on our last night together

we went to share a meal,

and as we drove home

together,

in the darkness,

i remembered our star

in honor of love and feminism.

the house that feminists built grew quickly, as fast as our appetites were for a place that was ours. a place that became a sanctuary, a refuge, a haven, not only for the four of us, but for those that needed it. 

i close my eyes and sit here in our green kitchen weeping silently, as i replay countless conversations from outside my bedroom door; when i was eavesdropping slyly from my room late at night; when i was about to knock out in the middle of every party; when people were breaking it down and philosophizing. the talking. and the laughing. and the connections.

a week later, i open my eyes and find myself in a new place, in a different place. not only physically, but emotionally. i open the door and always expect someone asking “who is it?” i expect a random laptop and empty tea cups on the table. i expect to start cooking enough food for four or more. i expect to start the record player and turn the corner to find someone in the bathroom again. i expect to keep living out these little routines because i miss doing them. because i miss all of you.

in my reflection, i imagine the times i should have been here and wasn’t. cursing my job for not giving me weekends off and for making me close at night. but what experiences i did get to savor, both little and big, i will hold with me to every home that i make. and although i may not get to recreate it, i will never ever forget how this home, our home, made me feel. 

i will hold my friends close.

even closer.

like on love day. like on every day.

“always together, wherever we may be.”

under the stars.

now i realize

drinking coffee every day -

am my own sugar.

i am the sweetness

at the bottom of my cup

that i save for last.

“and this room, this can be my room jazz. you can have the one closest to the bathroom. i only shower once a week. plus, i like the hardwood floor here. i feel really good energies.”

we tour the house, the four of us, and sink deeper into the ground as the floorboards creak beneath our feet, at each excited step. the house is thick with “character” – a euphemism most bougie people use to be polite when referring to older homes they would never want to live in themselves.

but no, not us. 

 we are eager.

we have mouths hanging wide

and eyes glazed over.

we imagine.

 i imagine,

a house that feminists inhabit.

“i’m looking to rent it out for a year while i’m in turkey.”

a year that i am daydreaming about, as i sit in her old rocking chair. a woman who has amassed a great collection of books and little treasures from here and there and everywhere. but whose story is not in the old objects laying messily about. it’s in her aura, the strength and passion of feminism and activism, glowing. and glowing.

and now we have the opportunity to share this same space, a home that a feminist built, that feminists afterwards will keep.

i lust at thoughts of biking everywhere. of actually making meals and sharing these concoctions. of sitting on the cold floor in my underwear –writing poetry, reading radical philosophies, crafting, and painting, and making love. and making love.

the walls enclose us, unlike the ones we battle with every day. hold our warmth in. shelter us from ugly things. reflect a light we make without a flame. echo our laughter and tears and heavy dialogues.

women.

womyn.

who build houses.

perhaps it is all the caffeine in my system, but my body is shaking. and i feel like screaming and screaming and screaming until my voice is hoarse and unrecognizable.

i do this to myself every single semester that i have ever been in college. i slip, and procrastinate, and then play catch up at the very end. because i want so much to succeed, that in doing so, i become a perfectionist when there is no time at all to even think. i repeat to myself, “i don’t wanna do this. i don’t wanna do this. i can’t do this. why am i doing this now and not last week when i had free time and was dicking around for 5 days straight doing nothing? bad moves. bad choices. i don’t wanna do this.” self-torturing must be a hobby of mine.

of course, i have wonderful people in my life who encourage me, and i have music that gets me through the writing and proofreading and researching. but when i am alone, and the music turns off, i feel like crying because there will never be enough time. because i never fucking learn to control myself, or learn from the tragic academic mistakes i’ve made.

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK.

end vent.

how do i send positive, constructive energies to myself?

i never have self-control.

and my praxis paper is suffering.

i think, it is inherent in my nature, in my body and thinking, to be the most tragic procrastinator on this earth. perhaps, in the entire universe.

i don’t understand how i can be sitting in front of this computer for 3 hours, and only have accomplished half a page of writing. have i forgotten how to write? how to bullshit an academic paper?!

i would rather write hundreds of pages of love poetry. or poetry on my tragic-ness. or on snails.

please, please, please, let this semester be over already.

all i want to do is make beautiful things.

i quit my job.

my oppressive,

gender role perpetuating,

age discriminating,

class and money and wealth

in my face,

size-ist-ass,

make me feel like shit

because i didn’t want to

wear make-up today,

alleged i’m in “denial” for

wearing a “size that doesn’t fit you,”

telling me i’m too “fat,”

exploitative fucking job.

FUCK YOU.

i think i look good already.

and i don’t need your comments.

not now, not ever.

plus, your discount sucks.

“have a juicy day.”

to plant my lips
is on the patch of skin
just above
where smooth and rough
touch.

it’s like a little border
upon your face,
the way it looks
when one side of
your cheek is bare,
and the other is
lined with lito hairs
that find satisfaction
in tickling my
own skin.

but unlike the
constructed borders
that we are constantly
critiquing,
this one is natural,
running across the chin
of one of the worlds
i inhabit.
a world where laying
in bed and laughing is a nightly ritual
that i’m always hoping extends
into the morning,
but you have to go to work.
a world where i sit and listen
to you talk about things no one has
ever thought of talking to me about -
like history,
and i get lost in your voice.
a world that seems just as
ancient, as ever-lasting,
as beautiful as the
physical land we live on.

this.
this.
this is
my favorite spot.

i’ve been awake the past 3 hours, intent on doing this homework. but reading the article “liberate earth day,” makes me think of all the ways in which i feed into the destructive, cyclic system of corporations capitalizing on this eco-friendly/green campaign.

i’m not going to be a hypocrite and say that i don’t buy into this propagandist bullshit. i literally just bought a water bottle that said, “make love, not landfills: simply eco-logical,” manufactured by the sigg company. and a couple days ago i said, “let’s go plant trees for earth day.” i am a dumbass.

these inauthentic and lazy “solutions” that i have tricked myself into thinking were appropriate and meaningful, now just make me feel ashamed. it’s like, “how did i not see this coming the entire time?!”

“Green fashion is still fucking fashion. T-shirts, bumper stickers, and Facebook groups are not solutions but instead further play into global consumerism, distract us from actual social and environmental crisis, and personally isolate us from our own potential.”

and now that i know a little more about the ugliness that is “green” products, where the hell do i go from here? i want to consciously refuse to continue buying “energy efficient” light bulbs, or lusting after hybrid cars, or using “natural,” “chemical-free” cleaning products, or shopping from stores whose shopping bags have been made from “30% recycled paper,” or clothing made from “hemp” worth $99. at the end of the day, you are still consuming a product, just packaged and pitched differently to make you feel less guilty about yourself. i have totally been fucking hoodwinked!

one day i would love to know that i contribute to a wholly self-sustained community. but currently, my steps towards this will be the following:

• buy a bike and depend less on using gas and polluting the air
• continue to never purchase new clothing, just used and recycled pieces
• manage where i spend money, more with local and less with corporate
• grow my own shit