Sunday, June 28, 2009

who are the real baby killers?

In the very real and serious context of lower economic class women, and women living in poverty, abortion is not so much a choice as it is a must. With little to zero health care, with hardly enough money to support one's self, there really isn't much of a choice.
With that said, I want to quote Chicana feminist Demetria Martinez:

"The antiabortion movement has, like all social movements, relied heavily on political theater: praying the rosary in silence in front of clinics, crying out to women not to kill their babies, or demonstrating with blowup photographs of fetuses.

Why not march with photos of fetuses to the office of politicians who refuse to support universal health care? Or pray the rosary in the lobby of the senator who axes funding for battered women's shelters, job training, and day care--programs that would reduce women's economic dependency upon their abusers?

Why not march on the Pentagon and run a full-page ad in the New York Times on defense spending [and lack of health care] titled, "Who Are the Real Baby Killers?""

Take action NOW to protect women's health and reproductive rights in Arizona.

Friday, June 26, 2009

friday and i just wanna watch movies

the coffee is acidic in my stomach. i keep running to the bathroom.
it's friday and i don't wanna do anything. i need new running shoes and i need these blisters and bruises to heal.
that pretty bruise to the left is from a soccer game two weeks ago. some chick elbowed me right in the muscle. she had a really pointy elbow. tore up my bicep. there's a hard knot in the middle of it... ech.
i just wanna go workout! i did spend $47 on a summer membership to the UA rec center. gotta get my dollar's worth.
things i need to do today:
-kore press stuff
-read between the bars stuff
-get finger-printed for the millionth time for my new job at SAFS (yay for a new job!)
-finish graduation thank yous already!!
-go get more beat-up at my soccer game tonight.

Sunday, June 21, 2009


"do you believe in god?" he said, like it was a rhetorical question.
"no." i answered. i scooted to the edge of my seat and leaned over the table. the house was dark and the screen on my laptop set the room aglow. our faces were blue in its reflection. it must have been 3am. it was the end of summer, before sophomore year of college.
"do you like the dave matthews band?" he asked this time.
"yeah, i do." he started tapping the table with his right pointer finger. hard taps. the tap-tap-tap echoed off the old wooden floor in the midnight silence. i sat still, leaned over the table.
"you know," he said, "god isn't real." he shifted in his seat. the sweat was misty on his face, glistening on his hairline. his jaw flexed. molars grinding side to side.
"yes, i know."
"can i play some dave matthews for you?" his eyes were wide awake. i could see his cheeks clenching, dimples--contractions. his teeth dancing on one another.
"i can't be mormon," he said.
"why?" i asked.
"because there is no god. how can so many people believe there is a god?"
my voice was soft, "i don't know. maybe they're afraid." i looked hard at him. he twisted in his chair. there he was, trying to be two people at once.

facebook, sent messages, no subject:

below is a facebook note to my best friend tony who is in new zealand right now. he wound up in a small town who is totally shut down on sundays... meaning he has no where to find food. he is also brave and adventurous and took of to NZ alone. he is couch surfing (or at least trying), being harassed by germans in the local hostel for being american (totally lame and rude), and just bought a small car to travel around in. he was traveling with some random conservative chick from louisiana who wouldnt help him pay for gas. ugh! anyways, here's my note... copy + paste = Today at 1:03am.

hey tony! hope you're alright and i really hope you found some food. i just met up with taylore and to my surprise aaron was not there. it was really nice!! it's always so great hanging out with taylore when aaron isn't around. it's almost like old times when T is really awesome. anyway, i met her at "The Shelter" which maybe you've heard of. it's a "go-go boots wearin', martini drinking, swanky groovy lounge" on grant and alvernon. THEN we decided to go to "The Mint"-- a total dive bar just west on Grant from the shelter. total dive bar! me, T, and robin sang garth brooks' "friends in low places" for karaoke. you would've loved it. i was definitely thinking of you all night. i hope you're doing okay. ian's a huge asshole but i know things will turn around. i can't wait to visit you in december! much love. oh and BTW... NEVER order mildly fancy drinks at a dive bar... aka Yeager... fucking $6.25/shot at the fucking Mint! can you believe it? i ordered three shots before we did karaoke, and it cost me goddam 18.75. insane. i'm still guilt-ridden over it. i mean cmon! just dont order classy stuff at a dive. they charge you big!
mike and i are planning a little hike tomorrow at mt lemmon w/ sierra. mike has never been to mt lemmon so why wait. we really miss you! and i know you wanna come home cuz it's lonely but i know you'll get past it. going abroad solo is totally crazy! remember my first night in hungary i completely cried myself to sleep. anywayz, you will find your groove. it's only just begun. much love. i really love you a lot. xox

Friday, June 19, 2009

my leaving

Today I am sitting here and I feel my leaving. I can feel my leaving, it is coming. I dream of it at night and I think about it all day.
I am also compelled to take on a project. This new clickity clackity shiny keyboard seduces me. I want to make prose and poetry on this keyboard. And then I want it on ink and paper in my hands.
Sudamerica... where are you? Here I come.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

i don't like this summer.

today i am unshakably sad due to
  • current events
  • third world poverty under first world (corporate) exploitation and self-interest
  • sexism and sexualization in mass media
  • my (temporary 'til fall semester) summertime unemployment
  • my dissatisfaction with my current role in the Grrls Project
usually bullet points 1-3 don't get to me, seeing as this is reality and i have to deal, but today i am particularly discouraged. bullet points 4-5 are really weighing me down.

i am also self-conflicted over my gut-feelings to write more, as in, maybe being published somehow someway someday. okay enough.

Monday, June 8, 2009

I AM NOT A SLUT--cut the stigma

Please… turn off all cell phones.
Patients… kindly give the office a 24-hr cancellation notice.
They care about my privacy. My rights
right there.
My motor skills failing me, clipboard in grip. I try to make
them function properly
but they shake as I give the doctors permission to contact
my mother just i n c a s e.
I ‘ m 2 2.
The pen in my hand, some promo for some drug company,
slips in the sweat seeping through the creases
in my palm.
My mind swarming in the cerebral fluid underneath my skull.
My head preparing for the worst case scenario.
6 months ago the pre-cancer cells,
the dysplasia,
was mild.
But six months before that the cells, they weren’t even pre-cancer, just abnormal.
there in my cervix in my vagina.
a year later: where is my body now?
Three things can happen, says the doctor.

stay the same
get better
get worse.
My head preparing for the worst
and I take 3 ibuprofen.
goddam hpv. I even took those vaccinations.

The gyno lubes the lips of my vagina she cranks the cool metal opening my cervix
she flashes a light down there like it’s some kind of live-cave
i smell vinegar and the crank cranks harder she takes the scissors
and I can hear the snip clip clip up through the
inside of my ears
I can feel the sharp ends slicing me on the inside
hot warm liquid juices up in my vagina, spills out--reacting to the trauma, i bend my head back and squeeze my hands into one another
and, behind her medical mask, she asks me what my major is
my muscles cramp against the crank while she swipes cotton along the fleshy cervix
the freshly cut, bleeding tissue
and I say Creative Writing
the blood, it burns me inside out

My mother, she had to find out the first time because they accidentally called her, but according to my charts she wasn’t allowed to know any of my information. I prefer not to tell my mother things. So they didn’t tell her, but said please contact your daughter, her pap came back abnormal.


Dontcha know not to say that sorta thing to a mother? C’mon.
My mom, she was accusatory. How many partners have you had, Brooke?
My mom, she was degrading. Who gave this to you Brooke?
It does n o t matter who gave it to me. It doesn’t matter.
My mom hisses. Like the S-word is about to slide off her tongue I can feel the rage.

She wouldn’t stop asking. Harassing, like it was shocking I must’ve had so much sex with so many people to get this disease. Disgrace.

Her nasally voice, “Gosh, Brooke, you don’t have to be so easy.”
Me, I was ready to stitch her mouth shut.

Over thirty kinds of HPV.
My best friend got the kind that gives you warts.
She was in the gynecologist’s office every two weeks to freeze them off her clit.
The pain, she said, the pain, she cried.
A woman, sitting next to me in the waiting room she cried asked why I was there
maybe she thought she was being friendly
but when I said HPV
she got up and scooted down three chairs from me.
You see,
the nurse wouldn’t even look at me.
And I was gone, away, in another country.
If o n l y I woulda known
that she was gonna be: completely alone.

It figures that men are the carriers
and women are the victims.
Could you even i m a g i n e if men were the victims
and women were the invaders?
The thought almost makes me laugh.
It almost makes me laugh.

I AM NOT A SLUT I want to yell to my mother.
Yeah I’ve fucked women, and men,

Research shows we are not alone.
Over half of sexually-active people get hpv.
That phone call the doctor my pap abnormal.
Not normal.
every pore in my body bloomed, like a flower on fast-forward
sweet sweat,
fingertips tingling up to the teeth,
my heart humming buzzing numbing: abnormal pap.

Why wasn’t I there, with my best friend? To hold her when other women wouldn’t. Take a look around you.
Do you know that 80% of women will have had genital hpv in their lifetime?
Do you know
that I would have rubbed my vagina on that nurse’s face.
We’re supposed to be sisters through this.