Goyohany - Gouo

Frustration / longing / love

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

To be loved is to be known; to be seen.

Excerpts Sources:

Is it okay to say this? - Trista Masteer // Blasted - Sarah Kane // Reassurances to Hades - Kristina Haynes // The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - T.J. Reid // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille //"The Last Poem in the Book," These Days (Alfred A. Knopf, 1989); Over and over again - Frederick Seidel // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille // Adult Children of Emotionaly Immature Parents - Lindsay C. Gibson // She Satisfies A Fear with the Rhetoric of Tears - Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz // My Life Is Pathetic! - Heather Havrilesky

“i looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.”

— jonathan safran foer, extremely loud & incredibly close

Wow…

Breakfast 🔪

i look at you and i don’t want to admit that what we were has died somewhere, in between missed messages and long pauses and brief kisses. i want to go back to where we were happy and honeymooning, our fingers always so in awe of each other’s bodies, our mouths hungry, endlessly searching for ways to make the other person happy. i hate knowing it all adds up to nothing. that we can be in love but in the end we’re two people who are walking towards different highways. i tell you i think we’re crumbling but we both avert our eyes. it’s not polite to stare at tragedy. i kiss you and keep a countdown and know you’re here but you’re already leaving.

My Heart…

come home to me. you’ve been gone lately, and i don’t mean physically. some part of you is out in a worse place than i can pronounce. i see how it sucks the life out from under you, how your bone marrow hurts, how tired you are no matter the hour. i want to hold you until you feel warm again but i understand you need your space while this is happening. i can see you pushing me away. i wish you wouldn’t but i know what it’s like to set things on fire just for the chance that you catch too. you’re still who i love. i’m waiting for you.