Open Mouth. Insert Foot.

i recently returned from a trip to philadelphia, a city in which i used to live. while there, i visited several bars i used to haunt, including one south philly pub. the photo below was taken of some of the graffiti in the ladies’ room. because i had had more than a few drinks the quality isn’t the best, but it says

“i was raped.”

“i was too.”

“i’m so sorry for both of you.”

i teared up when i read it, for a number of reasons. first, for the original author: the courage it took for her to announce (even anonymously) to the world a sentence that is taught to be held secret & shameful. second, for the 2nd entry: i hoped (and still do) that the first woman returned to the bar later and saw the ripple effect of her proclamation—that, prompted by her own courage, another woman felt compelled to announce her own experience; a solitary-turned-solidarity act. third, for the final statement: this woman appeared to have not suffered her own violation but was nonetheless moved to the point that she put her sharpie to the wall in an attempt to console two complete strangers.

the moment i read the words, i bitterly regretted not having access to a marker (hell, a pen—a pencil—lipstick, for god’s sake). i didn’t know what i would write exactly, but i felt (as, i’m sure, did the women before me) that i had to write something—that i needed to shout into the abyss of a bathroom stall to women who might never hear me 

“you are not alone.”

How Do You Write A Poem?

how do you write a poem 
about someone so close 
to you that when you say ahhhhh 
they say chuuuu 
what can they ask you to put 
on paper that isn’t already written 
on your face 
and does the paper make it 
any more real 
that without them 
life would be not 
impossible but certainly 
more difficult 
and why would someone need 
a poem to say when i come 
home if you’re not there 
i search the air 
for your scent 
would i search any less 
if i told the world 
i don’t care at all 
and love is so complete 
that touch or not we blend 
to each other the things 
that matter aren’t all about 
baaaaaanging (i can be baaaanged all 
day long) but finding a spot 
where i can be free 
of all the physical 
and emotional bullshit 
and simply sit with a cup 
of coffee and say to you 
“i’m tired” don’t you know 
those are my love words 
and say to you “how was your 
day” doesn’t that show 
i care or say to you “we lost 
a friend” and not want to share 
that loss with strangers 
don’t you already know 
what i feel and if 
you don’t maybe 
i should check my feelings 
 

Nikki Giovanni

back.

i think i’m going to start updating this again because, as it turns out, i still have a lot to say.

ouch!

i was was bitten by a man i know while horsing around at a friend’s house (in case your brow is worriedly furrowed, i feel the need to disclose that i’ve punched this man in the mouth hard enough to make him spit blood while horsing around. the martyr card is pretty much out of the picture).

i made a casual documentation of the 2-week lifespan of the bite’s bruise. 

should be fully healed by wednesday!

call me ishmael.

i have been trying to write the same song for the past month.

the first stanza came instantly; the chorus, hammered out in a day. now, though…nothing. i don’t know how to press on with it. everything i try to play sounds wrong. i can’t pin an ending on this thing. it’s gotten to the point that i am absolutely fucking sick to death of listening to it. whenever we have band practice, my teeth are on edge from the very first chord. this song makes me want to smash my guitar against the wall. 

i am being histrionic, of course. 

hilary doesn’t want to move on until we finish it. we are very nearly done, she says. i sigh and sullenly strum ‘free bird’ while she tinkers with it.

i usually suggest we go watch law and order svu in lieu of practice.

she usually declines.

i usually go help myself to a sprite from her fridge. 

i try out a few things, ask her what she thinks of them. she shrugs in a noncommittal way. she plays a bar or two, asks me what i think. i sniff, pause, then play my mine again—just in case she didn’t hear them the first time. 

i am ready to finish this song. i am ready for it to be done. i should probably work on it tonight. 

i don’t want to, though.