spring list

. red lips

. D

. showers

. tuesdays

. space

. evolution

. 90's bangs

cherokee summer skin

i am of an indistinguishable race.

i don't know what i am and often

don't know what i should be.

am i white? do i look it?

i have large, almond eyes and

flat eyelids. i have black, shiny

hair and large breasts that i hide

in an otherwise uncurvy figure.

am i hispanic? only according to

certain forms.

i don't look like a white girl.

it is most common for people

to assume i am half asian and

half mexican.

of which i am niether.

people have guessed romanian,

japanese, french, brazilian,

you name it someone has

labeled me as it and rarely do

they guess what i really am.

who i really am.

i am irish.

my irish grandmother

jean aloa o'scanlon taught

me how to boil cabbage and brew

spicy mustard for saint patrick.

she taught me how to fold my

hands in prayer like a good

catholic girl.

i am spanish.

my great-grandmother bonita

of spain, a black-haired, pale faced

beauty. a tender nurse in a white

dress. her pictures say i have her

eyes and her smile and i know

our laughs sound the same.

i am cherokee.

my cousin bobby has hair to his

chest, wrinkled dark skin and shows

me the smooth and sharp edges of

arrowheads he digs up from the earth.

his arms prove of his labor in the sun.

i am them and they are me and give me

dark, shiny hair and asian-like eyes

and fair skin that turns to copper in july.

i am proud to be these things and yet

why can't anyone see them?

i am proud to be these things and yet

why do i always seem to desire to

be "more white?"

why do i want to have light brown hair

and deeper set hazel eyes? why do i

want a thinner waist, a chiseled face

and sunken in cheeks? a long neck?

all the thing i scrutinize my body for

are ways for me to look more white.

they are ways to strip myself of my

heritage and my being, my identity.

my identity which i let people take

away from me. my identity which

i cover up in hair dye and eyeliner

and eyelash curlers and face

contouring bronzer.

but when i see pictures of my mother

and grandmothers, i smile, showing my

big cherry tomato cheeks. i proudly show

off my very spanish eyes that are so unique

no other white girl has them. i radiate my

cherokee summer skin. i let my dark dark

hair blow in the wind and decide that being

mislabeled is not a crime, i am a mystery.

i will enjoy the false guesses and feel kindred

to my japanese sisters. i will only dye my hair

because it feels summery, i will curl my eyelashes

just to be flirty. i will fold my hands in prayer,

just like my grandmother taught me. i will

remember my own and embrace everyone else

and know that pretty comes in more colors than

white.

rivers know this: there is no hurry. we shall get there someday

(i've been thinking about pooh bear lately)

maybe they're sorry now

gettin' in debates lately,

wonderin' if i'm a mean

person but then i thought,

no, jamie, whoa, jamie,

you're speakin' up, and i

patted myself on the back,

and smiled a little and

said "this is a good thing"

i was once so quiet so

non-spoken and i always

bein' told all the time

that i have powerful

words and words are

powerful. so all these years

i've been quiet, i've been

learnin' readin' learnin'

always writin' never speakin'

and now it's time to say

"hey" and i speak up

about things like

immigration and gay rights

and feminism and what is

it to be woman? and what is

it to be a man? and what

do i want? and yes, i'm

going to do what i want.

and i'm not going to do what

i don't want. i'm going to read

novels by tom robbins and

not be afraid to disagree

with people and not let people

tell me i need to calm down..

these were the same people

who told me to speak up,

maybe they're sorry now.

i will own my emotions and

validate them, let them

help me, let them help others.

trust my intuition and use my

words to educate, inform and

build up. we have so much

building up to do.

on love & other difficulties

"i tell you i have a long way to go before i am - where one begins...

you are so young, so before all beginning, and i want to beg you, as much as i can, to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. and the point is, to live everything. live the questions now. perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

resolve to be always beginning - to be a beginner!"

rainer maria rilke, rilke on love and other difficulties

braver than you believe

"if ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart, i'll always be with you."

-winnie the pooh

blank pages

i just bought a new journal.

there is something renewing

about beginning a new page

in a new book and placing the

old one on the shelf. it's

something of self passed away,

but not gone; and a new thing

about to happen. all those

blank pages. they look towards

the near future, where i've been

living these days. lingering thoughts

that hang above my nose of moving

to a new city, not far from where i

am now. of vocation and it's inherent

struggles and passions. of love and

it's growth. i'm trying not to think

of numbers. ages, dollars, calories,

area codes, years, friends, books, debts.

i'm trying to stay active in the

pursuits of things i want, but not

think too much. i'm trying to give and

receive on an equal playing field

and remember that worry is my worst

enemy. i'm trying to remember that

encouraging words can go a long way

and that maybe, the best recipient of

those words, is myself.

womanifesto

a blog i recommend.

cigarette barbies.

barbie town.

street and hum

the crickets are out humming and

burning the question of spring.

drive by noises, cars and the rattle

of the man hole cover; mariachi

porch light, urban renewal.

i'm looking at the crimson undersides

of rose bush leaves, the dead spider

underneath. i think - 'this is los

angeles' and los angeles i will come

to be and come to know. in my red

ink journal and christmas light

pillars, hanging paper butterflies and

wicker chairs, lampposts and shady

neighbors. i'm wearin' a flowery

dress i've worn for three days straight

and hair hittin' my neck flipping out

awkwardly and pinned back bangs.

three bracelets, one exuding pride

and one with my namesake. the

tequila of the evening hurts my

tummy, heals my head, i breathe in

calmly and deeply the night air of

march fifteenth. purse my lips,

crinkle my nose, waiting for those

to come home. stare at the brass '32'

nailed on the apartment door across

the street and hum.

make smacking sounds with tongue

and my teeth and once again, breathe.

believe that one love will bring us

back together again. and maybe in

heaven and maybe now. the dirt

underneath my fingernails. and nothing

worthy of redeeming me except the life

i lead and the wonderful, brave idea of

choice, oh of choice..and the wispy curl

by her eye makes me realize, yes yes.

yes, i do, yes.

rita

there is nowhere to sit in borders and my bum hurts on this stool. i look at shelves and shelves of books and i'm jealous these people found the time to write and one day met an agent and then a publisher and they met someone who said "yes." and i hope these authors are taking care of their families with their book. if they are an honest and vibrant and worthy author. not russell brand, who has one called booky wook. i would like to like my job. i'm always unhappy. i would like some flexibility and holidays and benefits and joy. i would like my mfa please. i want to learn, teach, grow, create. i want european sabbaticals and book writing. i want a hot sub-saharan summer. i want a home in portugal and flights to new york for music and taking the kids to shows and shopping and central park and serendipity. a little girl with a french accent tellin' me stories. visiting spain and practicing spanish with friends. people like sabrina make me sad and hopeful and melancholy and brave. shawn says things are looking up. i hope they are. i hope they are.

spilling open

"today we were sitting watching a video on mtv and he said she is all woman. my whole body was overcome with the ache of inadequacy. i kept thinking silently i'm not this tall, breathy, curvy, breasty, singer, woman, beauty. i shouldn't do this to myself. i don't have time in this life. i should not be filled with this type of judging of my body. this is the only body i have and it takes me on amazing adventures and i can't leave it. i can't abandon the only thing i can truly take care of."

-sabrina ward harrison

new contributions

i am now a contributor to the feminist blog Lipstick & Ovaries. please have a look! it should be a great place for discussion and great articles both scholarly and empowering. enjoy.

diana

ajar

every day feels so different from the next.

solidarity

i refuse to believe that because i didn't get a business, a graphic design or an accounting degree that i am a failure. i refuse to believe that wanting to be an actor or a writer or a teacher or an illustrator is irresponsible. i refuse to be working in customer service for the rest of my life. i refuse to only be judged by my looks because i am a woman. i refuse to believe that education is powerless, that career is everything, that monthly payments and credit are the sole items for my character to be criticized against. i refuse to believe that there isn't power in words, that america is the only good country. i refuse to believe that travel is frivolous and unnecessary and impossible. i refuse to take on the psychological problems of my family, i will break free of them. i refuse to believe that gay is a sin. i refuse to give into the confines of our patriarchal society and our dysfunctional nuclear families. i refuse to believe that more is more, unless it means how many people live in your house. i refuse to believe that i have not accomplished much, that i am small or that i don't know what it is to be an adult. i refuse to believe that growing up is the only way forward. i refuse to have my checking account statement be the only subject upon which my mother and i converse. i refuse to let my father's name be forgotten. i refuse to let my brother feel unwanted or incapable or the un-favorite. i refuse to believe that community homes can't happen, that hospitality can't be practiced without fear of theft, that small steps don't mean big things in the life of a poor kid. i refuse to believe that the things you want can't be earned, that life is always hard. i refuse to not be in solidarity with my sisters. i categorically refuse.

because i am strong and brave and gentle and i will not have a mere stick where my backbone should be, i will not be easily influenced by the foolish mouths of others. i will not let the people closest to me be the ones who claw and feast upon my crumbling ambitions. obstacles make you more of a success, trials straighten your backbone and love, love i swear, will conquer all.

mary ellen

the shape of

the golden gate

the shape

of

her hips

down

and round

the shape of

his face

triangular

and

peaceful

full of life

the shape

of

things to come

and things

shaping

up

the shape of

my hair

changing

the shape

of

my sort-of

almond eyes

and trying

not

to try to be more

white

the shape of

the white girl's

arm and

neck

my scanlon body

all warm and

wrapped

for your shape

the shape

of things