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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Mommah

Mommah

Merry christmas, mommah. I don’t know How I’ve come this far Without you. Some might say It’s a tribute To my strength But I’m not so sure. More than anything, I think It’s a tribute to yours. I have an unwillingness To admit defeat Because of you. Because of What you taught me. Taught us. I’m willing to put aside My fear of failure For the possibility Of success. We all thought You had so much longer, So much more time On this earth. We were wrong. I am angry, I am still so angry, Because of what the world lost When you left it. I remember saying goodbye To you, When I walked in your bedroom, And saw your small face, Your frail body, Under that white sheet. I remember the moment That the anticipation ended And I was forced to accept That you were gone. I...

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