Update 2/29/16

For those who were biting their nails about whether I finished my psych paper…

…because I’m sure there were many of you…

I turned it in on time…well, late, but in time enough to get a grade.

Today I did well on two exams, I’m certain of it.

I’ve got a lab practical at 10am.  The morning and I don’t traditionally get along…but I’m trying.

Writing assignments coming up!  I’m taking a Writing for Media course, which means quirky characters and experimentation.  That means experimenting on all of you!

 

Wait, where are you going?  Come back!

 

Update

I feel like such a kid, taking my 12th break from my overdue psych paper.  I’m tempted to skim through new fanfiction…FANFICTION!

I’m not knocking fanfiction, but the college student procrastinating for it is a tired cliche`.

…shout out to those Once Upon A Time fanfic authors who are killing it.  Seriously, I can barely follow the show since it got hysterically racist, but some fan authors are really doing an awesome job making it what it could be.

Yes, I’m a nerd.

I’m so nerdy I nerd in a laboratory professionally.

I apologize for nothing.

…but my stomach is rumbling, the alarm is going off, and I still have to do my homework.

 

Stuck Again

At home, at the crossroads

hairs raised,

all heckles

and sharp fangs

ready for biting words

blistering stares.

 

Fear of people is more the fear

of a monster inside

the one that says slash and hide

 

The one that can’t describe

the desire.

 

My desire for a world

that didn’t force me to adapt

to be willing to hurt, hate,

long enough to rend back.

 

My desire for a world

where I don’t learn what’s

sharp enough,

blunt enough,

or what ways to swing

to disconnect the thing

attacking

from it’s brain stem, from it’s heart.

 

I think if I took one I’d keep it wrapped

in a baby blanket,

give it coins for passage to a world

gentler

where I might follow.

 

I know hundreds of ways to kill someone.

My parents trained

Others concerned for my deer-stumbles

my fawn-eyes

taught me how to make stone tools

that have rendered millions of gentler hearts

extinct.

Life Ever After…

Life after…

life after…

After what?

 

I could do nothing,

but doing nothing today would be the same as a melt down.

If I could melt down into my bed…

 

melt down its wooden leg and hide somewhere in the carpet, solidifying like a wax-monster.

 

I could hide in the shadows from what’s inside and out.  Why is everything more visible in the dark?

 

Melt down…

 

All red, orange, throbbing inside.  All screeching sirens and dreaded whispers.

 

I didn’t see the sirens…

 

That’s right.  He died in a hospital bed.  There were no sirens.

 

I wasn’t there to hold his hand..

 

I wiped his dust from my hands by a river bed I don’t know if I’ll ever see again.

 

I keep a bit of him in a necklace I rarely take off.  I wonder what bone fragments I’ve gotten.

 

I wonder what of him I can keep.

 

I’ve stolen his hand gestures, and his guarded smile.

Being A Girl: A Brief Personal History of Violence

I can’t help it, this article is amazing, and the experiences here are so unfortunately close to my own…

The Belle Jar

1.

I am six. My babysitter’s son, who is five but a whole head taller than me, likes to show me his penis. He does it when his mother isn’t looking. One time when I tell him not to, he holds me down and puts penis on my arm. I bite his shoulder, hard. He starts crying, pulls up his pants and runs upstairs to tell his mother that I bit him. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone about the penis part, so they all just think I bit him for no reason.

I get in trouble first at the babysitter’s house, then later at home.

The next time the babysitter’s son tries to show me his penis, I don’t fight back because I don’t want to get in trouble.

One day I tell the babysitter what her son does, she tells me that he’s just a little boy, he doesn’t know…

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This body is not for you.

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I occasionally love to share the awesome pieces of writing I find while scouring the internet when I should be doing homework or packing for a flight…

Modern Day Dirae

On Monday afternoon my work phone rang, as it is wont to do. I answered it.

“Good afternoon, College of Engineering.”

A man’s voice answered.

“I just have to ask you a question.”

My stomach sank a little at the tone in his voice. I have had these interactions so many times before that I feel like I respond to cues that I could not possibly articulate to you. I knew, in my gut, that he was about to be disgusting.

“Sure!” I said, trying to maintain my chipper phone demeanor. “How can I help you?”

“I just need to know what color your panties are so I can jerk off.”

My face and neck were suddenly hot and crawling with shame. I snarled “go fuck yourself” into the phone line and hung up.


Friends, I am so tired.

When I walked home from work on Monday I felt so strange…

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