my uterus is not a biohazard

My uterus is not a biohazard //OR// Why I am going to get birth control wearing a red supersuit flaunting a red period blood smudge.  The blood that pours, trickles, gushes and drips from my uterus is considered a biohazard. You know, the kind that they put in those sterile red plastic containers with the red cutting scythe…

their multitudes

A million asteroids of all genders called woman. Those are me. You raise an eyebrow. I raise mine. Must I remind you what woman means? Woman is the shaping of a skin, it is a face turned towards the wind, it is resilience. Woman is remembering oppression directed at that skin and that face. Woman…

to my heart melt people

[note: this post started the day after graduation and finished now]  Yesterday, wilting in sweat, to cheers I did not hear for nerves, and with feet bare to feel the ground beneath me, I walked across a stage, accepted a diploma case and hurried back to my seat. I guess that was my moment, or something….

ladies, stop apologizing

I am standing in someone’s way in the dining hall. “Sorry,” they breath softly, as they slide past me on the way to the panini press. You’re fine! “Sorry,” I hear, as an elbow gently brushes my backpack while I stand in line. Didn’t even notice!  Someone’s foot inadvertently jiggles mine under the table as they switch…

~disgusting~ bodies, speak thy power!

or: gross is the new fierce and i love rupi kaur My sweat stains and I have become intimate through long fellowship and shared struggle. I have leg hair and armpit hair and sporadic chin hairs. I have stretch marks on my thighs. Once every 50 days or so, gooey blood flows out of me for a week straight. My…

the f word

failure I. such an unassuming                          word, that such an unassuming mind-bending word such an unassuming mind-bending word that permeates my psyche claws into those ¿forgotten? cobwebbed corners of             my soul and whispers to me that failure will…

Today I signed away my life on the solid line

(not exactly my life, but 10.5 post-grad months) to a program called Life Together. I signed away doubt about my immediate post-grad future, I signed away a barnacle of perfectionism (because no matter how great a program is, it’s never perfect), I signed away last-minute decisions and new-sprung opportunities, I signed away reckless travel adventures (for the time…

don’t you dare call me beautiful

We are our fear and hope and courage and pain and love and doubt and anger and salty, dripping tears mixed with snot, sweat and redemption. To recognize us for who we appear to be instead of who we are actively being is to deny, in a way, the truth of who we experience ourselves to be.

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my heart hurts from pounding deeply as I turn and toss roll and squirm restlessly the whole night through my heart hurts as it has beat to a seeming thousand similarly sleepless sunrises anxiety’s drill sargeant my alarm clock rat-a-tat-tatting deep into my exhausted bones my mind whirs, clicks and grumbles jostled forward by irregular…

a/lone

Soft wafts of bittersweet solitude
To settle upon me like a summer blanket
Sticky spider’s web of just and only me

rush /\ pressure

“There is a pervasive form of contemporary violence to which the idealist most easily succumbs: activism and overwork. The rush and pressure of modern life are a form, perhaps the most common form, of its innate violence. To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many…

¿[questions]?

If you are a wandering soul, a wondering soul, then you’re a soul that lives by questions. If you’re a lonely soul, a lusting soul, then you’re a soul that lives flirting with edges. If you’re a restless soul, a downward spiraling soul, then you’re a soul that lives asking for more. Oh, you wandering, wondering, lonely…