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Old Gold & Black

Old Gold & Black

OPINION: Men’s Basketball just won’t back down
Abigail Taylor, Contributing writer • February 27, 2024

Poetry excerpts from Safe Journey

Drawing+by+Josh+Holt+14.%0A%0AThe+full-sized+display+is+located+in+the+glass+cases+on+the+first+floor+of+Milliken+Science%2Cend+of+the+hall+farthest+from+Acorn+Cafe.
Drawing by Josh Holt ’14. The full-sized display is located in the glass cases on the first floor of Milliken Science,end of the hall farthest from Acorn Cafe.

MICHELLE MERRITT’S MEDICAL HUMANITIES CAPSTONE PROJECT ON CANCER—

Cancer

Virtues of anarchy
Nourish my being.
Assaulting insubordinates
With malignant casualties.
Ghastly,
Horrid,
Perpetuating
Havoc.
Destructive by nature,
I pervade throughout.
Subversion
Defies my existence.
Compromising order
Agitating the system
Infringing upon stability.
The system has altered
To one of lawlessness.
To one of oppression.
To one governed by me.
Invade and spread.
Singular destruction
Of a sole entity,
One at a time.
How blissful it is
To subdue
The functional unit
Of a host.
To elicit disarray
With my act of
Proliferation.
Rampant,
Unbridled
Freedom.
I am sovereign.
Liliana
I gently close the bathroom door
behind me.
Shutting out the world,
For just a moment.
Yet, I escaped nothing
For I cannot run away from
myself.
The me I fail to recognize.
I cautiously undress,
Peeling away my shielding
garments:
My socks, my pants, my shirt, my
underwear,
And lastly, my bra.
With eyes closed, I stand naked,
Unable to face my reflection.
For a brief second,
I pretend
That none of this happened,
That I was not stripped
Of all grace and elegance.
That I was not stripped of
femininity.
I can no longer play
My game of make-believe.
Unable to meet my twin,
I avoid the mirror
And look down where my
Right breast used to be.
There lies the scar
That defined my womanhood,
Or lack of.
Tears stream down my face,
As my eyes met my own glance.
I am face to face with
My own frightening reflection.
I stand nude,
Left bare and demoralized
With no hair
And one sagging breast.
How did I want this?
How could I be so stubborn,
When insisting for complete
removal
Of my right breast.
Ugliness is all I see.
Vulnerability, pity,
And shame follow.
As I quietly vow,
My husband will never
See me like this,
He walks in
And closes the door behind
him.
I continue to cry,
As my head drops
Out of embarrassment.
He walks over
And kisses my forehead.
Chills pass over me,
As his warm lips
Meet my cold and rigid body.
For a moment, I escaped
And left the world.
A world that continuously
demands
Strength and composure.
I entered a realm
Where just for a moment,
I can be weak
And naked.
Just for a moment, however.
For I cannot live in a
Game of make-believe.

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