The smoke signals billowing from my Saturday morning window are calls for help I feel I don't deserve to ask for. But I am selfish and weak. An broken attention ***** who hurts in the guise of helping. If you don't understand why I hate myself you don't really know me. Even this is a selfish cry for appreciation bc I am too selfish and weak and I am afraid I will never change.

***** and Quims should be worshiped.

For whichever you have, dictates how the rest of your life shall be.

To those who biologically have both, how like gods you seem to me.

To those who spiritually have both, what cursed and barren, in-between lands stock we.

Something is at war inside of me

Someone said to me
Unless you are
Tired
Stressed
or overworked

And I wanted to say
You just described
My average day

And I was afraid to say it

Afraid not to say it

Afraid I would be a downer if I said that

Afraid I would seem holier than thou if I didn't

Afraid that if I didn't say it I would seem like I was left out of
Or too good for
Our culture

And then I wondered

How did we get here

That they way to fit in
In our culture

Is to be tired, stressed and overworked

And how ****** that is

My family came from Pfolzheim too
I have grown up
with so much shame
for being German
at all
This is what I have struggled with
since Trump got elected
For me I saw quickly through
the thin smoke
what he was all about
That a vote for him was akin to me
of wearing a **** uniform
daily
proudly
publicly
It's not that I hate anyone
It's that in the raw recentness of
MY family history
was instilled in me to know
to FEAR
those attitudes
as though my life depended on it
As it so easily might
Again
So soon
So ******* soon
I fear we have learned nothing

I kiss you
All over
Your entire skin
All the places you hide
From the world
From yourself
I kiss you
not lightly
But hard and deep
So you feel my energy
Go into you
Glowing
With pure golden love
Knowing
That what I feel
Is real
And that you
Must see
Yourself in the way
that I do
And love and know
Yourself
And the magic
And the miracle
And the pleasure
And the treasure
That is you

Listening to a song sung by a dead man
That reminds me
of my father, longer dead
I know the lyrics better now
Feel them more deeply
Understand them with
wisdom of more years
More life lived
behind me
Than when I first heard this song
and thought of him
20 years ago