I want to write a poem and I want to call it No

I want to scream / virally

I want to write a poem because I refuse

I refuse to let you ruin poetry / the thing that seems to be saving me

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I really do want to write a poem and I really do want to call it No. I want to say No over and over in every way that I can. I want every atom of every cell in my body to take the same shape as my mouth and join me in saying No. I want to be as strong as the brick wall I am always banging my head against. I want to be stronger than the brick wall. And then I think: I am stronger. I am.

I want to write a poem but ultimately I care more about people than poetry and can’t afford to spend time thinking about rhythm and line breaks when victims of gender-based violence are being stepped on (again), hurt (again), pushed down (again), intimidated into silence (again again again).

I don’t know what to say, exactly, but I am going to keep on saying No.

I am going to say Bruce Covey’s name because people are afraid to say Bruce Covey’s name, and I don’t blame them – he has used legal threats and emotional manipulation to isolate people and scare them into silence. His scare tactics are working, and it pains me to witness the pain of others as they are forced to choose silence as a means of self-protection. People worried about their families, their finances, their homes. Punished for saying: I hear you. I am listening. I care.

I received one of those letters, and I said No:

I said No because the future I want to live in is a future where No, not fear, is the norm. Where No is heard loud and clear. Where my No is respected. Where my No is taken seriously. The Future: When I say No: You Listen. Stop. Do not fuck with me / I do not consent.

I do not consent to being silent as a poetry press attempts to reassert its power as if doing so is a harmless act. I do not consent to being silent as Bruce Covey continues to receive support as a publisher and poet, this man who calls himself an intersectional feminist yet tokenizes women of color and victims of sexual abuse, using them as pawns to bolster his feminist image. This man who sends baseless legal threats to women and non-binary people simply because they have demonstrated strong victim advocacy in the past. Why are we a threat to you? This man who says he received a “veiled threat” concerning the safety of his children, as if anyone who actually feels threatened would say they received a “veiled threat.”

Side note: wtf is a “veiled threat”? I have only received actual threats concerning the safety of my child:

This is what I received the very first time I spoke publicly about my personal experiences of abuse. I was very, very scared.

I don’t want to be scared anymore. I do not consent. I do not consent to a lifetime of fear. I do not consent to being silent while white men in literature continue to abuse their positions of power, while Bruce Covey insulates himself with a flock of women – and the women, I don’t even know what to say to you. Do I feel sorrow for you? Am I scared of you? Am I deeply pained? Am I angry as fuck? Yes, and yes, and yes, and yes. Why do you say yes? Do you not see that choosing to say yes to him is a choice to say no to so many others? Where did you find the nerve to label yourselves as feminists and victim-advocates? Because that is some fucking nerve. Enough is enough. You are not a safe space.  

I don’t want to be scared and I am not scared. What’s going to happen? Will Bruce Covey threaten me with more legal action for telling the Internet that Bruce Covey threatened me with legal action? What if I tell you he made me feel uncomfortable before I knew anyone else had been harmed by him? That I didn’t know what to say, that I brushed it off as no big deal, because that’s what we learn to do, conditioned to accept oppressive behavior, conditioned to give, conditioned to not say: No.

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I want to write a poem and I want to break what they think they know about us. I want to burn the scripts they etch into our skin with their smiling teeth, their kindness, their uncivil civility.

I want to write a poem but if I start the poem it means I will have to end the poem and I don’t want to stop saying No.

I want to write a poem but first I had to tell You, Dear Ones, Invisible and Near: Yes. I hear you. And Yes. And Love. And Yes.