The Art of C.H.A.N.G.E. - Writing

A white background with black text reading “fat woman. existence as a fat woman, means that no matter what, the abuse is not harmful. it’s charitable that they’re willing, to see someone so grotesque, so disgusting, as beautiful. desirable. f*ckable. when the rest of you is so unwanted, can’t you at least be happy with this? they were never going to like you, or the rest of your body, but your breasts are big enough, for them to stop and let you know. maybe even take a handful, make sure they’re real. but it’s so fast it’s harmless. you’ve still got your clothes on. and really, who could blame them for, wanting a feel? even when it was more than just once. pinning your arms down. pulling your hair out, form trying to hold your head back. wasn’t it nice to have someone who wants you? what they said, can’t even be considered harassment. right? I mean, your breasts are so big, how can they not mention it? how are they supposed to care, about anything else you do? it’s not like they meant anything bad by it. maybe you’re a little sl*tty though. I mean, you could definitely be wearing something, less tight. higher neckline. completely and absolutely covered, beyond recognition. otherwise how can you be mad, when they say the things they say? when they touch and prod at you like you’re, not even a person? when nobody really cares about what, happened? when nobody takes you seriously? I mean, what did you expect, walking around in that body? you’re lucky they thought you were hot, enough to hurt.”

Anonymous

fat woman.

Poem

A white background with black text reading “Lavender. It is a smell that, suffocates you as you are, backed against the brick wall, with a boy’s hot breath, on your face. He asks why don’t, you want to go to my place, and have a bit of fun? It is just for tonight. No, strings, attached. His cold and clammy hands wander all, over your face, your arms, your hips in, hopes of having access to everything, else for 7 minutes and 30 seconds. Turning your face away to keep, his lips from touching yours, you say no, I don’t want to, You scoff at the thought of you, wanting to impress this boy, in the first place by, putting lavender essential oil, one of your now ex-favorite, smells, on your neck. You think to yourself, what in the world was I thinking? Lavender. It is a feeling that you, experience when you feel like, something is missing from your life, but you do not know what it is. Perhaps, it could be the loss of, your childhood when you start, wanting to be old enough. Enough to drive, have your first kiss, drink a glass of Chardonnay, by the fireplace, or live on your own. You do this until you realize that, you wished most of your teenage, years away. Perhaps, it could be the loss of, your innocence that someone, snatched form you. Lavender.”

Hannah Van Sant

Current Student

Lavender

Poem about lavender and the association with its color and smell.

A white background with text reading “We are lying next to each other, and my friend, my friend, let his hand forget it’s boundary, my friend’s, his hand turns into a vine, that glows, and trails, wherever it pleases, that vine grows thorns, when I try to move it away, the vines seem to grow into my own skin, taking ahold of me, the vines trail under my bra, under my shorts, and then at the same time, the vines are wrapping around my thighs, forcing me to grind on him, they wrap around my stomach, squeezing, around my wrists, pinning me down, around my neck, choking me, and then the vines trail upwards into my mouth, they clog my throat, thorns pin my tongue down. a dark dorm room awaits me again, if I don’t do this myself, one day you will do it instead, I would rather have your vines move my own hands, than have your hands do it to me. I speak, and my voice may have faded into the echo, of all the survivors before me, but the thorns cannot hold my tongue down anymore, I speak, and hopefully others hear me, and their vines wither for just a moment, and they speak too.”

Nicole Lozier

Current Student

The Vines Wither

Poem to accompany the sketch describing the feeling of being groomed, when your hands are controlled by someone else.

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