To your church and to the world, there is nothing more dangerous than a woman wanting.
I am at the nether reaches of my fertility, curious as to what I can still grow. This remains a shock.
My English teacher helped me believe in my writing. She also drew me into an inappropriate relationship.
Patten didn’t undress for fifty days while onboard Neptune’s Car because “the threat of rape had never been far from her mind.”
It was like a disaster movie, the quiet moment before the asteroid lands. “Swim!” he yelled, but it was too late for me.
“How do I teach her letting go, when my hands are still gnarled in the shape of everything I’ve ever lost?”
What the Venus flower basket and a Norwegian bildungsroman can teach us about queer adolescence.
The violence of the moment, conveyed in shades of melancholy purple, is bleak even for a cartoon. But it’s also honest.
“The nurse sucked the last of his water world out of him. And then the cry, a goodbye to that wet planet.”
The contortions that people will undergo to desexualize me, a blind woman, can be overwhelming.