Writing
Welcome to my writing page! Here you can find some of my poetry, monologues, general writings and some Zine's that I put together at the bottom. This is just a taste and I would love to share more!
TW: Topics of death, suicide, parental loss and pain.
"Fibro"
-
Poem
Mud walls
Barbed doors
She hasn't looked at me
in days.
hasn't left bed
in months.
How does one swim across a swamp?
How do you explain to a child that
she is done?
"Never wish death"
but I can't stop myself
I want my mother and she
is static.
I want my mother and no matter how hard
I slam
on the T.V. screen
she is just a whisper
of a woman.
and I, a viewer behind the glass.
From My Zine "The Other 40%"
"I was 13"
-
A Monologue from my solo show "She Shall Be Called Woman"
When I first got here I was thirteen and there was a man who would visit often. He was different from the rest. He looked like the photo in my room. He would bring me fish and bread and apples and yarn. All wrapped in a dense cloth to hide from people knowing. We would spend days together. His eyes would glaze over me just like Jesus. He would hold me. He would hold me so tight. Our limbs would tangle together in extreme angles. I could smell basil on his hands. I think he was a gardener. He would keep basil in his pocket when he visited. It would crush through the hours and by the time he would need to leave my room would smell like Italy. He would tell me about all that was happening above ground. He was mine. My portal out.
[She holds her face, her body. She whispers his name to herself. John. Maybe there is a doll she made of him. A big doll.]
This is John. [She presents the doll] He's a baptist (I know that for certain). He used to come almost every day. Sometimes twice in one visit. When we met I was still thirteen but he didn’t care because love is stronger than numbers. Passion is stronger than age. On his first visit he brought me a ball of wool. And I was so confused; I mean what was I to do with a ball of fluff. No man had ever brought me something so material, so delicate. But with that he changed me. I learned to spin those fibers into yarn. From wood I made a hook and built a world. Nothing can keep me from building the world I want. Clothes, blankets, men. I learned to be useful. He showed me how to be useful.
Beat
After so long, he stopped coming. I can still feel him here. Smell the basil if I take deep enough breaths. When he stopped coming I stopped eating. It was easier to give up food than except that my portal had shut. No man has made me feel like him. I’m not too sure how it played out. But, he was the joy I had and held on to and for some reason I went stupid. Dropped all walls, gates, blocks for him.
[Look at the doll]
For you. I thought I’d be holding you for so many more nights. Smelling sweet basil for endless nights. How did you poison me so deeply? I saw the thorns on your brow and told myself the flowers were soon to bloom. It wasn’t spring yet. -I didn’t feel you stuffing me. I feel dirty. You didn’t like dirty. I want to bleach my skin. Faint from the fumes; retch bile but I’ll be getting clean. Inside and out. So when you come back I’ll be clean how you like it. You always wanted me to be clean. In a pit of dirt you wanted clean. Clean. Clean. Clean.
Skin Deep
-
Poem
Do you love me because of looks?
My eyes?
Hair? Lips?
And what would change
that? Acne?
Bruises? Damage?
I guess my real question is
would you kill me?
No: I mean murder me.
Due to infatuation; no,
I mean skin me and
put on my face.
Would you be me?
You do love me don't you?
From my Zine "A Haunted Love"
The Requiem and Autopsy of a Wild Field Mouse Found in the City
-
Poem
Dropped
by the hand of some small higher power into a field
by a house in New Jersey.
A field of dust and snakes and thick air
the kind of air that is capable of choking the ticks.
A field mouse is dropped into the dirt.
Screaming and swinging with its blind body.
Nothing but stalks of great height to guide it until its eyes open.
-
In the corner of a city apartment screams are heard
our little field mouse
at an age of no impotence
is latched to a glue trap.
Belly pressed hard to the center, foot by its hand,
eyes blinking at yours.
Each grain of hair frayed and splayed out in a fan of
sticky.
The screams are not of horror or help
purely for attention.
Our little field mouse, once dropped into the dirt,
dropped itself into the hands of a new age god.
At an age of no importance
a wild field mouse took its chances at an ending.
Pranced proudly into the mouth of a trap.
But a wild field mouse doesn’t know these new age gods.
There is no brutality in new age gods.
-
Where one searched for solace there is now pain.
Strands of hair ripped pluck by pluck from the plush belly
taking crumbs of flesh with it.
The glue now a river of red and thick
thick like air that chokes the insects.
A foot slowly removed, taking each metatarsal off with its own individual pop.
Cries can not begin to be fathomed.
–
In the corner of a city apartment a wild field mouse is dead.
"I love when the sky is pink"
-
A scene
TUCKER came home with A for winter break. They are sitting on the porch of ABIGAIL’s childhood home in two granny style rocking chairs.
ABIGAIL I love when the sky is pink.
TUCKER Mmhmm.
ABIGAIL Makes me think of when I was little. And you weren’t allowed to go outside because it was raining so hard -
[TUCKER starts singing “Pink + White” by Frank Ocean to themself while ABIGAIL talks]
ABIGAIL - so hard that you’d get pneumonia. So hard you’d somehow be struck by lightning or a tree would fall on you or mom would just be mad cause you were all wet when you could’ve just been dry and safe inside. But once the storm is done the clouds start to melt away. You don’t even realize it, they just go away and you see the sky like it’s the first time. It looks so big and open and the air feels cleaner for some reason -
TUCKER You know I used to live in front of a field?
ABIGAIL Um, no I didn’t actually.
TUCKER Yeah there was this big field behind my house; with a farmer and everything. When the sky was pink I'd go out back, through the back gate and watch the deer. I think the rain would pull up all the seeds the farmer was planting or it would knock down the crops so the deer would eat them.
ABIGAIL Wouldn’t they run away? The deer?
TUCKER …No. I never thought about that actually. I would see them twitch but we would always connect, in a way, I guess. They would turn and look at me. I wouldn’t move. I didn't want to scare them off. But even so I never wanted to get closer. Once our eyes met it was like a spider took her web and tethered us together and if I focused hard enough I could see it. The silk string collecting the last few raindrops falling. Felt like hours. Probably just seconds. Then we’d both have to go home, turn and return before mom got too mad.
ABIGAIL Did you have a favorite?
TUCKER Favorite deer?
ABIGAIL Yeah like…like when you’re at an aquarium and in the big enclosure you pick your favorite. The little yellow one, the shark, the one that looks like Dory from Nemo, ooo the one that looks a little brain dead and it’s just floating so you get a little worried it is dead-
TUCKER Yes. Yes before you get lost in…that, yes. There was one who I thought was a boy. I watched it grow its antlers and lose its velvet. I remember seeing him rub his head on a tree. It was so bloody. His velvet was hanging like butchered lunch meat or an animal just killed and lifeless. Kinda scarring, I can’t lie. I remember crying because I thought he was hurt or he hurt another animal. But after a few weeks he looked magnificent. Like Bambi when he gets older and uses his mommy trauma to get buff and hot.
ABIGAIL You think Bambie is hot?
TUCKER Well I originally thought Bambie was a girl. He had those insane eyelashes, remember? And the funny thing is the deer was a girl.
ABIGAIL Reverse Bambie.
TUCKER Reverse Bambie.
ABIGAIL How did you find out she was a girl?
TUCKER Um…after seeing how big and beautiful she got I wouldn’t shut up about her. Every family dinner, watching TV, any chance I got. “She’s so big’, ‘her antlers are getting so big.” It was like she was my pet. But after a little while I couldn’t find her. I thought she got hit by a car or maybe started a family of her own? I don’t know how fast deer move with that stuff. But one day my dad said there was a gift for me in my room and there she was. Well her head. He um hunted her and mounted her. “You can have her forever now.” That’s how I knew. He told me.
ABIGAIL Why would he do that?
TUCKER I’m not really sure. I could never tell if it was out of spite or if that’s just how he showed me he listened.
ABIGAIL Do you…still have her?
TUCKER No. I buried her a few years later. I couldn’t feel the…the web anymore. Seeing her made me sad. My friend had been killed and mounted for me. For what? Because I couldn’t stop talking about her? Because I couldn’t let a deer live a peaceful life? It was stupid but at the end of the day I wanted her to be at rest. Even though it wasn’t her. Glass eyes and a wood frame and her skin stretched over it all. Just sad.
ABIGAIL I’m sorry.
TUCKER No it’s fine. Just a silly dear. Weird memory.
ABIGAIL I had a beta fish once that committed suicide.
TUCKER Oh.
ABIGAIL Yeah, I still think about him.
Awkward silence
TUCKER Did you ever get another fish?
ABIGAIL No. (Getting choked up) Never had the heart.