CJ Ackerman-Garvin

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CJ Ackerman-Garvin is a fourth year double majoring in Psychology and English with a concentration in literary prose and minoring in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies. They are interested in pursuing community or social psychology with a focus on LGBTQ+ youth populations, particularly trans youth. Outside of Iris, they are the president of UVA’s Queer Student Union, a facilitator for Hoos Connected, a research assistant in the Psychology and WGS departments, and a Lawn resident–stop by to say hello at 50 East Lawn! When they aren’t writing, you can find them playing oboe, buying fun earrings, or perusing used bookstores.

More Articles by this Author

yellow background of town street with words Doom Town written on it

I watched a desert town disintegrate, clapboard planks and roof tiles flying off like grains of sand in a dust storm.

a green fuzzy creature with one yellow eye, and a hand petting the top of it

I was the one that found them in the park, fallen from the heavens...

a purple cloudy vision of a girl

The others had not warned her about what to expect when she held life in her hands.

A white, hollow figure laying in a grassy field underneath a blue, cloudy sky.

Please. All they had to do was ask, and their body finally listened, digging down and sprouting roots, and they felt whole.

A blue face wistfully gazing upwards while surrounded by flowers.

"Are you sure you don't regret not being married to a real man?"

A person drawn in blue over a yellow background listening to music selections listed in thought bubbles: The Killers, I Don't Know How, But They Found Me, Dorian Electra, The Strokes, Adela, Clarence Clarity.

I had a strict routine in eighth grade. Every day, when I got home from school, I would listen to this album, and if I had Spotify at that point, I can only imagine how unbalanced my Wrapped would've been.

A window with crows flying in.

I wish I had left the windows open and let the crows devour you.

A blurry painting of a moving, yellow school bus.

For many years, I did not think about you, until one night, I imagined myself on the bus again, sitting beside you, and I could not understand how I had forgotten you.

Image of a red truck driving by a cemetery where the ground was covered in snow.

The story below incorporates several fragments pulled at random from my Google Docs.

artwork of the arch by the pond of the Contemplative Commons

Written about and at locations you're likely to walk past.