• Intimacy in Doses

    This is dedicated to every woman who has ever wanted to kill her lover; and my lover. 

    It’s been a week since we last spoke. Seven days since I’ve heard your vocal chords whine, those thin and tender little pieces of muscle straining to make out my name. I wish you could know how unremorseful I am; that the intensive isolation that's taken your place is preferable. I touch myself now and think of nothing. It’s bliss.

    Last week you were overwhelmed with pleasure, unable to get past the first syllable of my name, choking on moans mixed with my spit. I looked down at you, you up at me. I joyously pumped my hips and held my breast, performing as your Jezebel once more. I closed my eyes, threw my head back gasping and after a moment I realized that in addition to seeing nothing- I felt nothing. I felt the pressure of you inside me, the weight of your hands guiding my hips, the sensation of your eyes on me, yet I realized I felt nothing. Our fucking sessions were objective- not the objectification born from womanhood but from the sickness of your sex I let host within me. Our arrangement was no longer desirable. What I really wanted from you my dear, was to make me feel something, something good. After engaging in weekly leechings, you left me emptier and emptier and still I looked for the cure in you. And while you never led me to believe you were the answer, you still had to pay for the shortcoming.

    Admittedly, we buttered the clock. Slick hands glided past the one, then the two, how easily three months became a year. As the weeks blended together and our hard boundaries blurred, inevitably some parts of us muddled. Our first kiss was shared at Aunt Ginny’s in a booth opposite to a party of six. I pulled away quickly and scanned the room. No one was watching us. Intuitively you knew I had strict parents. I knew you had done this before. That night you fucked off my fake eyelashes, spending the better part of the next week finding little bits of me around your room. You decided to begin collecting me. On our next date we skipped the formalities. Decidedly there was no need to court me with $20 cocktails. To you, it must’ve seemed obvious that I was already smitten. To me, I felt I’d be made a fool. I tried to prevent this. On my way out I’d make sure to take every bit of myself with me.

    Except I didn’t. I’d be back for my bra. Then I’d sleep next to you and forget my glasses in the morning. When I’d come for no reason at all I’d find you harboring my lipgloss atop your desk, which you mistook for another one of your industrial grade paint supplies in its hearty aluminum tubing. In a morbid way, it was meant to be wasn’t it? Acredit it to my forgetfulness sure, but take into account the perfect set of circumstances leading me to continue giving myself to you. So now you can see why things had to end the way they did. It was fate.

    The white blanket, white walls, your white skin on the navy sheets; me observing your milky sleep situated in emancipated beer froth and dried semen. It was all too much. I- rendered motionless by my fear of being known- meditated on our current situation. I had spent another night laid rigidly beside you, close to comatose but unable to let go. Despite having drink after drink my awareness only clung on tighter leaving me overwhelmingly sober. Tension pressed against the marrow in my bones while my muscles twitched in anticipation. Still, I laid stiff. With a deep exhale, you shifted yourself to me. Your left arm came down, not on your side or your front but instead on my waist, palming my navel.

    Just before we went to sleep, you asked to have sex. When you finished, you turned over, giving me silence. You did not touch me. You did not say goodnight. You considered penetration to be close enough. If we weren’t through I would’ve warned you; intimacy in doses is quite dangerous. Unrestricted access to the flesh for hedonistic behavior of the lusty variety is swiftly punishable by natural order. Emotional castration at the very least. By the time you touched me in the morning I had come around to the same unspoken conclusion as you. I looked at your hand laying limply on me, your cuticles still stuffed with plaster from the day shift, looking stronger than I’d remembered. I could laugh at myself for nearly taking to admiring you in that moment. Still, my decision was firm. That was close enough.

    Your spackling tool sat on a cardboard box, filled with the miscellaneous equipment that holds your life together, just behind my head. While you fucked me doggy style hours earlier, my mind wandered, sight settling on that fine tool. The momentum sent me forward and back and forward and back allowing for the light to catch the smooth steel triggering my prophetic vision. Now on my back I didn’t have to look or search— I could feel its location. And like the little psychic you were, you sensed I was awake. I felt your fingers splay, grip, and pull me closer. Propping yourself up, you stared down at me and I, up at you. You closed your eyes and leaned in. Alone in your darkness, I feared what conclusions you may be coming to.

    I snaked my arms above me, stretching and arching into you, sharply inhaling as your lips met mine while your hand took to cradling my moon face. I was all shiny now and I knew it. I was willing to be that girl for you. Upon exhaling, I closed my left hand around the little tool. I slipped my right arm over your shoulder, holding you close, buying just a moment to secure my grip. You pulled away slowly, tenderly caressing my face as if— as if there was a way things could’ve ended differently. Within a few seconds my hand jutted past your face, your eyes tracking the item you couldn’t quite make out. Just a glint. Or glare.

    Momentarily, we’re standing in your kitchen again. You’re showing me the spackle tool, or putty knife, or paint scraper, an item I didn’t know came by so many names. I suppose I remember the variations because I’m crazy about wall construction. I don’t think you told me because you thought I cared for it. I suppose these experiences are so weighty in my hands now because they still contain you. Holding the knife to your palm, you demonstrated its sharpness. Dangerous, you warned me. The corner of the blade dragged across your palm, steady and slowly. You did not flinch. We waited, disappointed that the danger might’ve been a farce. Then a red thread appeared, ribboning right before us. It was here I forgot to think. I grabbed your bleeding hand greedily and put your palm to my unparted lips. In one move I revealed my whole hand. I wasn’t merely here to consume you. I cared. That’s what ruined everything. You moved your hand to replace them with your lips. Before I fell into your embrace, I looked at it just one more time.

    There was no resistance when I slit your throat, I hardly bothered to do a second pass. I expected the blade to get caught on muscle or cartilage, instigating some sort of violence. Alas, your trachea gaped wide for a tick before spurts began to rain down on me. My vision was stained red even with my eyes closed but I did not turn away. I allowed myself to be. Your blood was going through my nose, finding your way to my throat, choking me. I opened my mouth to draw in air but I took in more of you.

    It’s like you were stuck. I expected you to reach for your throat frantically, to assess the damage or simply out of shock, something. But you looked down on me as I expected you might’ve until you were completely drained. It wasn’t until I shoved you that your body reanimated at 5x speed, frantically clutching and grasping and dying. I focused on coughing up whatever congealed in my esophagus, wiping my face almost to your level of desperation, but not quite. You were fighting death and I was being born again, baptized in your holiest fluid. I was ecstatic, not frantic.

    By the time I could clearly see again, you were already gone, still and beautiful on your bedroom floor. It was far too messy to go through all the parts of you I never got to explore. Ideally, I would’ve liked to live in you for a few days. It’s for the best I didn’t desecrate your corpse, to have forced you to have made room for me in death. Alive, you wouldn’t have had a change of heart, so I simply stopped it from beating. I desired you in such a repressive manner I crushed every solid gift you gave me, every plausible chance we had of getting close. You leaned into the opportunity. It’s for the best things ended the way they did.

    Only a week ago I was experiencing all the classic symptoms of depression: anxiety, apathy, agitation, discontentment, excessive crying, guilt, irritability, hopelessness, loss of interest, lack of pleasure, mood swings, and sadness.

    Today I woke up and felt true unadulterated joy.
  • A List of Things I Never Said Thank You For


    1. Sunlight. There is no feeling like it and there is no replicating it.

    2. Silence. The kind free from mechanical whirring and metallic crunching, lacking the hum of electrical undercurrents or pumping machinery. True silence.

    3. Space. The ability to evade watchful eyes, to be alone and contemplate. To gain perspective due to physical distance. To leave and have somewhere to return.

    4. Sadness. The removal of my heart to give to another if only for a moment. To carry someone else's pain. Bearing witness to grief and truly grieving.

    5. Strength. So many times have I prayed weakness away in hopes of resolution. In a quiet way I fought, never stopping to feel strength settle in my bones after each battle.

    6. Sight. Whether it be to take in vast landscapes on the hopeful horizon or examine shattered and dark broken earth, I weep. I am grateful for the tears all the same.

    7. Swearing. Just once to say: our reality is fucking insane.

    8. Shouting. THINGS NEED TO CHANGE.

    9. State Senators. This one was a joke.

    10. Social Media. Between home and work, despite systemic efforts, there is still a third place for community.

    11. Standing still. Planting two feet on the floor and feeling grounded. No one is chasing me and there is nowhere I’m forced to go. I am allowed to be here. It should be safe to simply be.

    12. Sanctity. One truth little recognized but universally agreed upon; our lives are sacred. We build societies around this fact. We destroy societies despite it. And sacred still are the lives lost.

    13. Salvation. Even if it seems we are too far gone, there is still a path to return on. We can always turn around.

    14. Sanity. Even if I am holding on by a thread, it retains my humanity.

    15. Smiling. Having an innate means to express happiness . Both the brain and heart are susceptible to joy, our mouths merely follow suit.
  • How Public Education is Failing Us: A Former Students Perspective



    The American public education system is not based off of any one individual teaching theory, yet the basis of the current educational system is much accredited to John Dewey, as his philosophy and belief was learning should take a ‘hands on’ approach, where students learn through experience which suggest interaction with said individuals environment and community members. The system we are currently within, however, arguably follows a curriculum that strictly teaches to the test in order to measure a students proficiency in a given subject. This is because a post-industrial America was motivated to generate individuals with the capacity and skills to join the workforce quite soon after adolescence, usually expected to begin work immediately following graduation from secondary school. I take issue with this adopted methodology due to the prioritization of skills over creating foundational interest in knowledge. The rush to create workers robs children of the facilitation of their innate intellectualization, and instead creates a disinterested population fulfilling stagnation in lieu of progression as a society. The focus on the finished worker creates a lack of attention to the individual's progression in learning. The Gesell theory has a number of experiments backing the idea of child development following a continuous learning curve with every child making progression in their own time due to a multitude of internal and external factors. This is why attention to the individual in a classroom is crucial. In theory, Dewey’s educational theory would be an ideal system but implemented and blended with other societal motives, it is only effective in producing well indoctrinated members of society. Instead of education focusing on the final state of the being entering the world and what additions they can add to it, education should be focused on an individual's metacognition so they develop habitable intellectual and social skills unique to them thus creating well rounded individuals on the whole.

    The Dewey approach was the start of the push to progressive education in the 19th century. The idea was to bridge the gap between classroom and reality through guided experience, emphasis on guided as Dewey adopted democratic ideals in his philosophy, stressing the equality of voice within a discussion. Once democracy was implemented after America had gained independence, Thomas Jefferson voiced the idea of free public education. Colonial education, though, had aims that were now irrelevant to the industrialized era. While colonial education was often only accessible to well off white men, Dewey's revolutionary theory valued practical labor skills and sciences which would be handier in the workforce, over reading and writing which he thought would develop naturally as the base level skills were reinforced within an individual's mind. Children indeed have a high retention rate for knowledge but learning can only occur once one fosters the process of experimentation and trial with error. Methodically drilling information into a students mind does not constitute as learning, if anything it stifles a child's ability to communicate with their most profound needs.

    William Glasser proposed that there are five innate needs: survival, power, freedom, fun, and love. These needs are simple enough to grasp but when thought of in relevance to a classroom it takes on a different importance. Individuals not only need to fulfill their needs but can optimally learn when the material connects to these needs. Lack of relevance to students' lives leads to a mental disconnect in the classroom. They can feel there is virtually nothing in the material to connect to them thus creating a schema of that knowledge being useless. This is why foundational inquiry of knowledge should be established prior to departing textual knowledge upon a child. A teacher's approach to the situation is also critical, William Glasser's control theory hypothesized two types of teachers in the classroom; boss teachers and lead teachers. Boss teachers are a more common find in the American classroom, they typically utilize a punishment-reward system in order to get a student to complete a given (usually low level) task. In contrast, lead teachers use prompts that stimulate students and generate known intrinsic rewards. They often stay away from tedious tasks and empty requirements as they don’t yield any significant intellectual payoff. Through “Instruction, teachers rely on cooperative, active learning techniques that enhance the power of the learners. Lead teachers make sure that all assignments meet some degree of their students’ need for satisfaction. This secures student loyalty, which carries the class through whatever relatively meaningless tasks might be necessary to satisfy official requirements”. Though there are mandatory prerequisites set in place by the government’s regulation on education, lead teachers find ways to navigate and stimulate children around the set requirements versus boss teaching who aim purely to fulfill the requirements. The requirements are typically passing grades (anywhere between 70% - 79%) in English, Mathematics, Science and Social Studies. Though the curriculum differs from states down to individual classrooms, the same broad subjects must be covered and tested.

    The No Child Left Behind Act was instituted in 2002, an effort to make sure education would be extended to all children, with extra attention placed on disadvantaged students. Schools now had to produce results and students progress in quantifiable amounts which was done through testing and grades. Though it gave freedom to individual states to develop their own standards, the standards would have to collectively be met consistently in order to receive federal funding. There were of course punishment if standards were not met, including funding being pulled, so the incentive was high for schools to focus on performance rather than actual educational value. Though this was the government's attempt at taking their hands out of public education, it only proved to further strangle our education system. With these measurements, students who don’t meet requirements are systematically punished and effectively disenfranchised in society. This is a huge consequence to students who aren’t adhering to new reforms. The push for standardization arguably does nothing more than test a preset curriculum and measure how effectively students are taking these tests rather than tracking overall success rates of these kids. An article written by Jack Jennings and Diane Stark Rentner summarizes the top ten effects of the No Child Left Behind Act and though all the points are compelling, there is one effect that corresponds to the measurements of success, reading; “State and district officials report that student achievement on state tests is rising, which is a cause for optimism. It’s not clear, however, that students are really gaining as much as rising percentages of proficient scores would suggest. Scores on state tests in reading and mathematics that are used for NCLB purposes are going up, according to nearly three-fourths of the states and school districts, and the achievement gaps on these same tests are generally narrowing or staying the same. States and districts mostly credit their own policies as important in attaining these results, although they acknowledge that the “adequate yearly progress” (AYP) requirements of NCLB have also contributed”. There is no disputing the requirements being fulfilled and goals being met thanks to heavy incentive placed by the government to meet these standards, “However, under NCLB, student achievement is equated with the proportion of students who are scoring at the proficient level on state tests, and states have adopted various approaches in their testing programs, such as the use of confidence intervals, that result in more test scores being counted as proficient.” Confidence intervals are changed through random testing within the population. Kids are taking significantly more tests and schools are taking samples from this large pool to fulfill requirements and not suffer sanctions which doesn’t attest to any progress or growth.

    The National Commission on Excellence in Education published A Nation at Risk to warn the United States Department of Education (DOE) and really the nation as to what dangers lie ahead if we keep educating youth in the same manner. The report states “More and more young people emerge from high school ready neither for college nor for work. This predicament becomes more acute as the knowledge base continues its rapid expansion, the number of traditional jobs shrinks, and new jobs demand greater sophistication and preparation.” To speak from the perspective of a current student, I couldn’t agree more. Things you are expected to know are vast and at times wildly absurd. There is also an assumed capacity for the young mind today that seems to not have taken the technological advances we grew alongside into account. Students are expected to retain American history (with a severe lack of world history being taught), build continuous knowledge of mathematics, memorizing extensive literature that far outdated our parents, and sciences that we are far distanced from in our industrialized society. Many of the skills we are graded upon seem trivial now that computations and summaries exist at our fingertips. The report goes on to say, “on a broader scale, we sense that this undertone of frustration has significant political implications, for it cuts across ages, generations, races, and political and economic groups. We have come to understand that the public will demand that educational and political leaders act forcefully and effectively on these issues. Indeed, such demands have already appeared and could well become a unifying national preoccupation.” Education poses a much bigger concern to the social climate that we are living in today. While that problem worries many Americans, our more integrated society is so politically, economically and arguably racially divided, many civil rights issues have taken the foreground.

    A Nation at Risk also speaks on the class disparities within schools and education reach within impoverished communities. The study doesn’t explicitly talk about the effects of these rather than quite literally state the risk, however it is my belief that these disenfranchised students are pushed through continuous disengaged teaching methods, rigorous testing which yield failing results, systematic punishments, along with economic and social factors, have no chance in advancing in a system that is preparatory for non applicable skills but further institutional education. The report relays that there are some 23 million Americans deemed illiterate. But I pose the question of by what standards is literate reading measured by? It's known that our system has a complex affinity for classic literature but in an urban school setting where the classics don’t come into play outside of the classroom, much of the learned information cannot be retained due to the lack of relevance in the students' lives. The Glasser theory provides support for this disconnect as the needs he proposed are all but left out of the concept of standardized testing and other legislation for education standards in America.

    While these prerequisites are in place to ensure every student gets the base level education and skills, it is still somewhat limiting in terms of a teacher's control over a classroom. A teacher's role is to impart knowledge and skills on how to use said knowledge but the individual student's pathology dictates what and how they learn. Overlooking the individuality of the student robs them of valuable learning experiences. And to emphasize the learning comes quite literally from the experiences gained from the classroom. These experiences are immeasurable and arguably cannot be tested. Dewey's original laboratory consisted of learning that existed without our current idea of traditional testing. Tests were carried out in situations that had plausibility of occurring, much closer to real life circumstances. This ensures the knowledge students were acquiring would be applicable to real world situations. Both natural and social sciences are one of the most important subjects you can teach a child, if done correctly. A teacher's guide dedicated to teaching science, titled Ready, Set, Science!, pays attention to inquiry based knowledge and setting up foundational curiosity in students. The book beautifully explains; “To the degree that we actually know science, we have the knowledge and strategies with which to examine evidence systematically, interpret, and control our surroundings. Knowledge of science can enable us to think critically and frame productive questions. Without scientific knowledge, we are wholly dependent on others as “experts.” With scientific knowledge, we are empowered to become participants rather than merely observers. Science, in this sense, is more than a means for getting ahead in the world of work. It is a resource for becoming a critical and engaged citizen in a democracy”. The book brings in practical real world uses for science extending outside of the realm of grades. It gives us an idea of how the subject can be used for critical development within an individual, the benefits of inquiry-based knowledge and highlighting the ideal type of individual that society should want to bring about. Critical thinkers who can form and articulate thoughts which lead to important reform and evaluation within a society. I appreciate the note of relying on experts rather than what I would assume would be the informed opinions formulated by your peers. The act of relying on others' expertise isn’t damaging in and of itself, but the inability to trust and rely upon your own judgements is damaging on a human's innate ability to navigate the natural world. Not to mention the rates at which this intellectual insecurity is exploited and used for profit.

    At this point in time, the American educational system is in dire need of a major reform. I believe my research concludes that the current testing standards are not proven to be efficient and neglects critical developmental studies that show ways in which children learn. Satisfying more or less ambiguous standards in the name of tracking knowledge in this country is much more toxic than likely anticipated. The focus on reforms, specifically in impoverished neighborhoods are taxing as such a small number of schools have been reformed or turned to charter schools and instead face administration sweeps where an entire staff is replaced. These are oppressive conditions to both teach and learn in, and as Americans, we can do better.

    Works Cited:
    Belea, Felicia, et al. “Control Theory.” Funderstanding Education Curriculum and Learning Resources, 14 Apr. 2011, https://www.funderstanding.com/educators/control-theory/.
    Denning, Peter J. “A Nation at Risk: the Imperative for Educational Reform.” Communications of the ACM, vol. 26, no. 7, Jan. 1983, pp. 467–478., doi:10.1145/358150.358154.
    Eis, Rafi, et al. “The Crisis in Education Theory.” National Affairs, https://www.nationalaffairs.com/publications/detail/the-crisis-in-education-theory.
    “Gesell Theory.” Gesell Institute, https://gesellinstitute.org/pages/gesell-theory.
    Jennings, Jack, and Diane Stark Rentner. “Ten Big Effects of the No Child Left behind Act on Public Schools - Jack Jennings, Diane Stark Rentner, 2006.” SAGE Journals, 1 Oct. 2006, https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/003172170608800206?journalCode=pdka.
    Klein, Joel. “The Failure of American Schools.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 6 Dec. 2017, https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/06/the-failure-of-american-schools/308497/.
    Michaels, Sarah, et al. Ready, Set, Science!: Putting Research to Work in K-8 Science Classrooms. National Academies Press, 2008.
    “Middle Grades Promotion Requirements.” Florida Department Of Education, http://www.fldoe.org/academics/standards/middle-grades-pr.stml.
    Novack, George. John Dewey's Theories of Education, https://www.marxists.org/archive/novack/works/1960/x03.htm.
    Potter, Kevin. “5 Facts You Should Know About the U.S. Grading System.” MastersPortal, https://www.mastersportal.com/articles/2288/5-facts-you-should-know-about-the-us-grading-system.html.
    “Quickstart Guide to Choice Theory.” GIFCT, https://wglasser.com/quickstart-guide-to-choice-theory/#basic-needs.
    Windhorst, Dirk. “The Death and Life of the Great American School System: How Testing and Choice Are Undermining Education.” Brock Education: A Journal of Educational Research and Practice, 5 Jan. 2011, https://journals.library.brocku.ca/brocked/index.php/home/article/view/172.
  • To Trying


    Experiences fortified by your hand in mine
    The world's only terrors come from distance
    I run from isolation but you are my solitude
    We begin to walk through love oblivious to life
    How can I exist on a timeline with hate if you’re right here
    A dimension where our hearts free themselves from past lives
    Thawing in the deepest cracks, no longer connected by cruel misencounters
    We continue to crack and collapse, vulnerable to new feelings
    We must break to build
    To face the realities of ourselves, to create a reality together
    Our love makes the world anew
    And our problems old
    Each time I mourn the past, I’m flooded with relief
    I exist here and now
    To settle in the chaos of rebirth

  • Young Man


    Tears steam on your cheeks
    Taunted feelings pent up behind your eyes
    Your head is hot young man

    Share your sorrows

    Your shoulders ride low on a spine set with guilt
    You are only human and your nature is not built on sin alone

    There is room for reformation

    Your head may pound with the thought of relief
    How to free yourself from homemade afflictions
    Chains fashioned by your own thoughts

    key swallowed by your fear of change

    You drown in a shallow pond, too ashamed to stand
    You must admit, your feet not finding the floor may be fault of your own.
  • Faction Speech


    Imagined suffrage speech based on the emergence of the Modern US.

    I come here tonight with an urgent message, the fate of our country will be full of nothing but peril if we don’t take action now. Suffrage must be addressed if we ever wish to truly progress as a nation in which we can consider ourselves a true democracy. The fact is from the moment our names are marked on the census we are assigned a predetermined value. Studies show the rate of college educated women continues to grow despite the economic hardships of our past along with the number of women contributing to the workforce. It would be downright foolish to deny the working and educated women's value to a flourishing society, but it would be worse to confuse this societal impact with the power to make lasting changes. Unless we are given the same right to vote as our male counterparts we'll never have access to the same possibilities and neither will women of the future.

    Many of you may believe you have the right ideas when bringing reform to our great country, and it would be wrong of me to deny that some of these ideas are very impressive. What if I told you however noble they may be, every effort that fails to address the problem that lies at the core of our nation will be in vain. We all know that we require more than superficial solutions for the problems that plague many of us. Everyone matters just the same as everyone’s dollar.I hope that all of you leave today knowing your worth more than any man alone can imagine. The history of our nation is filled with blood and beauty, knowing it all would be pointless without acknowledging the plight facing many of us in this room today. We are being robbed of our rights as citizens and the opportunity to contribute to society as more than political pawns for the elites to pander to as they please.

    The positions of power held by elite members of society are sought out by men and kept from women. Politics finds its way into the workplace and the home lives of every American whether we like it or not. Needless to say this negatively affects the protection and representation women have in labor unions and any other political movement. Unless our opinions are heard we will be nothing more than counter parts and our needs will never be met unless those of the opposite deem them worthy enough.

    Being an advocate for change means being willing to continuously educate yourself about the struggles the outliers of society encounter in their daily lives. The voices of every American from black to white are vital in bringing forth a future in which our descendents can be proud of our ideals and the opportunities afford them. If it weren’t for the collaborative efforts of every American many of the milestones we’ve achieved over a short amount of time would be unimaginable. Like Jane Adams we must forget the idea that our motives alone are just enough and become advocates for those causes that align with similar ideals to progress as collective rather than individuals. History has time and time again forgotten the voices of the very people who help make its being very possible. If and only if we wish to be remembered as pivotal members of society who stopped the horrible trend we must focus our attention and give every American the right they are entitled to the moment they are born.

    Although we may come from different economic backgrounds, ethnicities, and cultures we must use our voice to fight against the opportunists who exploit us. In order for this to happen all of our voices must be heard and voting is the only true way to determine your future freedoms. Without this liberty women are left to live lives dictated by the ideals and standards of men, when these men are absent many of us are often left to survive in a world where struggles aren’t considered unless there is a man willing to voice them. Leaving many of them to abandon all hope of happiness in a country in which it is supposedly a right.

    The time of women's suffrage is now, for too long has it been put on the backburner. The harsh reality is that if the voices of women were heard a long time ago society would’ve made prides towards progression at a much greater rate. Very few women were courageous to defy the odds and exercise their rights as citizens resulting in their arrest. With the numbers and contributions of everyone here we can begin to dismantle the barriers that bar us from true progress. Nothing we can do is as powerful as giving women the right they are entitled to. Women contribute to society in more ways than one but the only one that really matters is the one we are denied on a daily basis. Long before I fought for women’s rights to vote there were many more powerful women before me that paved the way for me to speak here today.
  • Tomb of Technology

    A creative response to an art history prompt based on the exhibit 'The Temple of Dendur' on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dated 7.20.17.
    What is your intention? When you hold a screen up to your face, attempting to capture an image to share, who are you benefitting? Those pictures often have no personality. There is no intention behind that photo. And quite frankly, it is cheating. You are cheating the viewer of a challenge, robbing them of complicated thinking and appreciation. Because everything we do is simple.

    It is all too simple.

    Pulling out a phone was the immediate response for anyone who was alone. When you are alone you are vulnerable.

    Nothing to hold your attention. People alone with their thoughts tend to get overwhelmed. They can't handle conversing alone. Their minds are unmanageable, seen as a garden you don't want to stumble upon. A labyrinth housing thorns on every wall that you are afraid to run into so you turn your back to the entrance and face the light, the light that once symbolized death but is now hand held but before you make this realization you must google what a labyrinth is.

    You are trapped between a slow death and a fast paced reality, so you opt out to be cradled in cyberspaces arms, fall into a coma with a processors hum and allow your battery to drain. Your life is all 2-dimensional. People only knew you from your captions, only speaking in recycled jokes and without a twitter, you probably wouldn't have a personality.

    But as long as you upkept your feed, 1,012 half-known faces will have liked you. And that is all you will have when taken to your Dendur tomb.
  • Preferred Suicide

    This winter was rather dry. The city sparsely sprinkled with snowfall, showing record low affiliations with the season. The bite to the wind, though, was something viscous. 

    In and off the city streets we all went. On and into cyberspace we all went.

    I watched war unfold in my palm and learned TikTok may be burned into my phone screen.

    I am a voyeur.

    Addicted to gratification in the form of short-form content, I’ve watched trends disappear as quickly as they've arrived and have felt my spine tingle with ecstasy as we rally around a new benign joke or repackaged product.

    Artificial intelligence began to trickle into my content feed. It started as AI generated photos illustrating how programs misunderstood human concepts, look at how silly, the computer can’t conceptualize a centaur.

    I understood quite early that these programs are focused on conceptualizing what it’s like to be us. It has to understand why someone would want to create a mythical being.

    Slowly these ‘silly’ demonstrations became genuine warnings to learn to disseminate these photos from reality. Mothers on Facebook are awestruck by children who have created 40 foot ice sculptures in their backyards. Fathers are falling prey to profiles with women toting the most insane proportions you’ve ever seen. We all get off in our own right.

  • Dark Ways Pt.3


    Idante

    She was hardly responsive. Her eyes fluttered shut and then sprang open, her words slurred before trailing off completely. She continuously leaned forward then jolted upright. I wondered if she was on drugs. She didn’t seem like she was in control, nor did I peg her as a user. Her features were sharp in the shadows though all of them were slack. I thought I should say something, maybe ask if she’s alright. If she dies I can’t just dump her off at her destination, the least I could do was make sure she could get out of the car. I thought about taking her to the hospital. I’d stay there until she could go home. I’m willing to make the upgrade from driver to guardian. I’d guess everyone’s ailments in the waiting room and hope hers wasn’t fatal. I felt bound to this girl, an intensity you don’t find in a few minutes of half conscious small talk. No, It was something else. Maybe her beauty was affecting my perception and that is to say she was beautiful. Her skin was hot coffee on a second brew, cacao colored eyes the shape of almonds, nose like a dollop of cream and lips like a valentine's chocolate heart. Perhaps that's what it really comes down to. This is my hero to the ‘damsel in distress’ moment. It seemed like she was in deep distress. Tension filled the car. It was so heavy and thick I suspected none of my words would make it to her.

    I chose them carefully, trying to avoid provoking a defensive response. I asked her if she was trying to sleep. She softly said no and shook her head. Although it was obvious, I pointed out it seemed like she was sleeping. She jolted once again and told me she was up. Not after long she was down again. When I asked if she was alright I let it be known I was concerned. She came back up and began murmuring, seeming to be speaking more to herself than me. What are you saying?

    “He wouldn’t…to me….couldn’t…so fucking horrible”.

    The statement expanded over all the previous tension in the car and replaced it with dread. I didn’t press any further, just looked straight ahead. The words hung there and neither of us made an attempt to cover them up, much less dismantle them. I should’ve asked for her consent but I didn’t. She was slumped over fully now and ceasing to respond. I just went ahead and ended the ride, routing us to the nearest hospital. Not before screenshotting the ride. My foot came down as I leaned forward, concentrating on flying between the lines.

    Elyssia

    I came to in the backseat of a car. Instantly I saw my legs painted in red. To my surprise the car was coming to a slow stop. Sirens filled my ears. Wincing, I sat up. Where was I? My head is light and there’s that man in the front seat. He hasn’t noticed I’ve woken up so I consider touching him. A gentle gesture to let him know I was no threat, there was no need to hurt me. I was confused, my mind muddled and groggy, where the hell were we? It was a fluorescent red too bright to my left and a dense darkness to my right. I lifted a hand to shield my face reflexively and the sudden movement alerted him of my consciousness. He turned, wrapping his hand around the passenger headrest. The cab driver, of course. His body was fully angled toward me. We stared at each other just like that for a few seconds.

    Idante: We’re at the hospital. You said something horrible happened.

    Yes, to the left. The red lights are being projected from the EMERGENCY ROOM sign towering over us. I couldn’t even process what he had just said. Hospital? Who was this guy to take me to the hospital? God, did I look that bad in the backseat? Regardless, I did not want to be here. At this moment I didn’t even want him to look at me.

    Elyssia: I don’t remember saying that. I don’t remember falling asleep either though. I’m still pretty drunk.

    Idante: You seemed a little more than drunk, you’re shaking even now.

    Elyssia: I don’t remember saying anything actually.

    I shifted uncomfortably. What happened wasn’t particularly horrible. I’ve been living in a perpetual state of tragedy and horror. I’ve died too many times to count now. It was horrible, of course it was horrible. But what could I do about it? The time to protect myself slipped from my hands.

    Idante: We should go in now that you’re awake.

    Elyssia: Why?

    Idante: You really don’t seem okay, mentally or physically. I can see welts from up here.

    Redirect.

    Elyssia: Don’t you know you’ve abducted me, this is almost a textbook example. You were supposed to take me home and no offense, if you’re going to meddle in passengers' lives, you should consider another side hustle. Most people don’t take kindly to this, especially me. It’s time to take me home.

    This little back and forth was giving me anxiety. I could feel my heart pressing up against my sternum, I placed my hand there instinctively just to feel in control. I am awake now. And on guard. Why is it that my ‘no's' mean nothing? Can I be any clearer? I am being looked in the face and ignored.

    Idante: I’m not meddling. I’m helping.

    So he can hear but not listen. Great.

    Elyssia: I didn’t expect my driver to be a superhero.

    Idante: I like to think I’m just a good Samaritan.

    Idante

    This rapport was entertaining but I wasn’t getting any closer to the bottom of this whole thing. Something I felt obliged to do. This isn’t just something I can move on from. This girl needs help and if I can, I will. Something about loss and the sky. It’s so selfish. Taking and expanding, seeming to only inhale. There are so many things it will never give back. Stars sizzle, the cells die and we ascend. Oftentimes too soon. I had a sense she was fizzling out.

    The ER lights fell onto her face. I turned to face her as soon as she woke up and I couldn’t help studying her with the opportunity to get a good look. It was all in her eyes. The shadows brought out their sunken nature and I saw them as they were; hollow. I run my hand through my hair and take a deep breath before starting again.

    Idante: It’s 2am. We still have to cross the bridge and you’re, no offense, a disaster. You look like your eyeballs are about to roll out of your head.

    Elyssia: If you had stayed on the designated route the trip would’ve been over by now. Anyways, what are you suggesting?

    Idante: You can sleep at my house.

    Elyssia: You’re turning out to be no better than that creep.

    I’m assuming this was supposed to be a sly dig hidden beneath her breath but the jab felt deliberate, though I had no context. Just the association with being a creep. Which is not the first time I’ve come by this opinion. Kindness is just a mask for a plotted demise. I can’t extend a hand without it being turned over and over again. So far, she’s more than turned it, she’s sniffing it like a hound, looking for one whiff of ill intentions.

    Idante: Is it really a crime to care?

    Elyssia: It's irrationally kind. There’s something you want.

    Idante: Look, I don’t know what happened but you seriously need to stop growling at me. I’m trying to help you, which is now concerning my better judgment. I’m not an evil creep, wherever you got that notion. You’re lucky I’m not carrying you into the ER kicking and screaming. I’m offering you the opportunity to rest. You can call another cab you know. I can call one for you and pretend none of this ever happened. I never met a girl in clear distress who refused help because she’s scared of confronting whatever distressed her. I offered what help I could, my conscience is clear of your future fate.

    She looked uncomfortable as she shifted off of the door.

    Elyssia

    It was traumatic but I’d lay in his bed anyway. The idea was no longer unfamiliar.

    On a changa trip I had laid down in a stranger's room and watched the world grow solid. the bars beneath the top bunk solidified, the atoms bonding tighter together while the shadows fell into a never ending darkness just pushing the bars further onto me. On the bottom I lay with a man I had met once before. My body was so heavy I feared I was falling into a shadow. He climbed on top of me, men with their keen observational skills. The world suddenly frosted over. Not only was I gone within a shadow, I had gone numb. A block of ice free floating through space. One could consider me an asteroid. Hurtling and burning and crashing painfully slowly and then all at once. Or maybe I’m more of an Icarus type. I couldn’t spare an ounce of warmth yet people fought their way in again and again just to heat their hands in my kiln. Smoke blew out of my mouth as their weight fell on top of me over and over again.
  • Dark Ways Pt.2

    Idante 

    The GPS let me know I had arrived at the pick up location. I tapped my phone to start the countdown. People in this part of a town normally drive, the houses spread far apart made the roads long. Lawn after lawn had space for a driveway yet the property I stalled outside of had short pale grass far from manicured but not nearly abandoned. Merely neglected. I pondered who may be coming out. Though I’d hit a residential area, a college town couldn’t have been more than ten maybe twenty miles away. Near midnight, I wouldn’t suspect one of those students needing to catch a cab to the next state over. This was a costly trip, $250 for nearly an hour drive into Manhattan. I only graduated college last year so really, who was I to deny the chance of easy money.

    Driving kept me analyzing, my mind constantly working the roads trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else. It took problem solving in the most arbitrary way. Billions of people drive every day. But not everyone can weave through traffic and memorize the best routes. I never talk about trying to solve anagrams on license plates or looking at the moon over the road which is not something good drivers do. It’s something I do. Above all, I can think. For the moon illuminating the patches where the tower lights miss, I’d give my life. When she’s pregnant and glowing, when she grows full and spits out rebirth every month, when it’s clear enough to see her cratered skin, I want to hold her and ask what it’s like to exist in unrequited love. I fear I’ll be caught between the moon and earth's dance forever. If only I could step in and give her the attention she needs. The love to end them all. I, the Montague to her Capulet name, devote my life to our love affair except my dear Luna lives. She lives and she is released from this cruel orbit. The ocean stops churning and we all find peace.

    I squinted at my passengers name. Michael. Well Michael is certainly taking a while. I almost call him as the seconds on the timer dwindle. I’d feel bad if I left this guy out here, there’s not many people who’d make the trip at this time. Unfortunately I can’t afford to waste mine. Then, a porch light illuminates just the front door. I see a girl push past the screen door and start towards my car. Sitting up a little allows a wave of anxiety to efficiently wash over me. I’ve made a lot of trips but this certainly wasn’t Michael approaching. I could only make out her shadowy figure on the lawn but it resembled the cross. Shoulders completely squared on a rigid neck unmoving with legs shifting like a toy soldier. If she extended her arms to their full length, I was sure wings would appear just behind them. I was spellbound simply by the mystery she might contain, the tale riders often felt obliged to share.

    Elyssia

    Waiting for the car to arrive was nerve wracking. I pleaded and begged for him to let me leave, I begged for my mother and reasoned after spending the entire night trying to rationalize everything that was happening. He wouldn’t have killed me, but he certainly wanted to keep me. My tears were null and void to him, he didn’t believe them. His hand came down again and again as he told me he wouldn’t stop until they were real. I passively accepted the reality of the situation, that this may be my life forever. But I told him my mom would miss me, she is the only thing that convinced this self declared psychopath to set me free. On the flip side, I thought about how she’d absolutely kill me if she found out how far I strayed from her guidance. Never, never, under any circumstance, ever trust a stranger. There laid a strange refusal in me to give up the naïve mindset that strangers can be good if you open your heart and give them the opportunity to be. My heart got split down the middle with a beer bottle and told it was nothing but a hole to be filled with the inherently evil actions of man.

    When he announced the cab's arrival I stiffly rose and tried to make a quick exit. This middle aged man made one more final attempt to get me to stay, pouting and telling me I promised. A chill went down my spine seeing just how low he’d go to coerce me, such a childish last ditch effort to get his way. I apologized though there was no one for me to be sorry to but myself, and rushed out. My body wouldn’t be able to relax until I got into that car with a witness. My body would never be mine again. I quickly carried on never once checking behind my back.

    Instead of coming off composed as I wanted, I yanked the car door open giving a haphazard greeting and slamming the door shut. I sunk into the leather seat of the warm car and let out a deep breath. I hadn’t released one since I walked out of the door. The gentle voice of a young man greeted me, yet I did not open my eyes. He made a point to joke about the fact I am not Michael. I told him I was ready to go. I lamented the idea of riding with someone so close to age as me, a man at that. I held my eyes shut for a few more moments preparing myself to perform for the male gaze. Happy and hot, be happy and hot.

    I asked him how he was. He said it’d been a long night. He commented on how far I was going. I laughed and agreed that it was far. I did not offer an explanation. He asked for one anyway. I said I was visiting someone and had to leave at the last minute. What could’ve caused me to leave so suddenly, he asked.

    The question brought tears to my eyes. Horrors beyond your comprehension, I almost say but I dance around the question explaining I need to get to campus in the morning. It’s only now I study him from the rear view mirror. I pretend he can’t see me. My head is spinning and he doesn’t know that. If he did, he’d drive slower. He seems kind like that. Maybe I’ve been drugged. Hardly able to keep my eyes open I still will myself to stay awake. If I close my eyes I may end up back in that house and that’s darker than anything this conversation could conjure up. If my heart stops suddenly burning from pain while flying down a highway, I’d like someone to notice. I keep slipping away, forgetting myself day after day, silently hoping someone will notice. To intervene in a way I’ve lost the will to. Every trial ends in error but this ride is low stakes. I am bound to his watchful eye whether he likes it or not.
  • Dark Ways Pt.1


    Elyssia

    I forgot to paint my toenails. They were still squared from the last paint job but the nail folds were dark. No matter how I treated my feet, the join folds remained dark. This made me worry people would think there was a fungus making its way up and all over my nails. There were pinstripes on the big toes which my dermatologist could not explain to me. People would look at me and assume I was ill and I couldn't tell them they were incorrect in any respect. I painted my fingernails purple myself. I spent time cutting my cuticles off with a painful dedication and hardly any blood was visible now. Fingering the cuts with dirty hands made them sting like hell. What would he think of my nails? I hardly recognize features on a person's face until I see their hands. The only way to properly confirm what is in front of you.

    I stepped off of the train and was instantly bombarded with college logos and cheap eateries. I could see housing from the station, maybe a five minute walk. It was drastically different from my little campus located in the middle of nowhere. This was a mini city with all the fixings. The sports bar on the corner definitely boosted the college energy. I walked over and considered going in just to avoid the heat but the idea of all the patrons staring stopped me. I may be young but I don't look like someone who wanders into a bar this time of day innocently.

    I had just returned from a trip down south where the air is even thicker. Up in New York, the heat doesn’t even compare. The twins were celebrating their first Fourth of July and of course this was just another for my cousin, sister and I. My cousin had a boy named Mica and a girl named Kora, both of whom were incredibly precious. I wasn’t around babies often so I made sure to examine their blindly gripping fingers and flexing toes. To smell their heads. I’d heard about babies' heads having a unique smell but I couldn’t understand until I got my hands on one. The soft warm flesh radiates a scent that can only be compared to safety or sympathy. Pure love with notes of sweat. I held the Mica close and unlike his sister, he had such little hair I could press my nose right up on his skull. I wasn’t sure how malleable his little head could be so I made a point to visit different spots. I couldn’t help but linger as he sat patient in my arms. There are times where I pretend to be pregnant. I'll puff out my stomach, arching way back to get the physical feel of it. Running my hand over my belly as if there were a little life in there. I imagined the father smiling at us, his two babies. The twins were so young I could have had them a few weeks ago. They were so small in fact, they couldn’t be in the heat too long. The Fourth of July ‘celebration’ was the three of us drinking spiked ale and watching the babies react to their favorite sensory videos. I claimed the long part of the sectional sofa in order to fully splay out. The heat was unbeatable despite the fans on full speed panning right in front of us. We all stared at our phones after the babies bouncing in their rockers got old. I had opened a dating app to swipe past faces and not answer any messages. I simply wanted the attention from being desirable. I’m 17 so I wasn’t supposed to be on it truthfully. I had just completed my first semester of college and after using it on campus I wasn’t just going to delete it, so the swiping began.

    My age range in the settings was from 18 to 40. I wasn’t planning on letting anyone chat me up, rather I just wanted to see who I could attract. The older men of course flocked towards younger women, I would always be upfront with my age if I did choose to chat.

    The paranoia I felt the entire trip would not ease up, everyone could surely see I was doing something wrong. But was I? I was doing the exact opposite of what all cautionary tales about strangers taught me. This wasn’t just a dating app hookup or a first date really. This was the first meeting and it’s behind closed doors. I was going to his house after just a few days of chatting.

    In part, I’m living out a total fantasy of mine. An older man enamored by a younger woman ready to spoil her senseless. I was dressing up and trying to mentally put myself in the role. The reality of the meeting was making this seem a lot less like a T.V. show. I know most situations they show don’t end well but there are so many success stories online, testaments to young women dating older men and things going fantastically. I’d read plenty of blogs so I know I’m ignoring a major red flag by traveling so far but I don't think I’ll let things get out of hand. I have enough money to take a cab back at any time if needed. I know I can hold my own.

    Yet I had no idea where to go and I didn’t want to text him just yet. I needed to regain the confidence I had when arranging this meeting. If I hadn't had the crazy idea of taking the train into the next state I wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. My black dress was excelling at absorbing all the sunlight it could heating up my body. The dress swept the floor and my body was not as mature as the intended demographic. The neck string style of it was problematic, the cotton string was rubbing and digging into my nape. It left my shoulders exposed, leaving them to burn. I was roasting like a pig and sweating like one too. I could hardly breathe, I was choking in all respects.

    The driver of the cab that dropped me off was puzzled by the neighborhood we pulled into. We counted the house numbers together. I couldn’t help but notice these houses were so…shabby. Rinky-dink one story homes with the same white siding soiled by algae and mud with small lawns dried out from the summer heat. All the identical white shutters were drawn. Some houses were better kept than others. Albeit unkempt, the surrounding houses seemed like actual homes, there was life spilling out of them. A pink Barbie Jeep in the driveway, a basketball hoop, an open garage with its contents exposed, you could even build a picture with just a minivan parked out front. People lived there.

    When we spotted 4249, the driver slowed down rather than coming to a stop. The house didn't look drastically different from the others but there was just something off about it. It looked almost vacant. There was nothing alive about it.

Yeama is a 20-something year old Sierra Leonean and native New Yorker. She is currently a contributing writer for perediza magazine. This is a curated selection of her writings; diary entries, school assignments, and creative musings.

Committed to a lifetime of learning, humanitarian work and world exploration, her work culminates experience from a few steps of all walks of life.