Leave me here,
like you want me bad enough
You still don’t know the way I work
which way it tilts and how to hit it
you try to hit it—
And put me on my own,
as if this is about me
the only way to come is
if it’s anything besides me
Maybe it’s your desire
an instinct or an experiment
conversion or love filled sentiment
alas the lore finds me in the dark
no girl
a self hating pool of warmth.

i have a lot of questions
and i dont know what we are
i learnt last time agreements not e-
nough to make her yours...
And you live much more freely than she did
in the first place, much less scared,
so prospective having you for me is
impossible
or so i fear...
I'm not embarrassed any-
more for where we're headed to
but something's also broke in that
you come more than i do
i'm working on the medicines that
keep me far from you
there's nothing that i want more than domestic life
together, and soon...
i've got a lot of fear for taking this step.

I have an anxiety disorder
Me too, she said
Me laying there in pain
In the hospital bed

Thank you, Life, for my sons
Help me fight the Nameless Dread
Slowly guacamole
Lotta love before I'm dead

each of us twitch in the fingers and toes,
two people jolted repeatedly in the day,
And each of us want to put the electricity to good use
so we move; and
Running my hands through your hair feels like flying
There are bruises on my neck and cuts on my tongue
I am pulled to you.
You pull me into your chest while you're sleeping,
You pull me onto your lap in your room
it smells like *** and sweetness
Rose petals and pachouli in your dark curls--
There's a place I'm trying to reach in the center of me.
You help me find it.
Thank you for lending me those glossy dark brown eyes to see with
however long we last.

The way I expressed it didn’t fully
make sense to my dearest
who only likes men.
It's never sat right to me
the pride of a parent in their straight child's love life,
the "don't ask don't tell" for a gay daughter
I used to see red as a fad that
had passed and a warning that I’m
not desired;
But I’m seeing clearer now,
Rose-colored glasses might
actually bring life into focus.

We're all fruity and nonconforming
girlfriends and boyfriends and partners each
Others cringe hearing "queer"...
Yet there’s something more in it:
We don't have an explicit gaze,
We have possibility, and the subversion of male eyes.
So I’ve always been nearly regal like The Lady of Shalott, or Lady Lilith,
The Birth of Venus,
Flaming June,
The Accolade— and I
like *** and I
feel wanted and I
am a commodity--

Don't a man look at me but
I will take a boyish girl's gaze
only her eyes focused on my *******—
Sleep over after the first date, for a change,
And remain soft in shape
She murmurs a lover’s desires:
Wear your identity on your sleeve,
In the curve of your back, on the scent of your hair and upon your hips, which invite her hands.

Once, I said "let's make it cinematic
Like that one *** scene that's in Mulholland Drive"
But now: "Touch me, baby"
It's finally the normal way.

my hips, my ***, the insides of my thighs
Don't need to give her tips
because they're true, already tried,
And she asks without a word
(i never knew consent to be so smooth)
I've never had a lover
just a love
Now *** is never 'wrong'.

Then there I was, excited-
The question hit me straight-
"are you queer now?"
No, I'm with a girl, she's lesbian bait;
Don't criticize her anatomy.