I have been called a writer as long as I can remember. In my mind, if anyone who reads is a reader, then anyone who writes is a writer. I am typing, thus I am writing, thus I am a writer.
When I was 11, I wrote a 5-7-5 haiku which was put in an anthology of children’s poetry. It was the first poem I wrote, and the only I would write until I was 17.
A few weeks prior to the start of my senior year of high school, I was sexually assaulted by my first cousin. Before I told a single person, I told poems.
The trauma of my life necessitated a get-it-the-fuck-out-of-me poetics. My body and my mind needed a catharsis, so I joined the long parade of womxn who have used poetry to speak their truth to their world’s power. Most of my poems could be classified as acts of speech, but to me they function as microscopic theratupic outlets to banish the neurotypical neuroses which plague me. Poetry is a friend I call upon when my consciousness cannot take any more steps; it is a way of thought which I have created and superimposed upon my own life, as a replacement for the strict religious doctrine under which I was raised. To me, poems are scripture. They are communion with the collective, even when they are written alone and read by no one. They are parts of myself I have committed to paper, they are moments of my mind which I feel the urge to dwell on, remember, or exculpate from myself.
The poems in this collection are moments of my mind in which I vocalize what it is, and what it has been for me to exist in a woman’s body. In many ways, this is my poetics now: that of a woman’s body.
May 1 2019