the building is covered by rain
it pitter patters on the roof
like quiet whispers to the ear
by an unknown breath
I cringe at the neck
too close

where are you?

rain flows from the cracks
on the wall
the windows are crying.
the paint is damp and cold
and peeling.

I am on my bed
shivering
lonely
waiting
to be drenched.

the room is filled
with rain

the floor, invisible
my bed floats
as the waves lick my sheets
I am cold

the falling of rain
the sloshing of waves
sounds encircling me like arms
touching my cheek
my hair
my lips

arms that
hold me by the neck
crashing raindrops like the banging in my chest
I cannot breathe.

I read back old conversations
and they are not our voices
they are muffled sounds
underwater

I cried at the breakfast table this morning
my father carefully explained,
"wives must be submissive to their husbands"
"housecleaning is the domain of the woman"
"God created woman because man asked for a partner"

This past semester I wrote two papers

One, a fire and brimstone sermon
          I quoted Anais Nin
          sending the creators of sexist commercials to eternal suffering
          "**** them!" I said. "May they burn in hell."
          For the women they portrayed were doormats
          Misconceptions
          Monsters

The other, the role of women in the 1920s,
           No longer confined to the kitchen
           they dropped ballots with their new freedom
           they wore short dresses and short tresses
           fingers wrapped around cigs
           they quoted Wilde instead of Alcott
           they danced until their feet hurt
       
I read of Anais Nin's "new woman,"
her partnership, not submission to man,

I craved a room of my own, neigh demanded it
For sheep stayed in the kitchen,
The Woolf had a study.

I read poetry
Sexton,
Plath,
I wept for their starved, depressed selves
caged, suffocating inside the clasped hands of a man.
Loved like rib-cage jails.

Adrienne Rich made me angry,
her daughter-in-law
forever trying to fit into a box
she was always too big for, spilling
at the edges, her shaved
legs like "white mammoth tusks"

I was finally
happy with my womanhood.

******, ******, *****, *******
they are mine.
******* free to move unrestrained,
jiggling under my shirt.
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,
they are mine.

mine.

I am not ashamed of what I am
because there is no shame.

I am woman,
I am girl,
I am lady.
I am a creature
with a voice
a mind.

a creature who endured much abuse,
continue to endure.

I am woman

and I don't have to be wife or mother
unless I want to be.
I was not created for man;
I was created for the same reason he was,
to serve the same great purpose on this tiny blue dot.

I am not rib.

I am ******, ******, *****, *******
******* free, unrestrained,
Wetness between my thighs.
Menstrual blood,

I am a per.
I am a wo.
I am a hu.

Man and son need to back down,
collaborate not dominate,
speak not command,

for when less are forced into silence,
the maddening scream
hidden inside skin and bones and muscle-meat
becomes song.

this world of car horns and tire screeches
crying and wailing from raw throats
angry protests of indignation

could use a little music.

have a God,
be a deist instead
then marry me,
the mediocre Catholic.

let's have children,
let's not have children
because "Parents, they ******* up."
but you'd make a great dad
I think
yes? no?
maybe?
and I'd make a great mom...
...sort of.

We'd love them (the children or child..whichever)
and we'd be weird
so they'd (or he or she..again, whichever) be weird
and their friends would say,
"Who the **** are The Beatles?"

Eh...let's not get married
yet.
let's hold hands first
or be together a year
or get through one meal without having to giggle and look away
because I caught you staring at me
or was it me who was...never mind.

Now I'm studying my hands,
the ones you have not held,
the ones with the ugly, fat, stubby, unlady-like fingers
the same fingers you said you loved.

you're such an idiot sometimes.

Remember that time you said I was beautiful?
which time?
oh right, you've said it more than once;

you idiot.

Do you notice how when you're not looking at me
I stare at your face?
your eyes?
your lips?
your perfect lashes?
No?

good.

I should stop now.
see you soon,
you

idiot.

I feel the feeling of wanting to die,like standing on the edge of a high place;
glass elevator ascending
closer to heaven.  

as I read my book and look up
your eyes say,
"you are beautiful"
as shyly, they look away


I am ugly.

I am a monster with stubby fingers
a dead animal on my head
a screaming in my brain
marks on my face like dots splattered from broken ink


you said they looked like stars
and then you made me cry

I thought I'd never do that again.

I crack the glass under my feet
break through and fall,

hot wax dripping on my back
my shoulders
meat and bones, crashing
falling
drawing
closer to heaven.

As I was making my way to the kitchen
I dropped the cup I was holding
and it bounced on the floor, bangin in its wake
but still the sound did not fill the emptiness of this large room
on this lonely night

I miss you

I miss everything
anything
nothing

No face comes to mind
no moment, no place, no voice
only a feeling
a feeling that I was once whole.

I am broken now
like the shadows the trees' leaves cast
on my solitary walks

I am quiet now
or have I always been?

when you say you like someone else
I retaliate with silence and made up faces
of calm and i-could-care-less

"haha that's so funny"
smile
you're not thinking about this
you are not thinking about her
you are looking at his eyes
(stupid eyes that look at another's)
smile
don't grit your teeth
smile
oh he's holding your hand
did he hold her's like this too?

smile

get rid of that sarcastic face
he is looking at you
and he is holding your hand

smile.

I'm afraid
I'm beginning to frame you in forever.
But we are young
And that is stupid.
But what if I want to be stupid?
Hey as long as it's with you.
I'm listening to that song you gave me,
"born to multiply
born to gaze into night skies
all you want's one more Saturday"
All these ideas of youth,
fun, carefree,
reckless.
"I feel like I could just fly
but nothing happens every time
I try"
We are young and
I can't stop thinking about you.
And pictures of you make me smile
And I replay your laugh again and again,
unending like that gif of you
in my phone
on my palm, you
in a cosmic, comical,
dance loop.
Whoever thought that
that boy
that boy who sat at the back of the class
the boy I'd never talked to
and only shyly added up on facebook
would end up being you?
Maybe
maybe this won't last forever
or even that long
(at least not by adult standards;
who rate everything by time
and not the intensity and quality
of our shared moments)
Maybe this won't last forever
But at least now it feels like it could.
The song has ended
...but I shall play it again
because there is such a thing as a replay button
And you are still here
you can still dance on my palm
you can still smile at me across a concert crowd
and we can still walk the pavements at night.
We may be young
But I've already imagined telling you
"Hey,
no matter what happens between us
let's agree that what we have right now,
it's real"