I AM – a poem

I am my umbilical cord My mother’s sleepless nights My father’s long drives I am the scent in my mother’s wardrobe The high heels I never fit I am the ingrained institutionalized religion Founded on fear. I am the shame and the guilt The vagina I am the black eyeliner I draw around my eyes

Open Questions

When I began teaching sculpture at BCB in the spring semester of 2015, The Factory was an incredibly raw, open space, with a vibe perhaps closer to a squat’s than to that of a private college arts facility. There was random graffiti covering the walls, the bathrooms had no mirrors or even paper towel dispensers,

Happy Summer Break!

A message from Marga Hattingh, the blog editor: From Pankow to puppets to puppies, poems to podcasts to horoscopes to reflective articles, Die Bärliner has travelled far and wide this last academic year. We’re sad to see you go for the summer… which is why we’ll be sticking around. In your inbox. Probably every week.

Sculpting Memory

Our memories are sculpted through the constant wrestling of forgetfulness and remembrance. Time is given a name and calendarized; we make sense of our past, present, and future as triplet brothers identified under the deceivingly named “I”. This universe of being sometimes talks about the weather twice a day, filling in gaps created by silence.

Rise

Tattoos are forbidden by their god Their god who is them Your body will not enter heaven The body cannot be a canvas Skin cannot be art It has to carry its wounds Visible, scarred, shamed Violated with no chance Of empowerment The bodies are a cradle of shame The inherent female guilt Your yellow

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