Nobody ever thinks,
There must be centuries of wreckage inside her head;
buried somewhere, under
all that glitter.”
She is the incarnation of hollow progress.
You continue to downplay
the fuckery she endures
because inertia is a concept you have not yet mastered.
She slips back, because
you believed you’ve moved forward.
Still, others tirelessly reject her
and her ghosts;
call her damaged goods;
Write her off.
She is still contemplating
the purpose of this slow, painful life.
Jena is a poet/artsy person/mad scientist slowly freezing to death in MN. She hasn’t felt up to telling her whole story because she’s not sure she has the proper grasp of intersectionality regarding religion, race, class, adoption, LGBTQ issues, and mental health. Here’s hoping.