melissa broder

Andrea Dworkin | Our Blood

i’m subjective but you’re a hoax

the fake as more

deepest at its surface



“I,” as a woman?

And me I dressed myself
I made a poison suit
I darned it out of myths
Some of the myths were beautiful
Some turned ugly in the making
The myth of the slender girl
The myth of the fat one
The myth of rescue
The myth of young men
The myth of the hair in their eyes
The myth of how beauty would save them
The myth of me and who I must become
The myth of what I am not
And the horses who are no myth
How they do not need to turn Pegasus
They are winged in their un-myth
They holy up the ground
I must holy up the ground
I sanctify the ground and say fuck it
I say fuck it in a way that does not invite death
I say fuck it and fall down no new holes
And I ride an unwinged horse
And I unbecome myself

Melissa Broder, from “Lunar Shatters,” Poetry (December 2014)

I am so full of eyes I am going blind.

In the dark the god of love can find me.

Does it have to be silent?

I am going to go alltheway dark.

I think I am still holding on.

Even dead I am still here.

Even dead the light.

—  melissa broder

Clarice Lispector | The Passion According to G.H.

I am my maker. The shape formed by the bits of mirror glued on is unimportant. They’re inside my chest and stomach, and they glitter in there. 

My heart has nine chambers. 
One of them contains 
a mirror. The other eight 
I do not remember
ever being inside.

Where was I in all these broken bits of reflection?

Ah yes, my name. I checked the mirror quickly

I pull an appearance out of the mirror and smile at it dutifully.

you’d think my own face would know me, she thought… There were some pretty faces there, why didn’t I take one of those?

others had always attributed to me the shifting, uncertain welding of the two profiles, an inclusive image that I knew nothing about.