Edges

Edges

It is not a shiny thing, a room full of coffee cups and the shakes and the voices of people telling all the same story just wrapped up a little different. it isn’t easy. they come in and out and you pray to the higher power you created or discovered or whatever to please, please don’t let that be you just for one more day. just today. you white-knuckle that shit at first, though. you’re the one in and out, the one who makes the people with more than a few days remember. really remember how it felt to not know how to feel. and the ones with the time, they thank god it’s not them, and they do what they can, and they hope that you get it before you die. these people, these people with time [that you think must be lying, cause who can go years...

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Twenty Five

Twenty Five

A year ago today, I published a poem along with text messages from my father, outing him as an abuser and an alcoholic who refuses to take responsibility for his actions. I was always there for him and remain unappreciated. I have forgiven him for what he has done to me. What I cannot forgive is what he said about my mother. And I learned from him, and took a step forward, and haven’t spoken to him since. Read “Father Dearest” here. I’ve spent a lot of time in the rooms of AA. Try as I might I couldn’t get my head around a higher power, and around having to give up drinking for the rest of my life at the age of twenty-three. I viewed it as an ending and as a compromise of my ideals. I first entered AA in January of 2014. I went to meetings, went to...

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You’re Not Decent [Eve]

You’re Not Decent [Eve]

What if you woke up one day with no knowledge of who you were? This original short story explores how we would feel about our bodies without societal pressure- if we didn’t know our ‘flaws’ were flaws.     I’m not exactly sure where I am. There’s a draft coming in from the open window, the sun is shining. I see dust particles shimmer through the air as I throw back the covers. I think I should be afraid, but what I feel is more wonder than terror. I jump back in surprise when I pass a window. But it’s not a window, it’s a mirror. I don’t recognize me. Who am I? My hair is disheveled, messy ringlets fall out of what’s left of a ponytail. My body feels cushiony and soft and warm. I am pleasantly fuzzy- the sun shines across my hairy...

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Trustworthy

Trustworthy

Maybe it’s an age thing Or a woman thing Or an addict thing But it’s a ludicrous thing To not know Your own mind Or to lack confidence In your opinions. I’m always Looking over my shoulder. Always asking What someone else wants, Or feels, or needs, Or double checking That I’m not bothering them To the point that I’m sure I am. I’m conscious of The way I eat: How and what and when. I worry about taking up space- How close my chair is to the table, I cross my legs on the metro, I avoid an occupied kitchen, Offer to sit in the back of the car, Even curl into a ball in my own bed. Where do I want to go? Anywhere is fine. Am I hungry? I don’t know- are you? I want to contribute without pressure, I want to help without demand. I concern myself with the needs of others,...

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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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