how not to be ashamed of who you used to be

a note about old projects + your weekly poem/song

cw: in this post, i include a poem from my first collection, paper girl and the knives that made her, which includes very direct/explicit references to SA.

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i preach a lot about how i never regret any of my tattoos because i view them as reminders of who i used to be. the bluebonnet on my arm is a message from 23-year-old ari, who wanted to remember the wildflowers that grow in her home state. the ivy on my left pointer finger is a “sorry” from 19-year-old ari, who accidentally sliced her finger open when sharpening her eyeliner (long story) and wanted a tattoo to cover the scar.

i’m not sure why it’s easier for me to feel comfortable with my tattoos — something that’s visible to quite literally everyone — and yet, i feel a deep insecurity about my old writing. when people ask about my books, i find myself saying, “Don’t buy my first collection,” or “Just know, I’m a very different writer than I used to be.”

i’m trying to kick that habit by using the same logic as my no-tattoo-regrets perspective: the words that i wrote at 18 and 22 and 24 and 26 are words that those versions of myself needed to hear.

so, to put this into practice, i hope to share more of the work that i feel an impulse to hide.

the poem below was from my first collection, paper girl and the knives that made her. most of the poems in this collection were written between the ages of 18 to 23, and many of them — this one included — were originally poems that i performed at poetry slam.

this poem was the first poem i wrote about my sexual assault and the first time i’d ever shared the story aloud. at the time, it was the hardest thing i’d ever done, but i am so proud of myself for doing it. i was nervous about immortalizing it in paper girl, but i received so many messages from people who appreciated the poem, citing that it was the first time they truly felt seen in their experience.

so, this poem is from 22-year-old me, who wrote an about something that 18-year-old me experienced. i don’t want to be ashamed of her story or how i told it. thank you for the space to share it here.

magic

i’ve been on antidepressants since i was 15 and to me
pills work like magic tricks
in a count of
1, 2, 3,
your depression will vanish from your
heart and into your hands
where it can be seen
and not felt
and magic is funny that way. it’s an illusion, meaning as long
as the audience is watching and believes my depression has vanished,
it worked.

but every magic trick has its risks.

unintentional side effects of antidepressants include:
• drowsiness
• nausea
• light-headedness
• anxiety, and
• suicidal thoughts

so, while magic is a beautiful thing
sometimes it finds a way of hurting you in the process
but you keep doing magic.
keep performing tricks until your hands bleed
because you’d rather perform a vanishing act than become one.

i met a boy when i was 18.
i didn’t tell him i was a closet magician because my type of magic tricks
were only meant to be performed in the dark.
he was about 10 years older than me and i thought it meant i
would be safe in his hands because

unintended side effects of antidepressants include:
• impaired judgment

i got in his car. he drove me to a parking lot i later learned would
act more like a cemetery
where he would bury his dead things.

he reached for my carcass.

and i tried to become a ghost in
1, 2, 3,
but sometimes magic tricks don’t work if the audience isn’t paying attention.

i don’t need to describe what happened next.
the only way i can say
i have been raped
is in a poem,
because poems are like magic,
and magic is not real,
and maybe if i say
i have been raped
enough times in a stanza,
i can convince myself that it was just another magic trick

another piece of wool pulled over my eyes
another thing i can explain
but not replicate
another thing that was never real to begin with.

unintended side effects of sexual assault include:
• feeling like a stranger in your own body
• flashbacks
• nightmares
• wondering if there is a universe where you won’t see their face in every man you meet

so welcome to my magic show.
for my first act,
i’ll keep swallowing pills until i can move my
pain from my heart and into my hands,
i will show it to you.
i’ll fake happiness because
that’s what survivors do,
i won’t reveal how the trick is performed.
i can’t show you what hides behind the curtains because you
might run and tell the town about the fraud i am because

depression is in my mind.
the assault was a blurred line.
it’s all fake.

right?

(a special thank you to the people who supported me during my slam era, who heard this poem damn near every other week there for a bit until i wrote something better)

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write with me in new york this summer!

applications for the Interrogation Writing Retreat (Aug 15-17 in Grand Island, NY) are still open! spots are filling up (we are SO excited with how this group is shaping up). feel free to reach out if you have questions, or you can check out our faq.

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poem discussion:

instead of including a poem this week, i want to invite you to join me in the Big Hard Scary Thing i’m trying: in the comments, share an old poem/prose/nonfic piece that might not represent your writing now, but you were really proud of at the time. i’d love to read it if you are willing to share <3

as a practice, if you’re not ready to share the old shit (old shit said in the prolific poetry slam new shit cadence) — find an old piece that you loved when you wrote it, and revise/rewrite it in your current voice. this could look like a blackout poem if you want to keep the original language of your younger self, or a complete rewrite of the piece with newer elements. whatever feels good! you can share that in the comments, too, if you’re comfortable (i am greedy). i’d love to feature one of these pieces in an upcoming newsletter send :)

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song of the week:

a leith ross song by Kayla Grace

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quick q for the writers in the chat before you go:

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all the love, all the warmth, all the light,

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housekeeping:

• icymi: i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!

• ways to help LA/resources for those in need

• don’t forget to complete your one click today to support aid efforts in Palestine

• unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3

• you can still buy paper girl from amazon, barnes & noble, indigo, or your local indie.

• i love you. and i see you. and i am so glad you're here.

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who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.

who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent. 

if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:

• National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988

• National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)

• Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741

• S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)

• Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237

• RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673

• The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386