Humanity: Raw & Unfiltered
Back in college, I lived on campus in a cramped, two-bedroom apartment. The white paint had dried dripping in places, so the walls looked like they were eternally crying. I had three roommates, one of whom pronounced the word “blatant” horribly wrong, like “debutante,” as if she had a bad Read more
You are better than that, so much brighter than spewing and spitting rhetoric. You are morally responsible and dignified.
Honor is your middle name.
Youth, pay attention you are our
Salvation.
I have written a million poems about my body. How she couldn’t stay in her lane, fit in her assigned container, listen to directions. How she never did what was expected, lived in the fray, wandered endlessly from ship to ship.
He had already locked the front door so she couldn’t escape, couldn’t open her cage.
Perhaps he uttered a prayer to whomever murderers utter prayers too. Perhaps he gave last rights to himself, took communion, had a last meal, said goodbye to his mother, brother, sister, children, the cats.
I was so stupid when I found out I was pregnant. I had no idea. I was 14 years old.
That I didn’t know missing my period meant pregnancy. Do I need to be ashamed? Do I have to tell you how many pills I swallowed to hide my shame? Do I have to tell you how it felt to have tubes shoved up my nose as they pumped my stomach at 15 years old?
But in just a few seconds, the test showed positive. Yes, I was pregnant. I called my mother at once and told her everything. Fortunately, she already knew that my husband Jim and I had been having marital problems for a while and that I had looked elsewhere for sex, so she wasn’t at all surprised. Nor was she judgmental.
I began tweeting my dislike for the president and even made a few replies to his public tweets. One tweet, in particular, annoyed me. He took a meeting and wanted us to pat him on the back. One meeting? Obama probably had 2-5 meetings every day he was in the White House. Trump needed a pat on the back for one meeting. It was laughable at best. I got over a thousand people liking my rebuttal tweet to Trump. It felt good to be noticed, but then I felt a little narcissistic for being pleased with the response. I hadn’t written anything newsworthy, but I got a lot of pats on the back. I had to tell myself step back and look at the big picture.
I think of all the women I admire most in my life, the ones who smile to expose years of laughter at the corners of their eyes or the sides of their mouths and I find so much beauty in that. So much grace in the lines of their foreheads, or the way a strong neck can still look so ready to shoulder so many burdens, even as the skin has begun to thin and sag just the slightest. There is something exquisite in the thin wisps of silver in my mother’s hair. The strands are so clearly defined, I can almost count them individually, as though I know how she earned every one.