A Poem.

I don’t personally believe in god

But I sometimes think I see him in you,

In the ways you sing to the birds

Or treat other people,

And for a brief moment,

I get it.

I get why someone would give their life

To be a tiny bit closer to him

Or know him a little better.


A book review

Honestly, this book was just a little too white-savior-ish for me and I was kind of disappointed in myself for continuing to read it even though there was something off about it.

While I enjoyed the stories of heroism about slaves during the civil rights era, I think the audacity to compare his endeavors in child-trafficking to the likes of Harriet Tubman is entirely tone-deaf and off-putting.

The way he talks about expensive expeditions to other countries and strike teams and complex, high stakes, undercover missions, seems to glamorize these situations and validate having a white-savior complex. Why does he have to coordinate with police in exotic third-world countries along the equator to fight child/sex trafficking? …


A Poem.

for centuries women have fought
tooth and nail to be able to take care
of themselves because it is a privilege.
when you can change your own oil and
fix your own plumbing
you don’t have to worry about
being stuck with a man
who beats you into submission.
women who can change tires
and gouge eyes out don’t waste time
covering bruises with foundation
or hiding dollar bills between pages of books
in hopes that one day they’ll have enough
to change their name in a new town.
no.
not all men are like this.
just enough for me to be afraid.
to clutch my keys between my fingers
whenever i leave my house alone.
enough for me to invest in pepper spray.
i haven’t always known how to take care of myself.


A Poem.

I have forgotten how to be vengeful
how to weave webs of hatred and malice.
I have also forgotten the sound of your voice,
though I don’t think the two are related.


A Poem.

the clouds are thinning,
are you getting nearer?
they say you can’t find
someone to love if you
don’t believe in god,
but i believe in you.
can that please count too?


5/5 Would Recommend to A Stranger in an Alley

I do my best not to read the reviews or synopsis of a book before reading the book itself. For me, judging a book solely on its cover is an act of rebellion. It’s how I contribute to the ongoing revolutions against the society we have created. Lee Miller would have done the same.

I would die for this book. Lee Miller could throw me off a bridge and I would say thank you. Same with Whitney Scharer.

What a beautiful story of love and light and growth and Paris. A tale about a woman who came into herself by realizing that maybe nobody ever knows who they are, and daring to belong solely to herself. A story about a woman who was entirely her own, and accepted nothing less than what she deserved. Who did as she pleased and apologized for nothing.


A Poem.

and here we are again
trying to do the same damn thing
in a slightly different manner
dancing to a slightly different beat
breaking my back to give you space
before bending into place again
every time you say you’re sorry
covering bruises with blush and
too much highlight
singing love songs to mask the pain
ignoring the lipstick stains
around your collar
doing whatever is necessary
to avoid another confrontation
lying to my mother
my sister
my brothers
hearing those three little words
over and over
and over again
until they have lost all meaning

i’m so sorry.

i love you.


A Poem.

I want to write something new
but my body has forgotten how
the words are hiding with
the sun in the spring
the words are hiding
with my mother in
a vat of self-loathing

I want to write something new
but my mind isn’t in the mood
the words are hiding with
my brother in texas
the words are hiding
with my sister in
her boyfriend's bed

I want to write something new
but the feelings begging to come out
would like it to be in
the form of a scream
the words are hiding
with my father at
his very busy job

I want to write something new
but the need to grow up
is hiding in the past with
my twelve-year-old self
the words are hiding
with a sense of naivety
I lost too long ago


A Poem.

He comes and goes as he pleases.
They all do, but him especially.
The goopy man who stretches out
from inside the shadows,
with green skin and that long face.

His pinstripe suit makes him seem all bone
when he has none.

Salacious smiles and gravely voices
make the bugs crawl out of my ears.
He lets them burrow into the grooves of
his slender fingers and
swallows them whole when they’re ripe.

Melting and stretching.
Melting and stretching.
In and out of the walls.
Growing like a tree
from the carpet beside my bed.
i can feel it when he watches me sleep.

Melting and stretching.
Melting and stretching.
In and out of my mind.
Calling all the slimy things
out from within my pores,
before licking them away.
He slurps them up like the jelly they are
and disappears into the dark.

About

Hannah Katelyn

Human

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