Tag Archives: feminism

Gold Man Review, Issue 7

My poem “I Want to Know the Ending,” was recently published in Gold Man Review, a yearly print publication! Whoo hoo!

The publication is available for purchase on Amazon.

There is also a little extra surge of happiness from seeing it in print. It looks great, and working with Gold Man Review, and the editor, has been a pleasure.

So excited to see this year end on such a positive publishing note. Can’t wait for 2018.


Half of All T-Rexes Were Female (design, art)

Half of All T-Rexes Were Female (design, art)

A Facebook friend of mine, a few weeks ago, looked at my T-rex line drawing and said, “I would wear that as a t-shirt if it said, “Half of all t-rexes were female,”” so yesterday and today I’m playing with the idea. I downloaded the Jurassic Park font, threw it on there, and began manipulating in Photoshop. This is a fun concept. In a weird way, I’m not sure what the slogan means exactly, but it seems feminist-empowering. Plus, I realized I had not once thought about a T-rex being female, always assumed malT-Rex Female - Bright Greene. Which do you like better: bright green or dark green?

T-Rex Female - Dark Green


Filed Under: Art
Hidden Girls

Hidden Girls




Our eyes are our eyes, extensions do not lengthen us.
We blush only for ourselves, knowing the forest for every tree,
surrounding foliage, average rainfall, temperature, even in Celsius.

We hide without hiding, unseen and unseemly.
We are hyper-quiet and lost, insecure in others, but found in self,
finding it all too easy to skip time and generations,

We foresee all calamity arising in the afternoon.
We are walking, talking, skin: all-feeling, heavy in the clouds,
gin tears and pillows, week-old bruises from God-knows-what.

Our time is gold and silence is weighted in weeks and whimpers
in whole wails alongside walls, chilled but comforting.
We don’t pretend to understand Ophelia, but we like the way she lies.
We fantasize about living under a tree, playing as shade, covering, yet true.



After a lifetime of being bombarded with female ideals of beauty, certain skin tones, diets, exercise routines, and a culture that encourages hair dyeing and make up, I realized that wasn’t who I was and how I wanted to spend my energy. I didn’t want to spend my emotional resources wanting to be someone else. Seeing so many homogeneously-faceless people, with mannerisms all the same, and their collective lack of originality in how they looked and the way they expressed themselves, I realized that I’m likely not alone. There are other women who are just being women, hidden behind and away from the culture, and that thought makes me immeasurably happy.

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