Re//member
A poem about consent, capitalism, and cultural conditioning.
This is a vulnerable moment—I wrote a poem, which is not something I have really ever done. I wanted to share it with all of you, and would love to hear whether this sort of thing resonates. Did the content speak to you? Is it something you’d like to see more of from this newsletter? Reach out and let me know.
Re // member
We sell our bodies to the highest bidder;
taught we can’t take them back
until we get rich
or die.
One way or another,
surrendering to the system.
Not surrender in the sense of allowing,
but rather,
succumbing.
Becoming
what’s convenient;
marketable;
palatable.
Tasty and sweet.
Especially for those socialized feminine,
everywhere, the message,
what our mothers learned from their mothers:
You can’t say no if you want to survive.
Under capitalism,
everyone who doesn’t fit the model learns
that you gotta go along to get along.
Don’t make trouble.
They’ll let you think you’re subverting
if you stay in your lane,
stay small.
In the liminal space where we built our own city
and made our own rules,
I realized how few of my life’s transactions,
interactions, and encounters
had ever been truly consensual.
We need safety to be vulnerable,
so maybe I’ve never really surrendered
in the sense of allowing,
rather than relenting.
I’ve been caught in the story given to women, queers, and gender- and culture-defiers:
To say “no” means I’m bad, I’m dumb, I’m wrong.
I’m going to get in trouble,
I’m going to get found out,
kicked out.
Out of the garden.
Out of my home.
Cast out from the place where plants speak and the serpent awakens us.
Where self-actualization
is rejection of safety,
shelter,
survival.
It hit me this morning, as I saw myself entangled
with the woman,
our naked forms encircled by the serpent.
All of us, denied by the father’s watchful eye.
instructed by another,
a mother.
But not The Mother,
the Madre,
keeper of the kundalini.
Not the Divine Queer,
the center, the core,
the Aether.
She/they
who wants us to know
that we can
always
say no.
And saying yes is
never
forever.
Consent can be
with//drawn
at ANY
time.
Safe in the dark,
I stomped on the floor
and screamed from the bottom of my soul
for every time I “had” to let them have it.
For every time I couldn’t tell a her
how I felt.
For fear I would be bad,
wrong,
and get kicked out.
Out of the garden.
Out of my father and mother’s house.
Consent you can’t take back
isn’t allowing at all.
In the liminal space, I learned what “no” looked like,
how it vibrated in my chest
and felt in my mouth,
realizing I was feeling this
for the very first time.
So I tore off the fig leaves of original shame
and let the earth have them
as the sun shone over
every
single
part
of
me.
And then I let the Mother
take me in her arms
and I re//membered
that I
was
// born
free.