the girl searches for her politics in every crease of his body and thinks this is what feminism is or could be but the best part is that she will never see him again can forget his name his hands the fact that he likes Leonard Cohen too
my body has been my body before i was allowed to paint my nails / or wear makeup / or shave my small tan legs in mom’s clean white tub / as i giggled and hugged myself / because this is what big girls did
Mind is numb, it's hard to focus. Attention to task can't be kept. Chest is heavy, massive weight has been placed. With every breath a strain to inhale. Body is exhausted, sleep is a companion: Its friendship allows for an escape.
Like many of us, I spent years getting angry at my body for not doing the things I wanted it to do, not being the things I wanted it to be. Things I had seen would gain me acceptance.
*poem inspired by Cavat’s incarcerated female students
You tried to baptize yourself in toilet water and As guards dragged you away, you cried Mama, Mamita As though she could hear you through steel and brick.
