ego masturbation mixed with
crisis aversion mixed with
late night whispers of revolution
told to help you get up & go to work
in the morning
i hold all our shit down
do it out of love when really family
is my only calling and
you don’t even know
to offer me
home
the first of many callous lines
scratched into
the ground
let me grow myself
a cold heart
a breathing, beating
indifference
a hurt so pulsating
it propels me into an easier,
(necessary)
goodbye.
as silly as it sounds, every story i write reads as though it should be cradled and crooned by hank williams himself.
ache.
isolation.
longing.
always looking in.
you and me though — & all of us, really— maybe we are a shot at something new… a story not yet written, let alone told
Cripchick is a powerchair-roaring, young queer disabled woman of color. She grew up on an army base in the South for 18 years and continues to live (and love) North Carolina. She has been a disability/crip youth organizer since high school. Cripchick is crushing hard on popular education, radical women of color feminism, and people practicing liberation & interdependence.