19 results for group: post-format-quote

Making Waves (Poem)

They speak of waves. First wave, second wave How they waved us into the voting booth Onto rafts that carried us from the back alley-butchers into hospital doors Parting the seas of picketers who would wash away our resolve with their photos of dismembered babies They splash everything on the shelves in pink, so Susan G. Komen can swim home from the bank and tell us that pink bikinis will save us all Because Sheryl Sandberg is telling us that the water won’t be so cold if we all lean in And if we’re all swimming in marriage equality And everyone has the right to buy a life vest Then it’s your fault if you drown. Those first and second ...

Story (english)

Our breaths are shallow. My mom struggle to breathe as we sat at the hospital and the staff person asked if her ID information was up to date. I was born in that hospital 22 years before, when my mom gave a falsified social security number as she was going through contractions. The contractions that felt like too much to bear but weren’t enough to distract her from her undocumented status. Twenty-two years later, prepping for a surgery to remove her thyroid, she’s documented now, but the moment she realized she would have to tell the staff person she has a new social security number because the one on record was fake, my mom’s breathe was ...

Poem (english)

My body is transgressive. My big hips, my thighs that rub together when I walk, my curly hair, and my dark eyes. They give me away as a muxer who doesn’t belong in a dominant culture that tells me and my muxeres to trim down, to pluck, to straighten, to cover up the many imperfections that make me…me. So then they’re not imperfections, they’re my battle stance against the microgressions that try to tear me down, that try to convince me to fit into a society that doesn’t want me. So my body is a site of resistance, a site of love, a site of anger, a site for community. My muxeres and I keep this world alive, even as it tries to kill us, to ...

Conversation – Laura & Kiki

L: My name is Laura Jimenez, I’m 42-years-old, today’s date is October 24, 2015. I am at the offices of California Latinas for Reproductive Justice in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, CA and I am here today with my daughter. K: My name is Kiskeah Sanchez Jimenez, I’m 14-years-old. Today is October 24, 2015, I’m in Little Tokyo, Los Angeles, CA and the person I’m here with today is my mom. L: Good morning. K: Hi! L: I’m glad to be here with you to have this conversation. K: Me too. L: I guess what I was thinking about when we were preparing is the ways that Papi and I have talked to you about who you are from the time you were ...

Diya’s Story (english)

Diya’s Reproductive Justice Story My RJ story begins at the gate of a temple in the eastern province of Bengal, in India in 1944. My grandmother, Bela, who was twelve years old at the time, was told by her mother that she could not accompany her into the temple as she had just begun menstruating. This threw Bela into a fit of rage. How could a body that is primed to create life pollute the goddess’s home? If anything, her presence should add to the sanctity of the place. None of the moral justifications by priests and older women made any sense to her. So, standing in front of that temple gate, young Bela came to the conclusion that religion was ...

Story (english)

Wash away the shame, guilt, disgust, unknown, discomfort of how my body feels, looks, and functions. Shame that it “attracts” unwanted attention (sway of my hips, curves, breasts, etc.) and un-acceptance at times. Guilt about enjoying, relishing, expressing, highlighting, trashing, ignoring (neglecting) and abusing my body. Disgust about how it feels, looks, and what it elicits from others (men). Not taking the time to get to know, experience, appreciate, and celebrate my body, its smell, its look, its taste…Discomfort of being with my body in tune with, highlighting, celebrating, sharing my body. Replace it with comfort, love, acceptance, ...

Conversation – Arely

VGL: Empezamos platicando un poco de donde naciste y en qué año naciste. AA: Nací en Tulancingo, Hidalgo y tengo 28 años. Nací el 5 de diciembre de 1988. VGL: Como era donde vivías y la gente con la que estabas, la calle donde creciste… AA: A mira. Pues cuando estaba yo de chiquita, bueno nací en Tulancingo pero siempre viví en Cuatepec la mayoría, la mayor parte de mi niñez. Vivíamos de hecho en un rancho con mis tíos entonces pues era divertido. Jugábamos todos en el campo, había animales, estábamos en contacto con la naturaleza. De hecho era más como un pueblito pequeño, era más convivencia entre familia. VGL: Y tu ...

Story (english)

While I am not ready to disclose the details of the violence I have survived, I do know that when I see another feminine bodied person of color, more than likely, she and I have been through some… I will, however, share how I have triumphed.  And that is by leaving a legacy.  Every time I have faced yet another aggressor, who takes something so sacred, powerful, and beautiful – my sexuality, my femininity, tied together with my immigrant accent, my black-afro curly hair, and my thick body as a means to hurt, to dominate, and to control – I think of my children – those that I may never have.  My legacy is one in which I survived and I ...

Poem (english)

My blood paints a new sunrise. I grapple with the future and my body. I feel disconnected from my body. I just think of my home in University Heights. When I hear that saying and the feelings of hope, when I look up the hill and see it. Like I can do anything. I am afraid of what my own body is capable of. What I am capable of feeling. What I am capable of experiencing. I am releasing the shame that I have felt but I also feel like there is fear tying my organs together. I feel like the only reason I am a composite of a being is because there are these little strong typing my organs together and finding the puppet master at the beginning of my ...

Story (english)

Growing up in a place like Arizona will leave you marked for life if you are a person of color. I knew I was not White, I was reminded of it day in and day out. When I was younger I did not understand why my skin color mattered. I mean, I had an idea but it just didn’t make sense to me. However, as I grew older it became clearer and clearer that places like Arizona are not “meant” for people like me. As a woman born to Mexican-immigrant parents in an anti-immigrant context I was perpetually viewed as a foreigner, eternally scrutinized when I did not fit neatly into what people expect from “dirty, illegal Mexicans.” However, being a woman of ...