and skeletons looking out from my closet--
i'm scared of a lot of things, normal things, like
clowns and spiders and not having an identity.
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:15 PM UTC
winds blow quietly with the whisper of your name
and the rain falls down gently to imitate your touch
but the pulling in my chest from a catalyst
just doesn't stop with this constant reminder
that i'm gone
and you're
happy
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
How dare you laugh at my faults when you're the epitome of human failure?
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Woman
an anthropomorphic angel
with infinite passion
who can hardly be discerned,
you have yet to learn
to find out what her heart really yearns
Woman
an emblem of abnegation
who can hardly be discerned,
you have yet to learn
to discern her concern
Woman
an anthropomorphic angel
with womanly intuition,
Who can hardly be discerned
whether she is ethereal or earthy?
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Write with what you have,
even if it isn't the best.
Write with all your might,
Create wonders, feel that pride.
Write as is your right,
Let your spirit breathe again.
*Every word written
goes down in history
As a flower blooming
in the fields of poetry.*
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:02 PM UTC
i. you will miss him in drizzles and monsoons, in swells and tsunamis. you will listen to his favorite song for hours; it will hit you every unexpected moment. it will hurt, stab, ache, and you will suppress constant screams with strained lips.
ii. you will collect everything he gave to you and wonder if it is dimensionally real. you will sleep in his shirts, retaste saltwater kisses, and reread conversations as if there's something you missed the previous thirty times. absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it rips it apart and you cannot stitch the ragged halves with no thread.
iii. you will feel his touch presently in everything you do. it will be soft and cruelly comforting. it will constantly and inescapably linger. it will haunt you in early rainy mornings and dark lonely evenings.
iv. you will read endless musings on love and philosophy. you will entirely understand foucault's prison. you will live in steinbeck's tide pools and stars, and relate to simon bolivar trapped in his labyrinth. you will wonder why everything is like this, ugly and broken (and also if you are becoming delusional).
v. you will drink tea that scalds your tongue and stand outside on freezing nights, numb and overfeeling at the same time. you will ask the silent moon a thousand questions. you will see him and blink, head swimming, heart pounding in surges. the stars will wink and the wind will mock you.
vi. you will have blissful afternoons you forget and sorrowful nights you remember. it will still consume you in bouts, devour you in spells. nighttime will become both your enemy and remedy: it will wickedly remind you, yet help you heal.
vii. you will try and fail to make sense of him (and the universe in general). you will grapple with reality and yourself. perhaps you will never know why he stopped loving you: you will keep wondering how some things can just be left broken.
iix. slowly, slowly, you will sprout on your own; you will be tender and nearly whole. most importantly, you will realize his love brought you an entirely different kind of happiness.
ix. you will stop worrying and trying to piece together an empty puzzle. even the deepest scars find their way of fading. your mom was right: stop picking at the scab and your wound will heal.
x. you will learn to love yourself in ways he never could have loved you.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
Dear Daddy,
You’ve been protecting me from the day you knew I existed.
You’ve rushed by mother’s side when her stomach was ******
Apparently you and mother smiled so much,
When my eyes repeatedly scrunched.
I’m 12 now daddy, and being a girl is hard.
I always get teased for wanting to play footy.
“It’s a boy’s sport,” they say. Have a boy card.
It never meant anything but it really should.
I’m 14 now daddy, and I got called a **** today.
Of course I shrugged it off as a joke.
I was wearing jeans and never done anything with a boy.
You would’ve yelled at them; wouldn’t you say?
The funny thing is daddy,
you might’ve called a girl a **** at school.
Not of harm maybe, but isn’t it harmful?
You want to protect your daughter; I know you do.
Here’s the thing though daddy.
Maybe if boys learnt from when they’re young,
From their own daddy,
That teasing and leaving out girls
of a game of footy,
Pulling out the boys only card,
Or calling them a ****
A *****
hurts.
Maybe being born as a girl wouldn’t be as hard.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 8:09 PM UTC
eat him like he's the only thing you've tasted in your life
he's the only thing
keeping you alive
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC