sweaters & swears

I woke up to a text message from Germany.

It’s the best way to wake up.

I love/hate being surrounded by successful women.

It makes me feel like I am not accomplished.

It helps when they tell me that I’m awesome.

I feel like so much of my identity, as a woman revolves around my appearance.

I have been feeling heavy lately.

It does not help my feelings of self-worth.

Fact

If you send me your e-mail address,

I will probably e-mail you.

Section of an e-mail I sent today

I’ve really gotten into French Pop recently so I am sending you some of that 1960s ya-ya lounge stuff. I feel like this is a part of the manic pixie dream girl trope, but honestly, I think I am too “lesbianish” to fall into that trap.

Punching Lessons

I learned how to punch

hot white-knuckle tosses

in the gray sharpie-loved

cubicle walls

of the Girl’s bathroom

that sat on the border of a sleepy

stretch of orange carpet

mysteriously stained

by second grader’s

blanketing grubbiness.

           *

I tried to fall out of

the crappy crayon cage

with my teacher’s nose

pressed against

the glass of my

toe-bobbing

test-taking skills.

            *

My classmates would

try to pet my dark, curly bob

tactile telling me

that I did a good job.

            *

Everyone was trying to search

for the silverback gorilla

that they said rested between my ears.

                 *

I shouted through the

three-inches of transparency

that separated my chapter books

from their picture-filled stories

                  *

I bit my cheeks so much they

bled.

I forgot how to speak.

                 *

Tears dripping

hot behind my eyes

storing every word I

couldn’t sputter out

               *

The metal finger

locked me in with

the unlidded toilet.

My hands gobbed into fearless teeth

cutting though my skin and

breaking into the

wall as my tongue

slipped through the bars.

             *

I heard myself

and my forgotten choke.