This is a book about you whose breakfast tastes like giving up and who is in love with her illness.
About you whose body is haunted by mother's shame and who can't find a god she can relate to.
It is about blaming mothers for not knowing how to love you- a burning girl.
About wallpaper women.
About "no" which can't be said because the question was never asked.
About Half daughter, half apology daughters.
And it It's not definitely about man's teeth where the bones of woman are stuck like leftovers. It's not about men who makes you smaller every day. Because if your body could speak she would definitely forgive you, girl
Notice: Most of the pictures are by Liberal Jane
POCKET-SIZED FEMINISM
(fragments)
"This house is for wallpaper
women. What good is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices
I have been sitting this whole time?
I am ashamed of keeping my feminism
in my pocket until it is convenient not to
like at poetry slams
or in women’s studies classes.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
Once, I forgave a predator because I was afraid
to start drama in our friend group.
Two weeks later, he assaulted someone else.
I am still carrying the guilt in my purse."
"How am I to forgive myself
for doing nothing in the mouth of trauma?
Is silence not an act of violence, too?"
"Once, my dad informed me sexism is dead
and reminded me to always carry pepper spray
in the same breath. We accept this state of constant
fear as just another component of being a girl."
"We are the daughters of men who warned us
about the news and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful.
To be safe.
Then told our brothers
to go out and play."
WHEN THE FAT GIRL GETS SKINNY
(fragments)
"wondering why I haven’t had my period
in months
why breakfast tastes like
giving up"
"I only feel pretty
when I’m hungry"
"by the time I was sixteen, I had already experienced
being clinically overweight, underweight, and obese
as a child, fat was the first word
people used to describe me"
"when I lost weight, my dad was so proud
he started carrying my before-and-after photo
in his wallet
so relieved he could stop worrying
about me getting diabetes
he saw a program on the news
about the epidemic with obesity,
says he is just so glad to finally see me
taking care of myself
if you develop an eating disorder
when you are already thin to begin with,
you go to the hospital
if you develop an eating disorder
when you are not thin to begin with,
you are a success story"
"girls at school who never spoke to me before
stopped me in the hallway to ask how I did it
I say, I am sick
they say, No, you are
an inspiration
how could I not fall
in love with my illness?
with becoming the kind of silhouette
people are supposed to fall in love with?
why would I ever want to stop
being hungry
when anorexia was the most
interesting thing about me?"
THEORIES ABOUT THE UNIVERSE
I am trying to see things in perspective.
My dog wants a bite of my peanut butter
chocolate chip bagel. I know she cannot have this,
because chocolate makes dogs very sick.
Madigan does not understand this.
She pouts and wraps herself around my leg
like a scarf, trying to convince me to give her
just a tiny bit. When I do not give in,
she eventually gives up and lays in the corner
under the piano, drooping and sad.
I hope the universe has my best interest in mind
like I have my dog’s. When I want something
with my whole being, and the universe withholds it
from me, I hope the universe thinks to herself,
Silly girl. She thinks this is what she wants,
but she does not understand how it will hurt."
DRESS CODE
a pantoum
Sent home.
Eleven years old.
Violation of the dress code.
Skirt: not enough. You: too much.
Eleven years old.
Beware of boys—all cave, no man.
Skirt: not enough. You: too much.
Mature prematurely. Become woman early.
Beware of boys—all cave, no man.
When you get dressed, think about the message you’re trying to send.
Mature prematurely. Become woman early.
Having a body implies public property.
When you get dressed, think about the message you’re trying to send.
The principal measures my hemline. Ruler to thigh.
Having a body implies public property.
How can my body say something I don’t?
The principal measures my hemline. Ruler to thigh.
Violation of the dress code.
How can my body say something I don’t?
Sent home.
HIGH SCHOOL
(fragment)
Today, the average high school student
has the same anxiety levels as the average
1950s psychiatric patient. We know
the Pythagorean theorem by heart,
but short-circuit when anyone asks us,
How are you? We don’t know. We don’t
know. That wasn’t on the study guide.
We usually know the answer,
but rarely know ourselves.
IF YOUR BODY COULD SPEAK
would she
forgive you?
EVOLUTION OF HEALING
(fragments)
"When you were little, you were a brave girl, a fearless firecracker.
This year, you were nominated
Most Changed from Elementary School."
"Healing looks less like Chicago,
more like Minnesota. Less like poker, more like poetry."
"Remember:
you did the best you could
in the situation you were in
with the materials you had."
THE WAY I WAS TAUGHT TO LOVE
(Fragment)
The first time I heard the word,
it dropped casually on the radio
in the minivan with my mom
the summer before 4th grade.
It dripped down the air conditioner so noticeably,
I couldn’t help but ask if gay was a bad thing.
She explained, It’s not necessarily
a bad thing—it just isn’t our thing.
Years later, I am seventeen. Half daughter,
half apology, all fire and the wrong kind of love.
When my mother asks if I am gay, I tell her I am
sorry.
When she asks, How can you possibly love something
that looks just like you do?
I wonder how long
she has hated herself."
AN INVITATION
(fragment)
I do not know how
to ask my parents
if they will still come
to my wedding.
I think my dad will.
I suspect he will arrive,
awkward & teary-eyed,
because I truly believe
he loves me more than
he loves being right.
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