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<blockquote style="position: relative; padding-left: 55px;"><section><a href="https://newsie.social/users/stevesilberman/statuses/112442656847650839">Steve Silberman (stevesilberman@newsie.social)'s status on Wednesday, 15-May-2024 11:20:43 JST</a><a href="https://newsie.social/@stevesilberman" title="stevesilberman@newsie.social"><img src="https://gnusocial.jp/avatar/83820-48-20230102075453.webp" width="48" height="48" alt="Steve Silberman" style="position: absolute; left: 0; top: 0;">Steve Silberman</a></section><article><p>My God, this is the best poem I've read in months. "When My Daughter Tells Me I was Never Punk," by Jessica Walsh.</p></article><footer><a rel="bookmark" href="https://gnusocial.jp/conversation/3092677#notice-6127908">In conversation</a><time datetime="2024-05-15T11:20:43+09:00" title="Wednesday, 15-May-2024 11:20:43 JST">about 6 months ago</time> <span>from <span><a href="https://newsie.social/@stevesilberman/112442656847650839" rel="external" title="Sent from newsie.social via ActivityPub">newsie.social</a></span></span><a href="https://newsie.social/@stevesilberman/112442656847650839">permalink</a><h4>Attachments</h4><ol><li><label><a rel="external" href="https://gnusocial.jp/attachment/2639294">WHEN MY DAUGHTER TELLS ME I WAS NEVER PUNK • JESSICA WALSH I say, honey, my being alive is punk. I made my life out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me, when my role was to marry a man who'd kill me and give me my hot young death, a guy named Charles who would have and nearly did - the day I said fuck you and threw his keys in the snow? That was punk.
When I called a nice guy who'd loved me steady and thought what if I can try staying alive, that was punk; when I had my last drink and surrendered the scene, that too was punk, and yes I miss the me who would be dead because I was a bottle rocket, a pipe bomb of a good time but my being alive is the middle finger I never put down-
I did not let these days go by, I clawed each one from dirt, and when I get my nails done I am stockpiling weapons, when I buy groceries, when 1 gas up the car, I am threatening to survive long enough to piss off a million awful people to be alive in spite of, I am promising to stay flagrantly alive:
This is my beautiful house. I am this beautiful wife.
How did I get here, I say, by my fucking teeth.</a></label><br><a href="https://assets.newsie.social/media_attachments/files/112/442/645/293/002/881/original/c80bd55979a581b4.jpg" rel="external">https://assets.newsie.social/media_attachments/files/112/442/645/293/002/881/original/c80bd55979a581b4.jpg</a></li></ol></footer></blockquote>

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Steve Silberman (stevesilberman@newsie.social)'s status on Wednesday, 15-May-2024 11:20:43 JST Steve Silberman
My God, this is the best poem I've read in months. "When My Daughter Tells Me I was Never Punk," by Jessica Walsh.
In conversationabout 6 months ago from newsie.socialpermalink
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1. WHEN MY DAUGHTER TELLS ME I WAS NEVER PUNK • JESSICA WALSH I say, honey, my being alive is punk. I made my life out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me, when my role was to marry a man who'd kill me and give me my hot young death, a guy named Charles who would have and nearly did - the day I said fuck you and threw his keys in the snow? That was punk. When I called a nice guy who'd loved me steady and thought what if I can try staying alive, that was punk; when I had my last drink and surrendered the scene, that too was punk, and yes I miss the me who would be dead because I was a bottle rocket, a pipe bomb of a good time but my being alive is the middle finger I never put down- I did not let these days go by, I clawed each one from dirt, and when I get my nails done I am stockpiling weapons, when I buy groceries, when 1 gas up the car, I am threatening to survive long enough to piss off a million awful people to be alive in spite of, I am promising to stay flagrantly alive: This is my beautiful house. I am this beautiful wife. How did I get here, I say, by my fucking teeth.
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