Anabelle’s Blog:
Gym Confessions is a poetry and creative nonfiction fusion blog dedicated to the time I have spent in and out of the gym across my 21 years of life.
My name is Anabelle Taff and I am a rising senior at the University of Maine at Farmington. I am working towards completing degrees in Creative Writing and English, as well as earning a minor in Video Game Studies. I am primarily a poet that enjoys writing about lesbianism, gender, mundanity, crows, and cowboys.
GYM CONFESSIONS: 7
south berwick summer sabbatical I. inside noah kahan concert clipson the television, dad tearyeyed while mom popskettle corn in the microwave.dog, jasper, jasper’s lickinga bugbite beneath my bulgedout kneecap. table top fanwhirring lazily, flopping mysunbaked bangs across the bridgeof my blackhead plagued nose. II. outside 9pm parking lot behind dairy queen,shoulder slumped in my friend’scar…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 6
wake up routinemy black cat cormacis a super-feline witha grand desire to groomthose he loves sandpaper tongue glidingthe arc of my nose at fivein the a.m. with that buzzingpur-chest firm on my sternum little back paws sliding downthe humps of my roll-belly,endearing love-light lettingme know my nightmare isn’t real, isn’t plausible;only he is plausible with…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 5
meditation on Vertigospirals, stars and spirals,morphing– no, bleedingviolently through the surfaceof my blurry green-brownirises, a fountain of rainpipesludge cascading the applesof my cheeks and poolingin the corner of my big mouth. tripping up those chapel stairswith a fleeting grip on my life,my love, my watercolor swirledsanity. boot heel catching as iamble like an idiot, marredvision…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 4
beach bum gender euphoriai’ve got first date jittersso bad that my toes havewriggled a pit deep enoughinto the scalding hotsand that i can seemy own grave. i’m riddled with excitement;i can see this goingfar, far into the futurebut for now i try to settle down.my date runs to the bathroomas i tuck our valuables intoa…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 3
YOU’RE NOT A GOOD KISSERApril. My elementary school’s playground was mostly made up of a vast, overgrown field, fitted with a broken soccer net, a swingset littered in gaps lacking swings, a slide that deposited students in a heap of wet wood chips, and monkey bars. In the first grade, I kissed the principal’s son…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 2
two poemsI. miles per hourmy father and i areheavy footed pedalgoblins. i inheritedhis deliciousneed for speed. my father is an old friendof I-95. spent yearsmowing that pavementdown, crooningJohnny Cash, John Prine. my father listensand understandsand he taught mehow to drive in hisbeat-up white Dodge. my father boughthis mother’s blue civic,gifted it to me. now i…
GYM CONFESSIONS: 1
I. Middle School the carrion-climbing unit sixth grade, suspended fifteen feet up, body rocking into the synthetic rockclimbing wall: a boat barely surviving a ferocious ocean. hands slid like dull skates on slick ice as i grappled for the plastic, pastel green and red crags. the harness dug into my skin, made brand new stretch…