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she/her | reader | gamer | feminist | reluctant idealist | 9x Top Writer | Fictions Founder & Editor | recovering academic | body lover
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The fragile strains of the radio struggled to be heard over the constant cacophony in the diner. Now and then it snatched a moment when the conversations lulled; when the diners were busy chewing; when the clatter in the kitchen paused for a beat in between the cries of the angry cooks and the retorts of the overworked waitresses and the fall of the cutlery like rain on the tiled floors.

In that stolen moment, had anyone bothered to listen, they might have heard Cyndi Lauper straining against loneliness.

If you’re lost, you can look and you will find me
Time…


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Close your eyes and imagine this:

A golden retriever with a red ball in its mouth runs through a field of tall grass. The sun is high in the sky, and fluffy white clouds bob across the blue like ice in a cup. Your smiling mom crests the hill and waves to you.

If you’re able to imagine that with relative clarity, you have the normal human ability to picture things with your ‘mind’s-eye.’ Some of you may imagine it in vivid detail. For others, it may be sketchier but still relatively coherent. If you drew what you saw, someone else could interpret your image. …


INDEX

Although I write on a diverse range of topics, it’s all informed by my passion for lyrical prose and my identity as a queer feminist.

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💞 Personal Essays | 🦹🏻‍♀️…


Photo by Pelayo Arbués on Unsplash

No one warned me how much I would bleed. Perhaps the nurses and doctor to whom I spoke before the surgery were too busy asking me whether I was there “voluntarily” to talk about proper aftercare.

It had been four long, torturous days since the ultrasound technician had announced they couldn’t find our daughter’s heartbeat. Based on her size, she’d already been dead for a few weeks. Normally, there would be an option to wait until my body released her naturally, but we were risking dangerous infections at this stage.

So many women lost their babies that weekend that they…


Retro Rewind

Art by FanFare, original by 20th Century Fox
Retro Rewind is a weekly series that reconsiders pre-2000 pop culture. More here.

Rewatching Aliens last night, I was once again struck by the quiet fortitude of its cast of women. Not just its unforgettable hero, Ellen Ripley, either. Brave and steady women are its norm: the medic who first examines Newt when they find her; the pilot of the ship that tragically crashes and foils their first attempted escape; mouthy Vasquez, who often takes point and provides a steady line of defence when the remaining survivors flee sickbay.

And who could forget little Newt — covered in grime and…


The look on Agent Prufrock’s face as he reenters the small interrogation room makes Cassandra shiver with fear for the first time in years. His smirk is that of a sly fox about to catch the rabbit. She keeps her face neutral, but her heart is unexpectedly racing with adrenaline.

As her belly flips over, she resists the urge to twirl her long, inky hair between her fingers, always her tell at the poker table.

“Well, detective,” she says, with a sassier tone than she feels. “What sudden revelation has you grinning like the quarterback on prom night?” …


Photo by Simon Zhu on Unsplash

In physics: “a change of an atom, nucleus, electron, etc. from one quantum state to another, with emission or absorption of radiation.”

Like Dorothy, I am flying — whether a wicked witch or wayward woman —it all depends which way the wind is blowing — the past shrinking and shriveling — meanwhile new shoes for new roads unfolding before me — the shine in my step as I shatter the ceilings — Shrill-voiced and shrieking — irresponsible spirit brazenly seeking

When I wake I become a bird of paradise impossibly parading: Evolution’s manifold misbehaving critters — as haphazard as a…


Photo by Kevin Fitzgerald on Unsplash

Even though I got on the airplane allegedly to “take some space,” I already knew that this was it. As soon as I boarded, I removed my wedding ring for the second time in 7 years, then I took my first deep breath in forever. I felt relieved; I also felt a little like Tim Robbin’s character near the end of Shawshank Redemption, when he’s just military crawled through miles of shit to earn his freedom.

Sorry, Joni, Yes, I should have got on that flight. Hell, I should have got on it five years earlier. When it’s time to…


Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash

I can sum up what feminism means to me in one word: freedom.

Freedom for all women to love what they love. Freedom for women to pursue their passions. Freedom for women to get higher education or social assistance. Freedom for women to have access to whatever they need, want, or desire. Freedom to explore themselves and freedom to pursue all of the options. Freedom to dress how they like and fuck who they choose.

You know, the kind of freedom that most white, cis, hetero, able-bodied, middle-class men have.

The feminism I do not identify with is the one…


Photo by N. on Unsplash

Under the mantle of grandmother moon
Eyes sealed within the scintillating dark —
Fancy drifting, raft-like
My sun-speckled features, sifting and shifting
The metamorphosis of fascination
Bed beneath me, infinity above me
Me, preeminent cartographer of an uninvented world

My sextant broken, I am
Deliciously lost amidst the tumult of
Firefly flashbulbs
Polaroid insights
Thoughts rolling
Waves sounding & heaving & cleaving
Tide receding to leave the beach re-envisioned

I scuttle like a crab amongst
Scattered wreckage awaiting reforging
Culture’s rubble, found objects, unwed words
Starfish clinging like metaphors to moss-covered rocks

Eclectic combinations, convictions, confusions
Accidental conflagrations

Burning my…

Danielle Loewen

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