How am I to create
Out of sawdust
And ruined plans
When these four walls hold me
Static
I’ve been thinking about history a lot lately
And the patterns that form
With the revolutions of
The earth around the sun
A sense of history
And womxnhood
And how when it feels like the world is coming to an end
It’s that, which has often been considered “womxn’s work” which will have to pull us back on track
That which has been considered “womxn’s work” due to the incorrect assumption that womxn were the only ones capable of being feminine.
Caring. Living communally. Feelings of connection, belonging, sharing, warmth. Banning together as a village to make sure everyone rises.
It is the work that, since the beginning of Western industrialism, has been considered less valid
Less relevant
Less valuable
Less worthy
But it is the work time and time again that salvages the world from the scraps left behind by the conquerors
Squabbling over resources that languish under abuse
And gives us a fighting chance.
Because the “us” is a living organism
Just like the individual.
I’ve lived a life feeling that industrial capitalism
was the only way to contribute anything of worth to society.
My worth would be measured in productivity.
My productivity measured by dollars.
My aggressive masculinity (separate from my biological sex) was the only side I felt comfortable showing to the world.
My individualism
My competitiveness
My desire to be the best, the favorite
The one with the most social currency
And everything else felt weak. Felt pathetic. Left me vulnerable to colonizers, conquerors, rapists
My femininity (separate from my biological sex) felt weak, felt unworthy, felt disposable.
My biological sex felt weak, felt vulnerable, felt ravaged, felt numb
So I grew a shell
And I tried to operate within an institution that I thought would allow me to use my
Magic
Connected to my
Femininity
And
My
Womxnhood
To still be excellent
In a capitalist sense
But that’s not what teaching is anymore.
An Experiment with Vulnerability 