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1

fuck you

The personal is political. It has always been so. Woman, do not let go of your core because oh, they will try and take it from you. They will grab at every fiber of you, try to tear you until you are complacent. They will tell you that you are too emotional
too angry
too volatile.

i stopped knowing when to spit
and when to swallow

so my fire eating career came to an end
so I

spit spit spit
I will no longer swallow and
self care is an act
of relationship warfare.



2
jealousy

dark skin is so lovely, to me. so is your hair.

I remember us sitting in the bathroom of a party
"you're so pretty" we would say,
in our heads or maybe aloud but either way,
'you're so pretty" we say -

you're so/I'm afraid that you are     pretty/ier than me

make up is exchanged.

you are my sister
I am so sorry that pretty has gotten in the way of that.



3
sad

your best friend asks how are you. we both know how i am. you give all the words you have and i try and grasp onto them with everything i have, try to take them and build a cushion around me, try to make something I can just rest my heart on for a minute, but the pass on by and

I just have to ride this out.

I don't think that I've ever been as heavy as I am right now.

Saying that statement a few years ago would probably have made me curl up into a ball and sent me into a tailspin of self hate.  I would have probably worked out and restricted my food or just give up eating altogether.  I probably would have done whatever it took so that I wasn't "as heavy as I am right now." 

I think I might have been this heavy at one point in high school, but I remember hooking up with a guy and he said something along the lines of "I like a girl with extra meat on her bones" and then it was just a downward spiral of thigh pinching and salads, and more importantly sadness until I wasn't a girl with "extra meat on her bones."  Who wants to be a girl with extra meat on her bones? I didn't.

It isn't until years later, as I'm almost graduating college that I can remove myself enough from that situation to say what do you mean "extra"?  More than what? He knew nothing about the weight I am healthiest at, and therefore nothing about what is or is not extra meat on my bones.

Me around 110 lbs

See I have a pretty curvy frame. Even at my thinnest weight of around 109-113 pounds (which I had pretty much starved myself to get to) I had a butt and I had C cup breasts.  I also have always had thick legs, no matter my weight.  The thick legs part is something that has literally taken me years to come to terms with.  Up until a year ago wearing shorts in the summer was equated to an existential crisis.  I'm not exaggerating.

So when I put on weight last summer after going on birth control, I started to retain water.  I was riddled with anxiety, wondering how my already curvy frame could handle the weight.  I crippled under the extra pounds that I felt on my body.  I had panic attacks if I couldn't work out every day.  I began to resign from my boyfriend, I burst into tears at various times probably from low blood sugar.  I didn't lose too much weight, I fluctuated due to water retention.  Not that it matters because I did lose my sanity, and my boyfriend, for the record.

Clearly I have had disordered eating habits throughout my lifetime, I know plenty of women in this country can relate to that.



To simplify things, my boyfriend and I broke up for a bunch of reasons including my insecurity.  When we broke up I hit rock bottom.  See he represented so much more than a boyfriend to me, he was my validation.

I managed to scratch and claw and fight to get myself out of the hole of depression I had entered.  I started to really address how my body was impacting my identity, and it was a long process.  After that experience I vowed that the number of pounds I weighed would never again quantify the amount of worth I held to myself, or to the world.

It has not been easy getting here, but I am the most secure I have ever been in my life. I am not happy all of the time, but I do not endure that type of self hatred that fluctuated with my weight.

So today, I am probably the heaviest that  I have ever been.
I am also the happiest.

I put on weight this summer although I was regularly working out and running around 3-5 miles a few times a week,  because I turned 21 and started working at a bar.  I was drinking a lot and not counting my calories (gasp!) and guess what I had a fuck load of fun.  I stopped caring about people calling me "curvy" or "full figured" or whatever other words would have previously sent me into a tail spin.

I gained 15 pounds, and I also gained a sense of myself. And I am not ready to shed the pounds until I know my self esteem will stay intact at any weight. 

Being able to hold extra weight on my frame and also hold my confidence is something that means the world to me.  It is an accomplishment that a few years ago would have been seen as a failure.  While it is something that most people in this society probably don't understand, it is something that has given me more self assurance than any amount of compliments or weight loss could have done a few years back.  It isn't entirely easy, either.

There are times that I want to give in to the monster. That I want to stop eating or start smoking again and do all of those things that I thought were pretty and alluring because I equated them with being thin, with becoming smaller, with disappearing.  I would be lying if I didn't say that at times that nasty little voice in my head pops up again, telling me I'm too fat, telling me I'm not worthy until I lose weight.  It's there, and it's real and it's probably not going to go away. But I'm not going to give in to it.

See we are so positively reinforced for these habits that slowly tear at our souls, that tell us that we are not worthy of love because of an abundance of flesh.  Because when we lose weight we are heroes and when we gain weight we should be ashamed.

But I am not ashamed.  Or at least I am fighting everyday not to be ashamed, and sometimes the fight is against myself.

Sometimes, I look back on the pictures of myself where I look really thin, and I think back to the day that I took the picture.

This was Halloween of 2010. Halloween posed a lot of self doubt for me. I wanted my boyfriend to think I looked better than everyone else. I hadn't eaten for two days before I took this. I also looked at myself in the mirror ever 5 minutes to make sure I looked okay.  I don't remember having fun that night, but I remember the pang of self doubt I felt every time I saw a girl skinnier than me.

I was pretty skinny here.  I was also partying a lot and was really sad over my boyfriend and I breaking up during that summer. I was drinking often, and smoking cigarettes.  I don't remember much about anything else over that summer except that I was skinny and I was sad about my boyfriend leaving me.  Two things that I today I would probably not rate very high on my list of priorities, especially considering I don't have a boyfriend.





So while I looked fairly skinny and happy in all those pictures, when I really think back to those nights  my main memory is self doubt, self doubt and how much I weighed.  I got sort of tired of measuring my life in those terms, of measuring my self in those terms. These days I spend my time worrying about more important shit.  For example, my job or my activism, or I don't know, my school work.  I have gained weight, but I have shed my dependency on both men and on being thin.

I was going to upload some more recent pictures to prove to you all that I'm still attractive even though I'm heavier but I'm not going to do that.  But what I can promise you is that when I look at pictures these days I look at them and I smile.  I think about the people I was with and the memories I have created.  I don't think about my weight.

This is not to shame girls who are dieting or want to lose weight, or struggling with their body.  This was only my path, and it is not everyone's path.  But for me, accepting my weight was what it took to find myself.

Because I am starting to work out again I will probably lose weight, but it will be on my terms and it won't be because some voice is nagging in my head telling me that I am not good enough, that I am not beautiful.  I refuse to rate myself as if my worth is somehow inversely related to the number on a scale.  I will start running again because I like the endorphins and it relieves stress. I will NOT allow my work out to be extended by self hating mantras.  I will love my body, no matter its abundance.


I vow that I will never again lose myself to a desire to lose weight.

Shooting in Newtown, CT

There’s this feeling I get from holding a camera for most of my life. This feeling that tells me, in this sort of quiet but persistent way that I am responsible for capturing the moments I am experiencing. It starts with the desire to get into Journalism, then festers in the urge to illuminate and to educate the public. The feeling grows with an understanding of government and the relation between reporting and democracy in America. It is pure in its development, organic in its existence. Yet somehow, being here in Newtown, CT after the shooting that claimed the lives of 20 children, 6 adults and the gunman makes me feel like I might be on the wrong side of things with a camera attached to my hand. 

While I watched people kneel at the base of a memorial comprised of teddy bears, candles and balloons my mind told me to pull up my camera, my heart told me not to, my stomach crumbled with the tension of the two and stayed in knots.While I ultimately feel that the media coverage in times of tragedy is vital to our country, there is no denying that it is deeply disconcerting witnessing a plethora of cameramen in the face of a town that is mourning the loss of 20 children under the age of ten years old. There is something unnerving that exists in the juxtaposition of wires, satellites and sound checks with memorials filled with teddy bears, legos and balloons. It would be easy for me to look at the camera person with animosity, to state that they are exploiting the overwhelming pain of a broken town. But I know the feeling, I know it all too well. It is the feeling that makes me want to jump in front of someone to get a shot of a woman weeping at the feet of a teddy bear as she mourns the loss of a small child to a crazed shooter. It tells me I need to capture this moment, it does not think about her need to have the moment organically without my intrusion. It itches down my skin and through my fingers, and it does not go away even if I leave my camera at home.

What you have to understand is that we are here to do a job, a job that our heart and souls believe in. We do it because we have faith in the concept of Journalism to ignite change and create positivity. But in a world where the media is faltering in its ethics, while being saturated in sensationalism I fear that I am a part of the problem, not the solution.

See, I am trained to get the shot. Journalism is an industry based only on product, based on getting the damn shot. It is within the robotic nature of news coverage that humanity seems to be lost. There is a disconnect that occurs when the person in front of me moves from a human being I see with my eyes, to an object of focus for the frame of my camera. I can provide coverage in the most respectful and dignified way possible, but that disconnect will always exist. I cannot deny that, no matter how much I would like to.

As I watch a woman from channel 4 news sweetly ask a family for an interview, as I see her bend down to direct her questions to the little girl I wonder why we are so inclined to highlight young children as if the nature of the event doesn’t instigate enough sadness within itself. As if 27 dead people, the majority of whom are under 10 years old isn’t enough of a headliner for news conglomerates, we decide to include the image of a crying child. 

I spent some time talking to people about their feelings on the overwhelming amount of media that is pouring into this little town, overtaking its streets, businesses and buildings. I spoke to a man who I met as he was holding his son’s hand and sweetly telling him he could go up and look at the memorial closer if he wanted to. His son is eight years old and goes to the school where the surviving children from Sandy Hook elementary school will be attending for the upcoming weeks. He told me he was okay with the media being there, that people just needed someone to talk to. He expressed his anxiety for how the town would cope once everyone left, once it was again just the town by itself attempting to pick up the pieces in the wake of the tragedy.
It makes me feel better that my presence is possibly less intrusive than I initially thought. But the amount of people that have shied away from my questions, or who have tearfully pushed passed camera crews keeps my skepticism in tact. As Journalists, what are we actually doing for the people of this town aside from invading their space? Are we providing false hope to the people of the town? Are we actually supporting, or simply using these people in their very personal moments of grief?
On the local level of media ethics I suggest the following steps could be taken. We should not be interviewing children, we should not be shoving our cameras in the faces of weeping people and we should not try and coerce people into talking when they say that they don’t want to talk to us. Aside from the fact that it is intrusive it does not provide the country with beneficial information. While seeing a little girl cry over gunshots clearly communicates the tone of sadness in the town, it is simply not Journalism. It is an over indulgence in the pain of this community without tact or discretion, and it sums up the state of media today.
It would be easy to sum this up by saying that the people working in news need to act more delicately, or that they are simply unethical. But the issue is much larger. The issue exists in the fact that as a Journalist I am trained to jump at the sight of someone’s very personal pain in the name of democracy and Journalism, when it is really in the name of selling a product.
What it comes down to is my belief in the following statement: if you want to see changes in media, become a part of the media. But my heart will forever be torn as my head wins in the battle to make me pick up my camera and shoot. Until the field I pour my heart into revitalizes its ethics, the knots in my stomach will stay in tact.

SCREAM against gender violence

This weekend I shot a promo shoot for the upcoming SCREAM against gender violence event.  The premise was this, come in and pick a fact that sticks out to you.  Let me film your mouth taped with it and then film you ripping it off and screaming. 

My Body

First there is little girl flesh

his hard hand beside a barely there breast. First

pain in my chest. First

day of health class. First no sir I'll pass.

First, face slap a dude grabbin ass. My Body.

Choose between alone with him,

or alone with you because My Body

became a secret everyone knew

and I didn't

choose.

My Body, warm open soul flesh wild out of control yes. No,

cold hard soul no means;

I told you so

like hand holds to growing toes,

like abstinence to abortion clinics

like whether to give life

or to have my own to, let it be full grown

but this body is not my own.

Choice like-

what kind of shirt I wear, what time of day to fear

to be a virgin or a whore

to be scared or to not fucking care anymore. My Body

from my

sexy thick thighs to my

sometimes green eyes

my stomach that isn't always small enough

a maybe too large bust

my skin pale with pores and holes

that creep into my soul.  My Body

is not your toy or battleground.

My Choice

does not require finding common ground,

like what happens between us

what I grow in my uterus,

to be home or in the economy,

like when you fucking touch me. My body.

You teach me it is not my own,

but the marks you leave are mine to bear alone.

So until no, means no

and not "I told you so"s or questions of clothes

or what kind of shirt she chose,

this choice is mine alone,
because this body is here to hold My Soul.

I love Apples, Applesauce, and Apple pie

If Adam asked me, to please come take a bite

I don’t think I would  much mind 

I think I would sink my teeth in that juicy apple flesh

and enjoy the nectar running down my face

what I don’t think is that, I would have done it

without a thirst for answers knowledge and power

and the repercussions of my Father, 

could fall freely around me and into my arms

see, when the snake of my God chose to be

wrapped around my tongue, 

when he sunk his venom into my veins

I don’t think I paid much mind, 

I just wanted a place amongst the vines

I welcome evil, I would swallow it whole

swallow it deep into my underbelly

to heavens, to hell, and I am in between

I do not mind being here,

even though you assume I have plagued myself

I find your heaven less valuable than that apple bite

that tainted sweet snake to the mouth fright

 there is value in experience, and beauty in pain

call the bite sin but I call it the nature that

courses inside of my very human insides

that You created

Adam can cower and pretend,

I find that natural of him

throw your sin onto me,  for I am Eve-il

tell me I have cursed your kind, 

battered and beaten and filled with sin

we are Impure at Birth, we are Impure on Earth

but I chose to be tainted, I sunk my teeth deep 

and then deeper in, swallowed whole your 

blame hate and your prejudice

but I did it to quench my insane thirst

for answers knowledge and power

Adam, what did you do? but take it from my hand

without thought or question

not out of bravery but out of pure lack of anything

and then cower when our Father frowned

I sew your blame into my skin and wear it proud

and I will lay in the vines with snakes entwined

with sin in my skin and red juicy flesh in my teeth 

I am smart, I am powerful, and I know, I am Eve-il,

 I am you, I am human, and I am beautiful

11 things

11 things i meant by texts that read “i miss you”

1

I have never wanted to be held

for fear of gravity multiplying without your strength

but I find you standing not above or ahead, but beside

with your hand placed quiet on the secret part of my spine

in case my legs stutter

or the ground tries to break my stride

2

I think sometimes, of us

but only when my heart cooks brain

and the world exhales in full stomach sleep

3

We are not a match
it’s just that your colors complement mine

4

You put smiles on my face

not just big loud kinds but sly lip curves

I wanted to tell you it’s okay if you’re not ready for words

maybe only silence has enough room for us to live in

and because your quiet touches are the best

5

I respect your being

even if it does not involve being near mine.

But I’d rather us be in the same place at the same time,

if that works for you too.

6

your fingers don’t just move but dance
sometimes when I see what your hands are capable of

I feel lucky for what you’ve created in my chest

7

I wanted you to know that I love your skin
not because your tone gives mine depth- and it does

but because your pigment

was mixed from strong calm pride and

closed off pores

to hide your insides from closed minds

8

I hope you know I’d hold your weight as my own

or just acknowledge that it’s never been mine to hold

9

I don’t mind if you change my name in your phone

as long as you let me in your nooks

so I can think you kept them soft just for me

10

I wonder sometimes, if the moon ever wanted the sun

that her dark beams don’t long for some light

and the sun just wants some time to cool off in her night.

11

I know that we are worlds apart