I’m still affected by the Kavanaugh hearing
And the fact that they chose him
For that position of power

I couldn’t watch Michael Cohen’s hearing
This week
Because it reminded me too much of

When Kavanaugh sat there and
Pretended he was the victim

Of when that prosecutor
Gently suggested that
Dr. Ford might not recall her own memories

I’m crying now
The tears that I didn’t have space to cry then

Because the news was too loud
And Facebook was too loud
And people at my work were making jokes

Now, on a quiet March morning,
Rain and snow hanging in the sky,
I have a moment to cry

For all the times they didn’t believe us
For the way my stomach grinds when they hold fast to power
For Dr. Ford and her pain
For me and my pain
For Robin and her pain 

I know this will end
I know we are on the path to freedom
But fuck if it doesn’t hurt

I think people are afraid of women’s pain.

Of women’s anger. Of women’s anguish.

Sometimes when I share that I work with survivors, I hear people suck in a breath.

They say, “Wow, that’s a lot to hold.” Or, “Do you worry about triggering something?”

Yes, it is a lot to hold, and I hold it gracefully. Yes, I do worry about triggering something, and I’m constantly monitoring myself and my students, creating a space to hold them over and over again.

The thing breath suckers don’t understand is that we, survivors, are constantly triggered. Whether it’s going to the doctor or watching Supreme Court hearings or listening to our coworkers chuckle about assault or [insert that other thing that just happened to you]. Being alive is a trigger.

I just wish everyone would make a space for women’s anger. I wish everyone would not be so afraid of us going mad. Because we already are fucking mad. It has already happened and is currently happening. Get the fuck over it.

Did She Know?

Did she know,
eon ago,
how dusty the road would be,
when she was born?

Eon ago,
a purple ring
rounded her moon.

Did she know
that lifetime after lifetime,
someone would try
to steal her body?

Did she know
they would steal her
from the insides out
and she would take herself back,
again and again?

Lifetime after lifetime,
she reels in her organs like a broken fishing line.

Because eon ago,
she sipped a freedom
that burned like bourbon
and sent deep blue waves
through her veins.

And she promised her soul
she would never let it go.