my broken heart bleeds
flowing red where once it throbbed
a drum’s waning beat
Word of the day (heart) courtesy of FOWC
Tag: #metoo
she said but he said
she said but he said
wilting efforts and fresh lies
laid bare to the world
Double thanks to Putting My Feet in the Dirt and RonovanWrites
Fleeing the Vortex
falling water swirls
her mind follows its heartbeat
she flees the vortex
I think of this haiku as a companion to the flash fiction piece I wrote for The Drabble. It’s only 97 words so check it out here if you haven’t read it. #foreveryes
Neither of these pieces is meant to suggest or advocate suicide. It wasn’t until someone asked me if “she” killed herself that I realized how easy it is to have that interpretation. To me, both this and #foreveryes are about taking back your power. Turning away from those attempting to control your choices. Claiming Your Life.
But as I reread them I see my anger and sadness and fury and frustration. And I shouldn’t be surprised. So often these days, I find myself feeling overwhelmed by it all. Choking. As if I’m being force-fed a steady diet of misogyny and racism and hate. And every time I try to use my words to go directly at the issues, I get bogged down. But … clearly my emotions are peeking through. And that, I think, is a good thing. Anything that pushes it out so it doesn’t choke me is a step forward!
Anything that helps put this into the trash heep of disgusting ideas! 
So … “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum”
#IBelieveSurvivors
#WhyIDidn’tReport
Poem in your Pocket
Today is National Poem in Your Pocket Day. I love the idea! I don’t write poetry (except for the occasional silly haiku) but I’m often inspired by other people’s work. So I’m sharing a poem by a poet I just discovered: Genevieve Taggard. Ms. Magazine did a piece on her last week. In it, Julie Enszer notes that Taggard (who was born in 1894) was “fierce feminist” and her writing, like the poem The Quiet Woman, sometimes “exposes the physical and sexual degradations that women endure as well as offering visions of feminist futures.” I’m carrying this piece in my pocket today. It reminds me of the universality of women’s experiences across space and time. It moved me.
The Quiet Woman
I will defy you down until my death
With cold body, indrawn breath;
Terrible and cruel I will move with you
Like a surly tiger. If you knew
Why I am shaken, if fond you could see
All the caged arrogance in me,
You would not lean so boyishly, so bold,
To kiss my body, quivering and cold.
A Fable for Our Times: A Girl and the Pig in the Window
I started writing this over a year ago. (I believe it was in the week or two after his election.) I got stuck in the middle and put it aside because I didn’t know how to finish it. Then we moved and it got forgotten until this week when I was cleaning out some old drop box files. This time the end seemed to write itself. It’s an odd little poem / not poem but I like it. Maybe you will too.
A Fable for Our Times: A Girl and the Pig in the Window
One day the girl passed by a pig in the window.
The pig snorted and panted and wriggled as he stared through the glass and just as she passed he yelled: you’ve got a nice ass.
The girl thought to herself: why does that pig make those noises when I pass by his window? And why do I feel like I must let it pass?
Another day the girl passed by a pig in the window.
The pig snorted and panted and wriggled as he stared through the glass and just as she passed he yelled: you’d be pretty if only you’d smile!
The girl thought to herself: why does that pig make those noises when I pass by his window? And why do his words make feel so dirty and vile?
Another week the girl passed by a pig in the window.
The pig snorted and panted and wriggled as he stared through the glass and just as she passed he yelled: What the hell bitch – think you’re too good to even get a hello!
The girl thought to herself: why does the pig make those noises when I pass by his window? And why do I feel like I can’t just yell NO?
Another month the girl passed by a pig in the window.
The pig snorted and panted and wriggled as he stared through the glass and just as she passed he yelled: Fuck you! You’re a fat ugly cunt!
The girl thought to herself: why does the pig make those noises when I pass by his window? And I wonder, am I alone as I contend with his grunt?
Another year the girl passed by the pig in the window.
The pig snorted and panted and wriggled as he stared through the glass and just as she passed he yelled: I’m sorry you’re upset. You misunderstand. I’m really a nice guy.
But this time the girl brought sisters-in-arms and they all carried signs. #MeToo and #YesAllPigs and #TimesUpForYourKind. She no longer just thought to herself. Or felt all alone. Instead she exclaimed out loud to the world: Your time is over! All pigs must fry!
And as they passed by, for the first time in years, she walked with confidence and held her head high.
Tina Stewart Brakebill 