Katherine Lee

why does it feel like I so want him to admit he is not a good man?

Do I believe a good man is only good when he is perfect? No.

But I feel a special type of rage remembering the times he claims to be progressive and an ally and not like other men as he shows frustration doing the dishes that I have spent the week doing and remembering to have grace for him.



Letting go of the anger at my have-nots feels like free falling. Free falling has never been encouraged for me, you see, because it’s reckless. And there is no room to be reckless when you have no one to rely on but yourself.

How alone my mother must have felt.

How alone my father must feel.

It’s an ironic tragedy to be around people who lament your absence and whom you feel so alone with.

I don’t want to perpetuate the loneliness out of punishment or fear anymore.




M i r r o r s the rot I feel in my mother’s

soul. Some days the rot and the soul are one and the same.

Other days the rot is the thing that changed my mother- that robbed the both of us.

Nothing in nature goes untouched. Perhaps that’s the law I so desire to buck. I wish to be untouched by my rot, by my mom’s rot, by my friends’ rot.

Maybe that is why I am so drawn to my partner. His pain

motivates him and I do not see that as rot.