Showing posts with label sexual assault. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual assault. Show all posts

Thursday, June 14, 2018

你為什麼要離開台灣?

Content Warning: discussion of mental health, emotional health, suicide and sexual abuse

1991:
I am in fourth grade. I still believe in prayer. I still believe in magic. I read a magazine that says girls should write a list of the things they wish for in a boyfriend. I make my list. I believe it is magic. I pray.

1992.05: 
I graduate fourth grade. I have been at the school for four years. It is the longest I have stayed in one place all my life. For the rest of my life, I will never stay anywhere longer than three years. Not until I move to Taiwan.

2002.08:
I get married. I'm too young. I get married because he wants to get married. If I say no, are we not allowed to be in love anymore? I know I'm not ready, but I love him. I want to give him what he wants. We've been together two years, and we've always said we would get married someday eventually. This is what people in love do, right?

2004.08: 
I get divorced. 

2009: 
A man I've never met moves to Korea. His name is Matt. He lands in a work culture that almost forces you to become an alcoholic. He becomes an alcoholic. He is still a good man, and smart. After nine months, he leaves. I know nothing about this at this time.

2011.05: 
I finally graduate university with a bachelor's degree. It's been a rocky life, never staying in one place, and I still haven't gotten over that marriage. It feels like I've finally won something. I stayed at that university for three years, and that's the longest I've stayed anywhere. Maybe I'm a grownup now.

2011.07-08:
I go to Taiwan, to a city in the south called Pingtung. I don't have any experience with East Asian cultures. My only knowledge of them is limited to the white boys in school who never fit in, and talked about Japan and China as the perfect place for them to go, be nerdy, and find girlfriends. I hate that kind of talk, so it made me uninterested in East Asia. But my friend told me about a scholarship program to study in Taiwan, and I applied. I got the scholarship. I have no reason not to go. I've traveled ten countries by now, but they've all been in Europe or North/Central America. Why not? I fall accidentally in love with the country. I want to stay. But I'm now in a long term relationship again. It's rocky but I believe it's worth fighting for. We've been together two years, and I believe we could go the distance if we work on it. I go back to the US, and move into his house in Tucson.

2013.05:
Only one of us is working on the relationship, and it isn't my partner. On mother's day, always a difficult day for me, I am heartbroken after another failed attempt to work on things. I am wandering the streets at dark, deciding which car to throw myself in front of. The fact that I have my dog with me stops me. I go home. Home? To his house with my things inside where I no longer feel safe. I put my poetry books and my dog in the car and drive two days from Tucson to my father's house in Arkansas without calling him in advance. I wouldn't want him to worry. I pull up in his driveway at midnight and ask, "Can I stay here for a while?" For two weeks I eat soup or nothing. I lose twenty pounds in those two weeks. I lose a lot, actually. My partner is still trying to get me to kill myself from afar. It's really hard not to give in.

2013.06: 
The man I haven't met, the man called Matt, moves to a town in southern Taiwan. The town is called Pingtung. He starts working. The drinking culture there isn't nearly as bad as Korea, but it's still there. He quickly becomes a darling of the scene. He is still able to hold down his job, and his students and their parents love him. I still know nothing about him.

2013.07:
I go back to Tucson. My partner is not in the house. He is currently on deployment somewhere beautiful, like Portugal or southern Italy. How he must be suffering, I feel, as I sort through the belongings he threw into a giant mess. I try to sell them but he's still harassing me. He wants me out faster than I can possibly manage to pack up my life. I have to abandon most of it. But in the packing, I go through my journals. They go back more than thirteen years. I find a pattern in my relationships. The two four-year relationships as well as other flings of different lengths. Any time I date a man, he is inattentive to my needs, he doesn't value me. I have to hide parts of myself. He thinks my interests are silly. Most notably, not a one of them can hold their liquor. I am grateful for this opportunity to see so clearly, so objectively, cycles in my life. I feel certain that vision this clear is rare. I promise myself not to forget. I swear on my own heart that this will not happen again.

2013.08:
Talk about kicking someone while they're down, or rubbing salt in a wound. While I'm nursing my emotional health, I go on a date with someone I shouldn't have trusted. He rapes me. When I tell my ex-partner, he simply says "I hope you went to the police." It's perfect.

2013.09.06: 
It is my thirty-first birthday. My father drives me to the airport. I have two full suitcases and two big carry-ons. The woman at the ticket counter jokes, "Wow, are you moving?" Yes ma'am, I reply, I'm moving to Taiwan for two years. I'm going back to Pingtung.

2013.11:
It is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday. I have learned that a man on an internet forum I frequent is also an American living in southern Taiwan, in my city of Pingtung. I invite him to Thanksgiving dinner. He declines. I later learn that he didn't want to meet a girl from the internet. She would probably turn out to be weird.

2014:
About a year later, I finally get this man to hang out with me. His name is Matt. He is funny. He is a truly caring friend. He remembers things I forget that I've even told him. He pays attention. I hang out with him more and more. He's positively dreamy, but it's so rare to have a friend here. It's easy to have acquaintances, but rare to find someone with whom you share a first language and cultural experience. Then once you find that, do you even get along? We get along. He's perfectly sweet. I hope he finds a good girlfriend. He deserves one.

2015.08:
I've always had community in the US. No, communities. Many different groups of friends, some overlapping, that I can interact with as often as I like. Most of my friends are cuddlers. We have slumber parties. I miss human contact. I convince Matt to become a cuddling friend. But it turns out, we've both always been interested in trying something more than just friendship with one another. Physical closeness leads to more physical closeness. Before I know it, we're being physically close pretty often. But my heart is still broken. I'm not looking for love. I know he is, and I don't want to get in the way of that for him. I don't want to change him, either, but he spontaneously stops smoking cigarettes. I tell him I love him, but I'm not in love with him. He tells me in all things, I'm the boss. He'll never push me. I believe him. I trust him.

2015.10:
I want to share my favorite magical place with this special friend of mine. I convince him to spend a weekend on a nearby mountain with me. It's an aboriginal area, and the woman who I call doesn't have any vacancies in her room. But she hears my accent on the phone and asks if I'm foreign. When I tell her I am, she offers her ancestral home for me and my "boyfriend" (her word not mine) to stay in. When we go there, it's amazing. Slate house, porch on the roof, all windows open and we sleep next to one on a slab, listening to running water and chirping frogs. The name of the mountain is WuTai, meaning fog platform. We sit on the roof porch and watch the sun set and the fog platform roll in beneath us. We sleep above the clouds. We make love on our slab next to the open window while the frogs and falling water sing to us. Damn, I think. I'm in love with this bastard. I'm done for. There's no going back.

2016.02.25:
Matt and a friend go out drinking. Matt, as he often does, has far too much. He gets blackout drunk. How did he end up on a naval base? Was their perimeter not secure and he just found a back way in? Did he actually go through the front gate and no one cared to stop him? We may never know. But he is arrested for drunk driving on the military base. He is taken to court, where he is counseled to plead guilty. The judge asks if he wants to remain in Taiwan, and he says yes, more than anything, he loves Taiwan. It's true, we both do at this point. We don't want to go back to the USA. The judge accepts his guilty plea and charges him a fine for drunk driving and espionage. The fee is equivalent to about $3,000USD. He pays.

2016:
He never pushes me. He never asks for more than I have to give at any time. He never does anything without my consent. He listens, pays attention, and remembers. I don't have to hide any parts of myself. He loves my ugliness, my brokenness, my scars. He accepts me and celebrates me as I am. I allow myself to be vulnerable with him, and I've never felt more safe.
When I am depressed, he instinctively knows exactly what to do. I've always had to hide my clinical depression from my past partners. They either didn't care or actively said they didn't like it. But this man knows what to do. He knows if I need to be left alone, he knows if I need cuddles, he knows if I need pillows and blankets and children's movies. One night, before we move in together, I send him a message. I feel silly. I've been too depressed to take a shower and I'm starting to smell bad. He comes over. He takes off his clothes but keeps his underwear on. He tells me he doesn't want this to feel sexual. He carries me to the bathroom and puts me on a stool in the shower. He washes my hair for me and scrubs my skin. Another night my anxiety is so bad I'm trapped on the couch. I cannot get to bed to go to sleep. It's getting late. Again I send him a message. Again he comes over and saves the day.
At some point, I have a talk with Matt about his drinking. I've never been so cared for, so respected in any relationship. Truly everything is perfect except this. I tell him about the journals and what I promised myself. He promises, too. He promises to cut back. He drinks only at home. No more driving anymore. He buys a certain amount, and doesn't drink more than that. But the amounts he brings home get bigger. But he keeps his word.

2017.02.12:
We go out with some friends. We ride together on his ride to get there, so he can't get too drunk to get us home. The first drink he orders is a bathtub of a margarita with two beers turned upside down in it. He says this way, he only needs to buy one drink for the night. Then he buys a second drink. I ask him to stop. He starts drinking water. But when we go to the next bar, I can see his eyes getting glassy. He orders a rum and coke. Then a second. He talks with the bartender about how much rum goes in, and it's fully three quarters of the glass. I can see the Matt I know has gone away from behind those glassy eyes. It is another man who picks up that drink and puts it to his lips. As I see him do it, I know that I am less important than a glass of rum and coke. I know he is already blackout drunk. I call a cab and take him home. On the drive he becomes less and less lucid. By the time we arrive I'm barely able to get him into our home. I get him undressed and in the shower with the water running. I bring him water. He starts to throw up. I'm dying from the heart out. I'm trying to tend to him without shattering into a million pieces. I go to the kitchen to get more water and when I come back, he's climbed out of the bathroom and into the hallway where he's thrown up a lake. I start hysterically sobbing and wailing. I lock myself in the bedroom. I sleep until it's time to go to work.

2017.02.13:
When I leave the bedroom to go to work, I find a puddle of vomit-infused water in the floor. I have to put plastic bags over my feet so I can walk through it to get to the door. I realize my relationship is over. I made a promise to myself that I intend to keep. We spend the week separated. We live in the same apartment but sleep in different rooms. I'm trying to fight for us to stay friends. He has quit drinking for good. He has started exercising. But he says it will hurt him too much to stay friends. The worst is happening and I can't stop it.

2017.02.18:
Matt brings home a cigar - one of our favorite pastimes is to sit on our 5th-floor balcony together with no electronics and share a cigar and conversation in the breeze. Over the course of this conversation, we realize we both want to continue fighting for this relationship, the best either of us have ever had. We've always been good at communication and working together. He asks me if I remember him giving up cigarettes shortly after we started dating. I do, he quit cold turkey. He tells me, the most difficult part of change for him is to commit to the decision. Once he's done that, he says, it's finished. I believe him, but I'm scared to trust him. We decide to work together to save it. He lets me set the pace. He never tries to rush things. We slowly move forward, then back into the same bedroom. We continue to have weekend adventures all over Taiwan. We spoil one another on each other's birthdays. He writes me poetry and loves everything I cook. When we talk about the future, our plans always include one another. There is no future without him. My home is where his heart is.

2017.04.27:
A Taiwanese author named Lin YiHan kills herself. She had recently published a story about a girl who is raped and abused by her teacher. People speculated that it was auto-biographical although she denied it.

2017.05.12:
A new law is passed in Taiwan requiring background checks for teachers. People hope it will keep children safe from predators, and so do Matt and I. When our bosses ask for our information to do background checks, we happily provide it. No one should have to fear abuse from their superiors, and no children should go through what the protagonist in Lin's novel did.

2018.05.12:
Matt and I board a plane together. We've taken many short trips but this will be our first long journey. We're going first to visit his family so I can meet everyone, then to mine so they can meet him. I will be able to stay longer in the USA than Matt can, and I look forward to spending time with my father.

2018.05.27:
Matt flies home. His journey is just awful. One flight is fourteen hours and the woman behind him is digging her feet into his chair, hitting an area where he has a surgical wound we've been tending for ages. Upon his exhausted arrival, he learns from his boss that his work permit has been revoked. His background check turned up the DUI. It doesn't matter that he paid his fine. It doesn't matter that he's been sober for a year and a half. The permit has been revoked. I am in denial. He believes he will have to leave Taiwan, but I beg him to fight it. He never hurt any children. His students and their parents love him. His bosses make every call possible.

2018.06.04:
I am on a road-trip around my part of the USA. It is about 9PM and I still have about 5 hours drive left before I get to my destination. I get a message from Matt that he is being deported. There is never a moment where I consider staying in Taiwan. My home is where his heart is. They aren't deporting one man, they're deporting us both, because I cannot stay without him. I pull into a roadside strip motel because I don't trust myself to keep driving. When I explain my situation at the front desk, they give me rum. I drink it and go to my room to shower and cry.

2018.06.06:
Matt checks the mail and finds a letter from the government. The letter says he must leave Taiwan. The deportation date is June 5th. Yes, you read that right. The official letter arrived on the 6th and said he had to leave the country on the 5th. He calls the office. He tells them his girlfriend will return to Taiwan on the 18th. Could he please stay until the 20th? Could he please see her for one day before he has to leave? They make him promise that he will leave the country on the 20th. When he hangs up, he sees on the bottom where he can call to appeal the decision. But everyone has been called, and at this point, we're through. We're exhausted. They win. We'll leave.

The Future:
I will go back to work in Taiwan. I will probably work until late August, early September. Early September is when I first moved to Taiwan in 2013. That means I've lived there for five years, after my original plan was for just two years. I fell in love with the land, the mountains, the beaches, the plains. I fell in love with the people, the families, the friends, the shopkeepers. I fell in love with the food, the god parades, the night markets. It's the longest I've ever stayed in one place my entire life. I wanted to keep staying.

I don't know where we go next. But we will go there together. This is the man I wrote about in my notebook in fourth grade, the last time I ever stayed somewhere more than three years. He is my spell, he is my prayer, he is where my heart is. I will follow him to any country. I will follow him to the moon.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Why I Can't Jam to CeeLo Anymore OR: Your Game of Thrones fanship is wrecking my PTSD.

Facebook asked me to comment on the return of Game of Thrones.  Shortly after posting this status update, I received the following question in my inbox.



  • The short answer is: Yes.

    Now I'll define support.

    Do I mean these people themselves go to the bar with rohypnol in their pockets? Probably the majority do not.

    Do I mean these people themselves, when they hear of an MRA rally, get out their posterboard and their markers and go join with misogynistic signs held high? Probably the majority do not.

    But let's look at the study conducted at the University of North Dakota, by two PhDs and one MA, published in 2014 in the journal Violence and Gender and first reported by Newsweek. ONE IN THREE of the men surveyed said they would "use force to obtain intercourse" from a woman if there were no consequences. Now, when the actual word "rape" was used in the question, those numbers dropped to much lower. But is that not the definition of rape?

    And that's where things get tricky. My rapist fucked me without my consent. I woke up, and he was inside me, and I did not want him to be. But he does not believe that what he did was rape. So few rapists do. In fact, marital rape in the USA only began to be outlawed in the 1970s, and was only finally illegal in all 50 states by as recently as 1993/  The definition is still tricky in at least 13 states. Marital rape is still legal in around fifty countries. My rapist, like so many others, believed he had a right to take what he wanted, and saw nothing wrong with that.

    I bring all this up to say, it's highly likely that a good percentage of viewers either do not regard the three horrible scenes that are most often discussed as rape at all - and if they do, it's easy enough for them to brush them away. Drogo's rape of Danerys? Well they were married, it was their wedding night, what did she expect? Ramsey's rape of Sansa? Again, she was his wife. Jamie's rape of Cersei? Well, while not legally married, they'd been in a decades-long committed relationship, right? Even the actor who plays Jamie has defended that scene vocally. I'll never watch another project he's in.

    But Drogo never gets Dany's consent.  He flips her over, goes to town, and the camera zooms in on her teary eyes.
    The actual dialogue between Cersei and Jamie in the “controversial scene” is as follows:
    Jaime: "You're a hateful woman. Why have the gods made me love a hateful woman?"
    Cersei "Jaime, not here, please. Please."
    Cersei: "Stop it. Stop it. Stop. No. Stop it. Stop. Stop. Stop. It's not right. It's not right. It's not right."
    Jaime: "I don't care."
    Cersei: "Don't. Jaime, don't.”
    Jaime: "I don't care. I don't care." 
    Cersei tells Jamie not here, please, don't, stop, no, it's not right, and he says "I don't care" and helps himself to her. I stopped watching when I heard about that episode, so I can't comment on the later scene of Ramsey and Sansa, but I hear it focused entirely on THEON'S REACTION TO THE RAPE and not the rape at all. And in none of these cases do we deal with the aftermath of rape. It happens as a plot device and the story moves on, leaving these victims and their healing unaddressed.

    Importantly to me though, NOT A SINGLE ONE OF THESE RAPES OCCURS IN THE ORIGINAL TEXT. In fact, the scene between Drogo and Dany becomes a celebration of gaining her trust and her consent. Cersei literally begs Jamie to fuck her, and Sansa isn't even in Winterfell, she's far away to the East.

    Perhaps most importantly, this is being intentionally done and therefore condoned by the writers, directors, actors, and countless others involved in this show, in the face of public outcry against it. After the first violation in the Dany/Drogo story, there was outcry. They heard it. They answered it with more non-canon rape in the Jamie/Cersei story. The outcry was even louder. They heard it. They answered it with more non-canon rape in the altogether invented Ramsey/Sansa story. This time the outcry has been to the extent that some publications, including The Mary Sue, have said they will no longer cover Game of Thrones with any stories on their website. There was further outcry from Salon, Wired, Vanity Fair, Vulture, Hypable, Bustle, Vox, the NY Daily News, and a US Senator.  This is being intentionally and repeatedly done. These people are choosing to continue to depict this abhorrent act.

    So when I say I believe these people are supporting rape, what I mean to say is that they weekly celebrate a show which needlessly and grotesquely depicts the sexual abuse of women by men, disrespecting and retraumatizing me personally along with an untold and uncountable number of other victims of rape. I'm not making a mountain out of a molehill here.  My PTSD symptoms have been through the roof simply because I see people celebrating the show's return.  I've forgotten my phone at home, shown up late for work, and yelled at students who didn't deserve it.  I find myself absent-mindedly planning self-harm, and have to fight myself not to commit it.

    I believe that these depictions lead us to become desensitized to sexual violence and that it is this sort of attitude toward rape and depiction of it that leads to instances of, for example, this woman livestreaming her 17-year-old friend's rape but doing nothing to stop it. I'll be the first to argue that music and video games do not a school shooter make, but frankly I feel we're dealing with apples and oranges when it comes to that.

    I do not deny that the books depict rape, but I feel personally that the books do a better job of dealing with the aftermath - repeatedly discussing how rapers are sent to the wall, Eddard Stark's declaration of Clegane as an outlaw and demanding he be brought to justice (mentioned only in passing in the show), and plenty of other instances.  While the books include rape, they do not graphically depict the details that the show visually places in front of us.

    People who watch this show are supporting the show. This show is indefensible with regards to how it repeatedly and unnecessarily depicts rape. Even before I myself became a rape victim (I do not yet identify with the label "survivor," though I hope I can one day) I would boycott problematic art and artists. I do not get to watch Woody Allen or Roman Polanski films. I don't listen to Cee Lo, or any artist who collaborates with Chris Brown. Cosby, Lennon, Sean Penn... the list goes on.

    Explain it away and enjoy the show if you want to. You have that right. I am incapable of doing so.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

10/30: reasons to be angry today


  1. Because I set my alarms for P.M. instead of A.M. and woke up just in time to not technically be late to work.
  2. Because I can't use my air conditioner, because it pisses water all over my belongings.
  3. Because I'm ovulating and there's no one around to Do Me Right.
  4. Because I didn't see the sun set.
  5. Because I never see the sun set.
  6. Because Dove has a new Beauty campaign out that still doesn't address how much easier it is for white able-bodied ciswomen to claim Beauty than it is for their sisters in the struggle.
  7. Because too many white able-bodied ciswomen leave their sisters behind in the struggle.
  8. Because the struggle.
  9. Because I make my students do their homework, but I still haven't finished grading their tests.
  10. Because I don't know how to reach some of them.
  11. Because I had to teach them about Ferguson.
  12. Because Amerikkka.
  13. Because maybe there is no good country in this world.
  14. Because this world.
  15. Because depression.
  16. Because antidepressants.
  17. Because infinite downward spirals of existential thoughts.
  18. Because I didn't have time to eat until 10PM.
  19. Because I've already stayed up too late again tonight.
  20. Because tomorrow *isn't* another day.
  21. Because I still haven't finished unpacking into this new place.
  22. Because I don't know where my heart is.
  23. Because I'm scared to visit home, because what if I don't want to leave, because what if I never want to visit again.
  24. Because I want to be home now.
  25. Because home is a place where companies turn the water off on poor folk.
  26. Because home is a place where white men in blue shirts shoot black men black women black children black people who did NOTHING.
  27. Because too many black family trees are missing limbs these days.
  28. Because this makes me sick, but I have the privilege of being able to stop thinking about it because I'm white.
  29. Because home is a place where businesses can tell me get out cuz I'm queer.
  30. Because I'm queer and woman in a world that hates queer and woman and black and and and.
  31. Because that should be so alarming that we all immediately understand how wrong it is and change it.
  32. Because people don't find it alarming and don't change it.
  33. Because at 10PM my alarms did in fact go off.

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

30/30: this time it's personal and it's naked and it's ugly.

And it's prose.  Whoops.

I'm feeling extremely restless.  Something about spending an entire day expecting to learn at any minute that any number of people I hold very dear had died.  Something about this ovulation being extra cat-in-heat-like.  Something about too much introspection and existential thought.  Something about I love a man on the other side of a globe and what am I even stringing him along for if I will probably just let him down by going to bed with someone and never live near him anyway.  An open relationship in theory and in practice are different animals.  A past lover asked if I wanted to get down.  I wanted to get down.  I went to see him.  It was fun and it was fine but how will the man I love be after I tell him?  And I left still feeling cat-in-heat-like.  I wanted to go to any bar and go to bed with the first person who made eye contact.  I wanted a stranger to slap me full across the face and tell me horrible things about myself.  I went home and wrote a tender poem about my love then spent my whole dream fucking strangers who said yes.  So instead I drive too fast after school down rural highways and the wind is too cold because I don't have a jacket and it hurts my skin and I like it.  And a car in front of me is kicking up dust and it's stinging my skin and I like it.  I follow the car down roads I wouldn't otherwise have taken because I want the stinging to keep stinging.  And the cold and the sting is making me tear up and I like it because I have an excuse to shed tears and a reason for them I can name.  I'm driving too fast and I'm fantasizing about leaping off and flying for a few seconds.  I hold the accelerator down until it will go no faster and dream about brick walls.  And what am I even doing staying up too late every night and I just want to sleep all day and why am I going to work what does this work mean for me for my future what is a future do I even want one?  What is living for and can't I just sleep under an overpass and start drunk fights with strangers and get my teeth knocked out?  Why do I feel like shit and why do I want someone something to make me feel like shit?  Because then I'd have an actual reason for feeling this way that I cannot otherwise name?

Monday, April 21, 2014

21/30: Whoops?

The prompt was to give a gift to someone you dislike, to kill them with kindness.  I think I failed?

------------------------------------------------------------------

For him, a bouquet.  A parade,
an award.  Rows and rows of medals.
For him, the winning ticket
to the lottery. An all expense paid
vacation.  A new suit, a new ride,
a new house, a smile as wide
as a dozen dozen Niles.

For him, a bouquet
of bees that know exactly
where to sting.  Then parade him
through the streets, a sign hung
round his neck like an award,
“I Fuck Women Without Their Consent.”
A one way ticket
the hell out of town, off this planet,
shoot him into space, one way,
what a lovely vacation, eyes plucked out
so he can’t enjoy the view.  For him,
a freshly-fitted iron maiden, dressed
to the nines, with a pair of concrete
shoes.  A prison van to deliver him
to his own personal Alcatraz
where he’ll never be admitted.  Because I’ll
be waiting
at the gate
with a knife
to carve
in the soft flesh
of his neck
a smile as wide

as a dozen dozen Niles.

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

16/30: prompt ~ write about something you will forget

Poem Removed because Wicked Banshee Press is publishing it!!!  I'll post the link when it's up.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

12/30: After Jan Beatty's "Shooter"

Poem Removed because Wicked Banshee Press is going to publish it!  Link up when it happens.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

9/30: Dear Veet: #notbuyingit

(Backstory here)


I still vividly remember the first time I shaved my legs.

It was being granted the permission more than anything, honestly, having watched
the other girls shed their peach fuzz one by one, congratulating one another
as it happened, and me, I mean
come on.
Look at me.
They had peach fuzz but I was outgrowing most of the boys,
and of course that carried plenty along with it.  But my iron mother,
who ruled the house and my body from hairy head
to hairy toes, said no, said
I needed to keep my childhood, my innocence, a little longer.

Whatever.  Eventually she caved and who knows why
but it happened and I wrote her a thank you letter afterward
in which I described how the only thing that felt finer than my clothes
brushing against one of my new naked legs was the other leg.  I stood
in the kitchen rubbing them like some diva cricket.  I went to school

and no one said a thing.

Whatever.
Fast Forward.  And there’s angry red bumps, painful stubble, cuts and bleeding;
razor blades get dull and need replacing and I’m less pretty 
than the other girls because of my stubble, my red bumps,
my ingrowth, then someone said
try Veet.

I did.

It didn’t work.  At all.  Whatever.

When I moved to Wisconsin I quit shaving.  A girl from Arkansas
dabbed smack into winter, I mean come on.  Of course
I took what extra insulation I could get.  Then I was married
and who cares at that point, right? But after the split I was working
in the UK and my friend said
try Veet.

I did.

Different formulas in different countries?  Who knows.  Oh, it worked.
Diva cricket was back and wearing bikinis all across the Mediterranean
even taking her top off here and there, so hairless and proud and sexy
and woman and sexy and woman and hairless and proud.

Then my stems and I were back in the states again, where it didn’t work.
Again.  Whatever.

Until a woman taught me to epilate and the pain
was real
but worth it.  No hair and no stubble and it stayed gone
for weeks but when it came back it came
ingrown and I had to pick
at the bumps to get it to break through
and there were angry red bumps
again and sweet merciful fuck all I ever wanted
was a sexy, hairless, thirty four inch inseam
to outshine all the other girls because this
is what we do, right?  Our lot
as women, we change
we alter we torture we fix we improve upon
because we are broken and wrong and naturally
not
desirable and it’s so so important
that we be desired.

Whatever.

I reassessed.  Decided function was so much more important
than frivolity.  Let it all grow in, everywhere, all of it
for learning, for science, found my armpits
were a huge disappointment.  It grew in short
and sparse and only made me stinkier.  So that came back off.
My downstairs?  I keep a trim welcome mat
because I like having something that differentiates me
from a nine year old but beyond that
it’s hardwood floors baby because when company comes calling
I want to make sure no one ends up flossing, and my legs?
Well.
They’re just as Atheist Jesus made me because there is literally
no function served by getting rid of all that and red bumps
can shove off except now,

Veet,

your commercials have told me that if I have hair on my legs
I am actually an actual man.
In actuality.

That’s right.  The commercial starts with a handsome gentleman
waking up to his lover’s leg being thrown across him and he reaches
down
to rub hair.
And jumps up.
And shrieks.
And grabs for the covers because his lover is now
a man in a silk nightie apologizing, explaining,
“I just shaved yesterday.”

Bitch I ain’t shaved more years than I have, how much
of a man am I now?  Does this mean I don’t have
to be afraid in parking garages at night
any more, can I get equal pay now, can I wear
what I want to a party and drink
as much as I like and not watch the glass?  Can I cut
in line?  Take up too much space
on the train? Can I interrupt women and explain things to them
that they already know?  Can I get called on more
in class ?  Can I get promoted
more easily and without being asked
who I fucked?  Can I be 49% of the US population but 83%
of its government?  Can I choose not to have children
without being asked why?  Keep my surname without
being interrogated about it?  Get better funding
and sponsorship for sports, be angry and justified rather
than “on my period,” drive carelessly without
having it blamed on my sex, can I fuck as many partners
as I like and be applauded rather than branded?
Can I now be told by Almighty God that I deserve
to be head of my household, that no woman
may try to teach me or even speak when I’m talking?
Hey Veet?  Can I now be the same gender
as Almighty God himself?  Hey Veet --

the man who wakes up in the bed in your commercial?
His chest is hairless, his face is beardless, is that man

now a woman?  Hey Veet, let me offer you
some direct quotes from my male lovers who I began
to ask, after fucking, what they thought
about my legs:
1)      “I didn’t even notice.”  That’s from the man
who actually squatted next to my legs
as he cuffed my ankles to a spreader bar before we spent an evening
exploring boundaries together.  He was probably lying
but that night was amazing.
2)      “I just figured it was part of your whole thing
you got goin’ on.”  That man fucked me four times
in one night.
3)      “When you fuck like that, who cares?”  That’s
my personal favorite.

Which is to say, Veet,
not one of them squealed
or grabbed for the covers
or pulled away after their hands brushed
against my legs; these lanky cricket legs
have been wrapped around more heads
than it took to approve your bullshit
BADvertisement campaign and each face
is left with a smile.  Hey, Veet

your series of commercials checks so many
boxes it may as well have come straight
from the first season of Mad Men, talkin’
misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, racism --
oh yeah, there's an Asian pedicurist, too --
but WHATEVER:

I'm exercising
my VEETO.

I'm fucking perfect
just as I've grown.

I ain’t buyin’
yo shit
and no
you cain’t even
have a sample
of mine.

**drops mic, leaves stage**

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

saw my rapist ex-boss at the convenience store today

When you spot a monster on the street
you must not scream.  That raw, wet ripping
of your throat is medicine for him.  When you go
to park your scooter, don’t look up
if you hit the curb, act like you meant to, of course
he hasn’t flustered you.  He can smell fear
and nerves and can hear your teeth tremble
in their cages, don’t look up, don’t

look up.  Don’t move, in fact, just sit there
like you mean to, like this space
is your space, and if he can smell fear
can he smell war if you think on it?  Smell
wet earth soaked with blood, smell battlefields
dusted with gunpowder, smell the soldier
of you?  Be warrior, be pride, and when

he shakes his umbrella
and leaves, his footprints
puddles of oil, only then

may you raise your growling head, and stand
in the doorway, your hand over your
shuddering heart, pledging allegiance
to the monster you know you can become
if you must.