I once was a magical child,

With the spark of the sun in my eyes.

Stars fell from my feet as I traveled

And the darkness had nothing to hide.


I walked all alone without terror

And danced by the light of the moon.

The shadows were friendly companions,

Who sang me the loveliest tunes.


But the magic of girls has a power

That incites a furious rage

And as I turned into a woman

My magic was slowly encaged


First they strangle our spirits

And tell us our lives are less-than

They hold up our girlhood as sickly

And demand we submit to a man.


They control our bodies with standards

And laws that limit our choice

They coerce and degrade us with violence

To effectively silence our voice


Because of the magic of girlhood

We cheerfully try to appease

Though these masters are cruel and unbending

And force us like slaves to our knees


Our night selves are strangled by evil

Our shadows look over our heads

And once where our footfalls were magic

Now terror explodes where we tread


But this isn’t the lot of a human

Which women are certainly so

And in our hearts we begin a rebellion

To assert our magical glow


Women are given a burden

And expected to carry the men

Though Savior is not our dominion

And each should account for his sins


We rise like the sun in the morning

Our strength is feral and raw

We fight for control of our bodies

And equal treatment by law


You won’t push us down to the basement

Our existence is vital and real

We’ll dance like nymphets in the moonlight

And joyfully express how we feel


You can’t take the power of women

Or keep us from speaking out loud

Our voices are real and insistent

And we won’t disappear in the crowd

You Are Not A Victim

​If you offer up your testimony in the hopes of making the world a better place, or just because you need to be heard, and someone tells you to “stop playing the victim”, all you need to do is stand tall, take a deep breath, and let loose some serious belly laughter.

Victims haven’t yet escaped their abusers, who still have a men

tal, emotional, and/or physical hold on them. Victims are paralyzed in a situation with no way out. Victims can be controlled. Victimhood is a temporary state, meant to ensure survival. There is nothing shameful about it: the fault and flaw lies with the perpetrator, and no one else.
This doesn’t mean victims are weak: it means that crimes are being or have been perpetrated against them. With time, experience, introspection, and support, healing will take place. After healing takes place, the courage to share and advocate is easier to access. You move from victim to survivor, and you feel righteous anger for what was done to you. You have rejected the shame and guilt and judgement heaped upon you. You are no longer Ophelia struggling against the heavy weights of her petticoats: instead you are a Naiad, full of wisdom and healing.
No, the truth is simple. If you are speaking out against an injustice that has been committed against yourself or others, you’re not a victim in the slightest. You are no longer gullible to their blame and shame tactics. You have found your self-worth and aren’t afraid to show it. You have cobbled together the pieces that were broken, and put them back together with double reinforcement. Just because you’ve been damaged doesn’t mean you can’t be strong.
And that is why they hate you: because you can no longer be controlled or intimidated. Because you know your value as a human being. Because the world they’ve been promised is falling apart and they are terrified.
There is no question that the planet, as well as our society, is changing. Political parties are experiencing death rattles. Movements for progressive equality are spreading. More efficient processes and new knowledge are discovered everyday. And it is becoming more difficult to deny our collective humanity, when we can interact with people just like us from other cultures any time of day.
We are a species on the brink of self-annihilation. Our only hope for long-term survival is to make sure that everyone is taken care of, and everyone is respected. Some people don’t want to share that respect. These people don’t see their brothers, and sisters, as equals. These people think that it’s their right to poison water or put people in debtor’s prison or shoot unarmed black men and not be charged with murder.
Those people don’t like it when we raise our voices, or gather in large crowds, or exercise our right to vote, or when we organize to demand better treatment. So they try to prey on our trauma.
“Stop playing the victim,” they sneer.

“Your entire life is your own fault,” they say.
“You shouldn’t have been poor/colored/ a woman/gay/an addict/so irresponsible” they whisper, even they they have no idea what your life is actually like.
They say these things to plant seeds of doubt in you. They want you to feel shame and complicity in your own abuse. They are trying to trigger a flashback that will shut you up.
You don’t need to be afraid of them- whoever “they” may be: your parents, church, society, men, the rich, or politicians- because the truth is that they’re already afraid of you. They work diligently to silence us and yet we press back- people are taking to the streets, shifting their politics, and organizing all over the world. The ember of rebellion has become a flame, and it cannot be contained so easily.
They try to tell you that you can’t use your voice because you are weak: I’m here to tell you that you must use your voice, because you are strong. Don’t stop telling your story, no matter how jaded and cynical you become. Keep talking no matter how much shame they try to heap upon you. Speak to everyone who will listen, and repay them by listening in return.
But do not let your fire die. Do not let your hunger for justice be sustained with crumbs from the master’s table. Do not gently collapse in resignation, accepting your fate and succumbing to its dreary clutches. We are all in this together, and we can change it if we all work together, too. The best way we can start is to finally hear one another.

Paranoia and Civic Responsibilities

​If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know I was a big Bernie supporter. if this is your first time reading, then Hello! My name is Missy and I was a big Bernie supporter, even serving as a delegate and elected to state representation. (though I couldn’t actually go to state because I was ill the day of.)
Buuuuuuut… I’m getting tired of the fact that I’m legit schizotypal and yet all of the people around me are mad with media-sanctioned paranoia.
Seriously, saying Hillary is as bad as Trump is a completely nonsense, false equivalency. It’s no wonder Millennials believe the conspiracy theories: they’ve heard them for literally their entire lives. But I’ve spent almost 24 years listening to the exact same accusations, which can never be proven and often are outright debunked. It is literally a witch hunt. Major fact-checking outfits have shown that Clinton is the most honest of the candidates. 
Did I want Clinton for President? Not particularly. She’s a neoliberal. She more or less believes in Manifest Destiny, and she won’t do enough to protect the planet or decrease military involvement/budget. She’s more forgiving of the 1% than any people’s President should be. 
But do I believe she’s a malicious, power-mad, career criminal? No. If any of these accusations were true, it would have come out by now. It would have come out in the 90’s. If you actually go back to the very beginning, you can clearly see how these attacks toward her were fueled by sexism and disdain for the way she handled the Lewinsky scandal. 
I think she’s a normal person. I think she’s an accomplished, intelligent person. I believe she does actually care about crafting a better world. And yet, no matter how liberal she is, she is still a product of the time she was born into. She has an allegiance to the free market that a lot of the younger generations don’t identify with.
I do believe that Clinton will fight for an increase in minimum wage, paid family leave, and affordable college. I believe she’ll issue policy that brings us closer to universal healthcare. (And depending on how persistent Democrats/progressives are, perhaps actually achieve it.) I believe she will keep us on the slow track to progress. And I think we can keep her from getting out of hand if we actually vote and make our voices heard in the mid-terms. Seriously, Millennials, don’t drop out now.
Trump will destroy us. He will bankrupt us. He will destroy the lives of million of Americans, and be responsible for mass casualties. He will demoralize and set back the United States by decades. He will widen the gap between the poor and the rich. 
There’s an important decision to be made, and, because of all this unfounded bullshit, we’re on the verge of making the wrong one. It would be so easy to tip us back into the financial ruin we saw in 2008- but this time it would be even worse, because social programs will also be slashed astronomically.
If you study history, and notice patterns, and think about the 2000 Presidential election, you see that we could have been crafting policy to fight climate change 16 years ago. To repeat this mistake is inexcusable. Allowing Trump to win the Presidency is reckless. It will reduce the quality of life for all those protest voters, so it’s illogical, as well.
Like I said: Fucking. Revolt. If you want change that badly. But don’t pretend like you’re exercising any sort of power with a protest vote. You can exercise some amount of control over the world around you, or you can submit to whatever future those around you choose.
I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve given up my right to control my surroundings too many times, and refuse to leave it up to anybody else anymore. I will choose the candidate who can actually win and who will look out for my best interests. I can’t understand the people who see themselves as sacrificial lambs at the cost of women, minorities’, and children’s access to food. That’s not revolutionary: it’s entitled and selfish and cruel.

Journal of a crazy cat lady: Lineage of the Clan: Lucy.

Momma Lucy, Queen of the house… Wife to Sky, mother of Katja, Tangerine, and Blackica.

This cat really helped connect me to the idea of a woman-self. I know that sounds funny, but this cat is pro-choice. We got her as a kitten, and she got pregnant before we could get her spayed. She had a litter of kittens, and when we were next going to have her spayed, our car broke down. And then she had another litter of kittens. And when we were going to have her spayed, our water heater broke. And because we live paycheck to paycheck, this was a continuing thing and she’d had several litters before we got around to it, and it completely destroyed her personality. She was sweet and lovey as a kitten; as an adult, she is aggressive and domineering. 

But I will tell you what, when we finally had the money to get her fixed, she was miserable. She would attack you if you stepped within six inches of her. She would hiss and scratch and bite if you even tried to touch her. She slunk around with her belly to the ground and her ears to her head. And guess what? By the time we took her in, she was pregnant again. They had to do a kitty-abortion. And she never regretted it.

For six months afterward, she was affectionate beyond belief. As a cat, I’m sure she didn’t quite understand what happened, but she knew that somehow *I* helped relieve her of her unwanted pregnancy. Whenever she even looked at me, she would start purring. I woke up many nights to her delightfully wet kitty nose pushing under the sheets, because wanted to cuddle be as CLOSELY as possible. 

Eventually, the love fest tapered off, but she’s much better tempered now than when she was pregnant all the time. And she’s s total matriarch. She rules the other cats (her husband and children), breaking up fights and providing affection and banishing the others when she is tired of them.

So yeah… I know it’s kind of a funny story but, I have six cats and I kind of just observe them and make documentaries about them in my head. I try to figure out their motivations and feelings. Some people get, I dunno, irritated? with me and insinuate it’s some sort of personal weakness or desire for self-destruction that causes me to love my cats so much. But, really, all it is, is that they’re family. They became part of the family, three unintentionally, but once they were here, they were here to stay. Ohana, right? Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind.

I seriously don’t GAF if my mom’s family and random strangers don’t “get” me being a crazy cat lady. But in the same way cats don’t think if us as different from them, I don’t think of them as different from us. We are one colony. We all love each other. We all have personal (and sometimes impersonal) relationships in the world.

And I’d rather stay here in my too-small home for twenty years until they all died than ever going to a place that wouldn’t allow me to have them all.


I want to write the sorrow and

I want to write the rage

But they die within my fingers

And leave an empty page

This madness now has lingered

Ten long and hellish years

The constant self-destruction

Has left me lame and queer

My tears could birth an ocean

If they’d ever fall

But there’s a drought within my spirit

And I never cry at all

And I think that I could fight it

If I could only see

Do I become the madness?

Or does the madness become me?

I tried a long time praying

To a God who wasn’t there

’cause once you’ve known insanity

It’s clear he doesn’t care

We are our own creation

And our own destruction, too

For sanity is fragile

And human dreams are, too

For so long I’ve been fighting

This battle in my brain

The days are full of valor

The nights are full of pain

I ache to quash the darkness

That’s burrowed in my soul

And exit from the shadows

And see my two sides whole

But this war is never-ending

The demons lie in wait

To pull me at the fringes

If I even hesitate

No cure in sight is coming

No prince to save the day

And so I must keep trudging

The rocky, mine-strewn way.


I long to take my sorrows

And write them in the sky

To hang there in remembrance

Of salty sea blue eyes


My trespasses are weighing,

My madness on display

Another victim falling

To my storm of disarray


My heart is beating shallow,

Battered and abused

All of my own doing,

The bleeding and the bruise


Yet surely burns the fire

That flickered on the edge

The slowly dying ember

That pushed me to the ledge


My soul’s a raging tempest,

My ship’s been hurled and tossed

Yet it cuts the waves with wisdom

When it seems that all is lost


So patient in my cabin

Will I navigate my course

And stay the path of passion

And steer with no remorse.