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The masks I bought for teaching in covid....and the debate I had over whether some were safe to wear on campus.

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Being incredibly contentious of what I wear outside of class because I will likely run into my students on campus and I wear a ton of booty shorts and tank tops, so it impacts how I show up as a student.

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Being incredibly contentious of what I wear outside of class because I will likely run into my students on campus and I wear a ton of booty shorts and tank tops, so it impacts how I show up as a student.

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https://poets.org/poem/tomboy?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poem-a-Day%20%20September%2028%202019&utm_content=Poem-a-Day%20%20September%2028%202019%20CID_d0b8bdc9f548ee799da54ce1982c8df4&utm_source=Email%20from%20Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=Read%20and%20listen

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Working in a classroom where the seats were so tightly placed I could either choose to be covered in chalk from the blackboard or to be perceived as inappropriate by my students....also there was no hvac. 

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Working in a classroom where the seats were so tightly placed I could either choose to be covered in chalk from the blackboard or to be perceived as inappropriate by my students....also there was no hvac. 

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on a campus with 40,000 different people it’s not as easy to get away from yourself as you would think

to escape as you would think

i don’t even have a place to cry… or think

i don’t want to wake up my roommate while she’s asleep

so i go to a small room with 4 walls, two chairs, a lamp, and i sit

and even when I’m in the room it feels empty

i guess I’m hollow

i don’t dance because there is no rhythm to my heart beat

just anxiety

or nothing

No in-between

No comfort in isolation or solidarity

What the fuck am i supposed to do

I talk to my self in the shower so everyone or no one can hear me

Is this  cry for help?

Or is this poetry

Is there a difference?

Recently I’ve found that when I speak,

I immediately look at back on what I said and realize i don’t actually believe myself

I wish my words still meant something to me

I wish my words still meant something to me

I am hurting but I pretend like I have no feeling

I’ve always been afraid of vulnerability even though I expect it from other people

I guess I trick myself into believing that I am who I tell others to be

That I am not like you

Goddamn

This is why I don’t like writing

I don’t believe myself

I’ve gained insecurities

I used to be so confident

but on a campus with 40,000 people it’s not as easy to get away from yourself as you would think

to escape as you would think

i don’t even have a place to cry… or think

i don’t want to wake up my roommate while she’s asleep

so i go to a small room with 4 walls, two chairs, a lamp, and i sit

and even when I’m in the room
it feels empty

April 6th, 2019