Pictures

Pictures

The following is just a quick little poem dedicated to my partner, Si. I am reaping the benefits of his secret photography during our time apart.   He likes to take pictures. He has one of those Fancy cameras With the lenses You can take on and off. He takes pictures When people aren’t looking All people, Strangers and friends alike. Rarely, they catch him, And he looks away. I take pictures Of him taking pictures All of it, In secret. I show him later Or not at all, Keeping the memories for myself, Like the faces he makes When he thinks no one’s watching. He takes pictures Of me, sometimes, When I ask him to, Like when we travel. I used to hide from the lens But now I try to see myself Through his eyes. He makes albums Of his pictures, His people-watching...

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Mister Nice Guy

Mister Nice Guy

I shouldn’t be scared. It’s the middle of the day; I’m surrounded by people. But there’s two men On this train That make my hair stand on end And the thing is, You just can’t really trust people. You just never know. Man number one Is stood to my left on the platform, As I absentmindedly sway To Frank Sinatra’s voice In my headphones. I keep catching his gaze Out of the corner of my eye. My peripheral vision is 20/20. He’s close enough That I can smell him- Stale cologne and booze And fear. No wait, That last one is me. I look straight ahead Because this is the type of man I am used to. This stranger With his extra-large eyes And overstated sneer, His nearly imperceptible nod Is familiar to me. I know him; I’ve met dozens of his comrades. But now there’s another....

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The Price of Objectification

The Price of Objectification

I am what you see. Just looking for attention With my painted face And single dimension. Obviously Trying too hard To be artsy. I am what you see. Once a man told me I had dick sucking lips. My then-boyfriend laughed At his hilarious quip And I felt my identity Fall away from me, I lacked the audacity To even plea For a longer look, A second chance. I am what you see. I wear a skirt Because I want you to stare And I shave my legs So I’m not embarrassed By the looks I’ve come to expect. Smiling makes me a flirt Although it’s only politeness I try to assert How could I be an introvert? I am what you see. I can’t fool you In my t-shirt, Sweatshirt, I’m only good for one thing: My sexuality, Both prized and shamed, Is what you seek. Use me up And throw me away Shout...

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Shit Misogynists Say

Shit Misogynists Say

A few months ago I was headed to work wearing a summery wrap dress I’ve had for years. My grandfather pulled me aside and told me that “men have a hard time concentrating,” and if I “raised my neckline” I might have less trouble with the unwanted advances I’d been receiving from my male coworkers. He meant well, and I know that. But he was wrong. [pictured: the dress that breaks concentration.] Here are just a few of the things I’ve heard from men while at work: If you just lost some weight, you could be a model. Why are you wearing that dress? You going out later? You’re not going to turn heads. You’ll break necks. You look so good I might just have to take you on a date. Him: Sorry, but you can’t just walk around looking like that without inviting some kind of...

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Twenty Four

Twenty Four

It’s been a hell of a ride. 24 years have brought me Hardships and beauty And a new perspective. I honestly wouldn’t change a single thing. If anything in my life had been different I wouldn’t be who I am. And I have to say I love myself. I love that I can grow And learn something new about myself Or about the world Every single day. I love that I can empathize With so many different people With so many different experiences. I love that with this fresh perspective I’ve become less judgmental And more genuinely accepting. To me, Challenges are just that. I know absolutely That there is nothing I can’t overcome. Nothing will ever break me. My hardships Are accomplishments. I’ve survived sexual, physical, mental, emotional, verbal, and financial abuse At the hands...

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