Anastasia's Favorite Writings

“I was going to die, if not sooner than later, whether or not I had ever spoken myself. 

My silences had not protected me. 

Your silence will not protect you.

What are the words you do not have yet? 

What do you need to say?

 What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, 

until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? 

We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language.

And, of course, I am afraid– you can hear it in my voice– because the transformation of silence into language and action is an act of self-revelation and that always seems fraught with danger. 

I began to ask each time: “What’s the worst that could happen to me if I tell this truth?” 

Next time, ask: What’s the worst that will happen? 

Then push yourself a little further than you dare. 

Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. 

They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. 

And the world won’t end.

And the speaking will get easier and easier. 

And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, 

which you may never have realized you had. 

And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. 

And that is not speaking.”

“Have you heard of the humpback whales who wish for the ability to sing for 10 hours straight to serenade their families swimming home to the sound of their voice?  Tiny creatures, tired of their fins asking to become horses of the sea. And they got it.  They all got it, because they asked. Because they don't know what silly is.”

"I love myself.

the
quietest.
simplest.
most
powerful.
revolution.
ever.”

"Will you survive? No darling, I will thrive" 

One day I’ll give birth to a tiny baby girl

and when she’s born she’ll scream and I’ll make sure

she never stops.

I will kiss her before I lay her down

and will tell her a story so she knows

how it is and how it must be for her to survive.

I’ll tell her about the power of water

the seduction of paper

the promise of gasoline

and the hope of blood.

I’ll teach her to shave her eyebrows and

mark her skin.

I’ll teach her that her body is

her greatest work of art.

I’ll tell her to light things on fire

and keep them burning.

I’ll teach her that the fire will not consume her,

that she must take it and use it.

I’ll tell her to be tri-sexual, to try anything

to sleep with, fight with, pray with anyone,

just as long as she feels something.

I’ll help her do her best work when it rains.

I’ll tell her to reinvent herself every 28 days.
I’ll teach her to develop all her selves,

the courageous ones,

the smart ones,

the dreaming ones

the fast ones.

I’ll teach her that she has an army inside her

that can save her life.

I’ll tell her to say Fuck like other people say The

and when people are shocked

to ask them why they so fear a small quartet

of letters.

I’ll make sure she always carries a pen

so she can take down the evidence.

If she has no paper, I’ll teach her to

write everything down on her tongue

write it on her thighs.

I’ll help her to see that she will not find God

or salvation in a dark brick building

built by dead men.

I’ll explain to her that it’s better to regret the things

she has done than the things she hasn’t.

I’ll teach her to write her manifestos

on cocktail napkins.

I’ll say she should make men lick her enterprise.

I’ll teach her to talk hard.

I’ll tell her that her skin is the

most beautiful dress she will ever wear.

​

I’ll tell her that people must earn the right

to use her nickname,

that forced intimacy is an ugly thing. I

’ll make her understand that she is worth more

with her clothes on.

I’ll tell her that when the words finally flow too fast

and she has no use for a pen t

hat she must quit her job

run out of the house in her bathrobe,

leaving the door open.

I’ll teach her to follow the words.

I’ll tell her to stand up

and head for the door

after she makes love.

When he asks her to

stay she’ll say s

he’s got to go.

I’ll tell her that when she first bleeds

when she is a woman,

to go up to the roof at midnight,

reach her hands up to the sky and scream.

I’ll teach her to be whole, to be holy,

to be so much that she doesn’t even

need me anymore.

I’ll tell her to go quickly and never come back.

I will make her stronger than me.

I’ll say to her never forget what they did to you

and never let them know you remember.

Never forget what they did to you

and never let them know you remember.

​

Never forget what they did to you

and never let them know you remember.