and other expressions
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Now I know what longing is for
since it serves me less not to confess that I dream you incorporate— from two bodies, flowerbeds— that as I rest my head, I feel you extend to hold it / and how little you’d know it now but through smoke of lemongrass can see how untouched lips still get wet with transgression. / I …
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BRUZON
that might work for a woman like me, with a hole where my hole should be. my matrix loves scrutiny is full of scarcity keeps me in need in need in needthirty-minute hypnosis to keep asleep until I’ve been splayed and shot. poor overheated starconjures city conjures meshskin crashing, crashing, I’ll soon be where you…
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Conversations with Artists
GISELLE LINDER From the moment I thought of starting a series showcasing artists on my blog, I knew I wanted Giselle to be my first interview. Poet, actress, and a muse of mine since childhood, I first met her on the internet when we were in our pre-teens and running Lana Del Rey fan accounts–her…
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*O Death!
a glimpse into my journey through grief in honor of the anniversary of my Father’s death
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The Disappearing Act
By S. Bruzon you’re asking (pleading) show me where the light is. / unrepentant, I ask you to undress me. / you are a nonconformist that has tried to conform– / you strip me from behind and try to wear me like a uniform. / I, too, have tried to wear you. / I, too,…
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My (?) Body
The question of bodily autonomy captured in the span of three debilitating–but necessary–days of shooting. This is my truth–and a truth that all women share. Always sacred, often enraging, occasionally akin to a crime scene: womanhood. My (?) Body and The Wandering Womb digital photographs with overlayed scanned drawing. both by Bruzon. a photographic exploration…
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72923
the bulbs exploded first, then Dad’s aorta burst. / don’t leave, I’m going. / I didn’t leave, unknowing / he would be buried in July. / the light, still-born and dry, and I ask, is he without body now? / no more skin suit, no more chamber? / are we strangers again, father, are we…
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my sister’s arrival
When I lived alone, I asked for you over and over in my child voice. / When you were coming, I waited and waited, with my child patience— impatient. / And then, / you arrived like the sun to my windows / and spilled through every white blind, / into my heart, into my being.…
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one-way admission
I bring my song to you last, / I bring myself: / barefoot and restless with longer hair and nothing to protest anymore / desiring you still, losing that war. / I am the girl you fell in love with expanded. / with your name on my body branded. / and granted, you are the…
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Conversations with Ceilings
God i say i feel small / but i don’t fit on the hangers in closets / i swim in a sea of my own toxins / i walk on the walls. / and i use my voice more than my body, / for a woman that’s not right. / i steal the light give…
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Portrait of Myself as a Vessel for Freudian Desires
I’ve seen three psychics since I let the idea of us go, and a psychiatrist who flirted with me / because he was your age, so he figured he had a chance / because I’m fragmented, so this is romance. this is romance: / masculine projections that are never enough. / old hands, lonely in…
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HOW TO VOTE
If you need help with any of these steps, reach out! I am here for you, as are many others. You will feel so good walking out of that polling place knowing that you used your voice. NOW LET’S TALK… I don’t want to spout some “liberal” stuff at you because I don’t care for…
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A Love Poem
VOWS by Stephanie Bruzon for B this is the part where the mystique dries up and turns to mold. / this is the part where furniture imprints on naked skin, and shoes are put to dry in the sun. / where it matters not that something is happy, where it matters only that it is alive. / this is…
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*Life as a young artist
*creative liberation, creative blocks, thoughts of failure, the meaning of success, ,uncertainty, fate, a change of plans. Art has followed me for as long as I can remember. It is the lover that comes in though my window at midnight. It is the baby that whines all night in the crib until I put it…
Steph Bruzon 