New poem: Stealing Time

css/jett.css

@@ -0,0 +1,90 @@
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+}
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+}
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+.box, .card, nav {
+	margin-top: 3%;
+	margin-left: auto;
+	margin-right: auto;
+	background: #242424;
+	padding: 10px 10px 5px 20px;
+}
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+.box-smaller {
+	max-width: 700px;
+}
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+	width: 100%;
+	padding: 3px;
+}
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+article a, ul a, td a, .bruh {
+	text-decoration: underline;
+}
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+}
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feed.xml

@@ -10,6 +10,99 @@
 		<email>vanevander@mayvaneday.org</email>
 	</author>
 
+	<entry>
+		<title>Stealing Time</title>
+		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt" />
+		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/s/stealing-time.txt</id>
+		<published>2022-04-04</published>
+		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
+				<pre>
+The bike path has been sprayed
+with meteors, brown and burnished
+and leaking to yellow, to naught.
+Trees have done their part to furnish
+the path
+with each and every fallen branch
+they could spare. The flags are frayed,
+marking the entrance to Dead End Shrine,
+sandwiched between two rainy days
+and welcoming this stolen time.
+
+This stolen time,
+I've come to find,
+is the only place where I can live.
+Leaving work early,
+wings unfurling
+to mark a time loop created,
+these bike trips where far too long I've left
+to not come home covered in muck and sweat
+and yet somehow never do,
+the severed hours after bedtime
+when comes to me all these rhymes,
+rest of family long self-sedated.
+
+I don't like this waiting.
+
+I don't like the parting
+when comes time for my love to once more return home.
+"Please don't go.
+Either stay
+or take
+me with you."
+
+Every natural process of life
+that I've ever shied
+away from
+becomes
+less able to terrify
+with her at my side.
+I've made my peace
+with the regular bleed
+whether from womb or breast,
+the growth of velvet patches
+along my hips and chest,
+the hot flashes,
+the persistent desire
+to rip open my seams
+and throw my guts to the fire.
+
+But my brain refuses to cooperate with me.
+It's stealing time,
+stealing memories.
+I know that forgetfulness is my domain,
+but there's still some recollections
+I'd like to remain.
+
+There's still some reflections
+I don't recognize.
+Stealing someone's body,
+looking out through their eyes,
+wearing like a coat their spirit, their life.
+It makes sense in the moment,
+the logic of how their life goes,
+but I wake up and I wonder
+why
+this stranger is so vivid
+but not my own exploits in the Outside.
+
+I promised her that when came
+the day
+for me to give up this vessel and die,
+I'd let her climb into my bed with me
+instead of kneeling at my bedside.
+Emulating that which my mother
+did, but trading one body for another.
+One last breach out of the womb.
+One last parent-induced cry.
+
+And after we leave, I promise you
+
+I'll make up for the stolen time.
+				</pre>
+				</article>]]>
+		</summary>
+	</entry>
+
 	<entry>
 		<title>Two Two</title>
 		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/t/two-two.txt" />
@@ -226,110 +319,4 @@ and naught else remains.
 		</summary>
 	</entry>
 
-	<entry>
-		<title>Carmine Red</title>
-		<link href="https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/carmine.txt" />
-		<id>https://mayvaneday.org/poetry/c/carmine.txt</id>
-		<published>2022-03-06</published>
-		<summary type="html"><![CDATA[<article>
-				<pre>
-March is Women's History
-Month. Time to sit
-down and reflect on all the shit
-my ancestors went through
-so that I could be
-here today, collapsed in bed,
-distressed,
-wracked with anxiety,
-in desperate need to be exhumed
-from this disintegrating body.
-
-I'm forgetting my own herstory.
-Past entries in my journals
-are becoming letters from foreign countries,
-the other timelines where I am well,
-doing well,
-not at the bottom of a well.
-The other timelines where I am making things
-of worldwide importance,
-where on my childhood detractors
-I've gotten revenge.
-Not wishing I was a bird
-like those outside that now return
-in preparation for spring.
-
-It could have been so much worse.
-Straitjacket, locked up, never heard
-from again. Maybe lobotomized.
-How many geniuses have met their demise
-at the hands of a crude scalpel,
-I wonder? And I, here,
-how could I in this day or now convince
-the padded-wall jailers
-that the other soul that resides in me means well?
-"She has dominion over
-every part of me,
-but *noli timere*: I have no desire
-to harm my family."
-Who would lis-
-ten, not lock me up for ten
-days, weeks, months, years
-until I renounced this world within me so dear?
-
-Tell me, can you hear the screams
-from behind
-tied-
-on masks plastered with smiles
-for the crime
-of omitting domestic servitude from one's dreams?
-Can you feel on your hands the blood spilled
-from God's unwanted "blessing" that might instead kill
-when it comes to term, woman coming to terms
-that the Son who bled with promise to save
-won't give her better than wires with which to lacerate?
-
-Can you see how bright is
-the future we might have had
-if every woman brilliance
-was not snubbed out at every chance?
-
-The sheer weight
-is enough to make
-anyone go insane.
-
-I'm forgetting my own herstory.
-It seems some days
-that things have forever been this way,
-each day bleeding into the next,
-record on repeat.
-The slightest bit of thawing heat
-feels like a bitter attack:
-how dare I be reminded that
-this isn't all I've ever had.
-
-How dare anything have the audacity to remind
-that one day I won't anymore be able to hide.
-
-There will come a day when the sky
-breaks and lets in cleansing sunshine.
-And I'll have to look my mother in the face.
-And I'll have to tell her that when I die
-I'm going to a completely different place
-than Heaven or Hell.
-I'm going to remember the hell
-that the men of all history have inflicted
-and make a new world where to be what I am
-is not a sin, not gravely iniquitous.
-And she'll have to confer with Father and decide
-if what I've done
-is grave enough
-to warrant the psych ward's involuntary hold.
-
-This is my birthright as a female, isn't it?
-The padded room's blistering cold.
-				</pre>
-				</article>]]>
-		</summary>
-	</entry>
-
 </feed>

poetry/index.html

@@ -143,6 +143,7 @@
 	│   ├── <a href="./s/skin.txt">skin.txt</a><br>
 	│   ├── <a href="./s/sleepover2011.txt">sleepover2011.txt</a><br>
 	│   ├── <a href="./s/somnolence.txt">somnolence.txt</a><br>
+	│   ├── <a href="./s/stealing-time.txt">stealing-time.txt</a><br>
 	│   ├── <a href="./s/strange-proposal.txt">strange-proposal.txt</a><br>
 	│   ├── <a href="./s/strawberry.txt">strawberry.txt</a><br>
 	│   └── <a href="./s/sweet-summer.txt">sweet-summer.txt</a><br>
@@ -169,7 +170,7 @@
 	&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; └── <a href="./w/wme.txt">wme.txt</a><br>
 <br><br><p>
 
-22 directories, 119 files
+22 directories, 120 files
 
 </p>
 	<hr>

poetry/s/stealing-time.txt

@@ -0,0 +1,90 @@
+Stealing Time
+2022-04-04
+
+***
+
+The bike path has been sprayed
+with meteors, brown and burnished
+and leaking to yellow, to naught.
+Trees have done their part to furnish
+the path
+with each and every fallen branch
+they could spare. The flags are frayed,
+marking the entrance to Dead End Shrine,
+sandwiched between two rainy days
+and welcoming this stolen time.
+
+This stolen time,
+I've come to find,
+is the only place where I can live.
+Leaving work early,
+wings unfurling
+to mark a time loop created,
+these bike trips where far too long I've left
+to not come home covered in muck and sweat
+and yet somehow never do,
+the severed hours after bedtime
+when comes to me all these rhymes,
+rest of family long self-sedated.
+
+I don't like this waiting.
+
+I don't like the parting
+when comes time for my love to once more return home.
+"Please don't go.
+Either stay
+or take
+me with you."
+
+Every natural process of life
+that I've ever shied
+away from
+becomes
+less able to terrify
+with her at my side.
+I've made my peace
+with the regular bleed
+whether from womb or breast,
+the growth of velvet patches
+along my hips and chest,
+the hot flashes,
+the persistent desire
+to rip open my seams
+and throw my guts to the fire.
+
+But my brain refuses to cooperate with me.
+It's stealing time,
+stealing memories.
+I know that forgetfulness is my domain,
+but there's still some recollections
+I'd like to remain.
+
+There's still some reflections
+I don't recognize.
+Stealing someone's body,
+looking out through their eyes,
+wearing like a coat their spirit, their life.
+It makes sense in the moment,
+the logic of how their life goes,
+but I wake up and I wonder
+why
+this stranger is so vivid
+but not my own exploits in the Outside.
+
+I promised her that when came
+the day
+for me to give up this vessel and die,
+I'd let her climb into my bed with me
+instead of kneeling at my bedside.
+Emulating that which my mother
+did, but trading one body for another.
+One last breach out of the womb.
+One last parent-induced cry.
+
+And after we leave, I promise you
+
+I'll make up for the stolen time.
+
+***
+
+CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander

style.css

@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 }
 
 body {
-	background-image: url("./css/jett.png");
+	background-image: url("./css/jett_3ds.png");
 	background-repeat: no-repeat;
 	background-size: cover;
 	background-attachment: fixed;