Submit your Macalester confession here: (100% anonymous)
#125 I really hope no one saw me struggle at Cafe Mac to separate slices of pizza, fail, and then just take all three that were connected.
#124 So can someone please explain to me why those ice-pops that someone put everywhere never froze? They were literally sitting in ice, but I checked like 3 times and they were always liquid.
#123 On Valentine's Day my romantic plans consist of scented candles and playing with my balls.
#122 You don't need religion or cultural norms for morality once you've derived the categorical imperative. I don't need Jesus, Mohammed, or Dawkins, when I have Kant.
#121 I don't host PFs because I have no good reason to tell them why they should come here.
#120 I wish all the other lady loving ladies at Mac would announce themselves somehow so I wouldn't have to wonder. Can we just make a list or something?
#119 So there's this girl that's a really high OKC match for me, and I think she's adorbs, but she's in a class with me and I don't wanna go for her and then feel silly. Help?
#118 Men
When I was young, I used to
Watch behind the curtains
As men walked up and down the street. Wino men, old men.
Young men sharp as mustard.
See them. Men are always
Going somewhere.
They knew I was there. Fifteen
Years old and starving for them.
Under my window, they would pauses,
Their shoulders high like the
Breasts of a young girl,
Jacket tails slapping over
Those behinds,
Men.
One day they hold you in the
Palms of their hands, gentle, as if you
Were the last raw egg in the world. Then
They tighten up. Just a little. The
First squeeze is nice. A quick hug.
Soft into your defenselessness. A little
More. The hurt begins. Wrench out a
Smile that slides around the fear. When the
Air disappears,
Your mind pops, exploding fiercely, briefly,
Like the head of a kitchen match. Shattered.
It is your juice
That runs down their legs. Staining their shoes.
When the earth rights itself again,
And taste tries to return to the tongue,
Your body has slammed shut. Forever.
No keys exist.
Then the window draws full upon
Your mind. There, just beyond
The sway of curtains, men walk.
Knowing something.
Going someplace.
But this time, I will simply
Stand and watch.
Maybe.
Maya Angelou