An ode to bathtubs, ‘PEN15,’ and the women in my life.
While I understood why theft or murder was wrong, this aspect didn’t make sense to me. What did sex and my body have to do with God?
Succubus, siren, gold-digger, temptress: There are so many words for a woman with money in her hands.
Esther, you are a queen not because of your physical perfection, but because of the horror and rage you transformed it into.
Maybe, I thought, I could play Pokémon with my peers and bridge the gap between me and my an all-white classroom. But we lose things in translation.
While Ruth’s words— “where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay”—made for a heart-stilling pseudomarital vow, I was not selfless enough to promise the same.
There is a part of me, even after so many iterations of faith and years of living in an adult body, that is waiting for punishment, waiting to be banished from the Garden.
Hafu carries insinuations of otherness; of not belonging, but being fetishized. How do I carry this name and this history at once?