I miss being seen
By someone
Intimately

My ******* haven’t made eye contact
With other ******* in a long while

Though only since October 9
And now it’s Jan 1
And that feels like too long

But I won’t go prowling in the streets like I once would have
For someone yummy
To make me feel seen

Because I’ve long exhausted
The part of me
Who’s intrigued
By a novel human
By their novel *******

No
Now I want someone worthy of the next decade of my life

You're still my vice baby
It scares me how much I love the thought that I could be yours too
The idea that I'm not
I push away
As it tries to confirm old beliefs that I am not enough
That what I want will not come to me

Because I live anew
Now
What I want lands in my path
"I am abundance" I repeat as I fall asleep

I hope with tearful eyes
And shaking breath
And that sweet earnest quiver in the bridge of my nose
That one day you won't be my vice
That you'll be my good morning
Or my Tuesday afternoon
That we'll be in tune
Like we were in June and May and October and December

I don't want anything from you that you don't want though
And how hard to know what to want
When I'm afraid.
I don't want to live in fear
So I must live apart

But is it all so dramatic anyway?

I don't want to always be so deliberate in my wants

It's not all love and romance

It's just a normal day
Meaning passing between us

Is what I pretend.
But really.
Fervently, I love you.

I love your jaw and your voice.
I love your laugh
How giddy you become like a child smiling at the sun
I love your mania
I love your crazy eyes alight in the moon
I love your BELIEF I love your ******* earnest sincerity.
Who the **** else is earnest like that?
It's gorgeous, I'm obsessed.
I could drink and bathe in your sincerity.

A bless or a curse to be the object of my obsession
I worry how my attraction to you would affect you
Would it be too much?

I think so.
Read the signs, see the facts
When someone tells you who they are believe them and all of that...
But, I'd rather not?
Instead I want to think that when we stood behind your house smoking that joint trying to stay away from the wind that you felt the tension too.

I love the way you wear boots.
I love the way sweaters hang on your shoulders.

****, each time I revisit your room in my mind I must confirm again and again with growing certainty that I am obsessed with you.

It’s okay

Nostalgic kind of love
The kind that hurts kinda nice
In the sweet places

It feels old and familiar
Worn out
It doesn’t keep you warm anymore
But you love it for its wrinkles and holes

Sugar sweet
Like a pinup girls pouty lip
In a magazine from the 40s

Something is wrong with it
But it looks nice

And now
On quiet nights
It comes to you
Unexpected

‘I hope I’m welcome’ it says
As it seduces my psyche
As it takes my cheek in its palm
As it looks into my eyes and soothes the pain that it brings.

Your psyche would shatter,
Your veins turn blue,
Your bones surely would melt into glue,
Just a glimpse of the dreamscape of my year without you,
The magic moments in my mind,
Would burn out your eyes and leave you blind.
Your heart would wrench.
Your throat would catch.
And vengeance would never be mine.

Do any other bisexuals out there know what it’s like?
I’ve read in some blogs and Reddit threads that others feel attracted to men when they ovulate
And attracted to women the rest of the month
And mine is just like that sometimes
But other times it’s not
As the days turn long
And the evenings warm
I want to sink my teeth into a big hairy chest and be held by large rough hands
Even well into my luteal
But I’ve told myself
That whenever this retreat from *** ends
I must must must date a woman next
Because each time I date a man
Even a big one with a hairy chest
I still want a woman
Which of course brings me to my dream
Of having a relationship with both
A happily ever after throuple
It’s also been so long since I’ve been with a woman
Over a year
Maybe even a year and a half
That I barely remember the luxury of someone else’s breast in my hand
And then I think maybe I just want lovers here and there
And that in my 30s I’m still young
And that plenty of women have children in their late 30s and maybe I can have a little *** renaissance again
But this time without all the **** and the burying of pain
This time with presence and seduction and responsibility
It’s been ages since I’ve been ****** dumb
And with someone as high strung, smart and **** as me
I just think it should happen at least once a week
But I’m scared to go out there and get it
I’ll list my fears here:
That I won’t be able to attract a woman I’m sincerely attracted to
That a man, no matter how attractive, will turn out to be disrespectful and trite
That I’ll fall in love with a woman and then I’ll have to deal with pretending to not care what my mom thinks
That I’ll be jumping back into *** too early
That my still healing body and soul are not ready yet and that I should wait a bit longer
That I’ll keep waiting and nothing will happen
That I’ll get exactly what I want, my man and woman, a happy **** sweet kind funny loving relationship where we can grow and create life and dream and cry and laugh
And that somehow I’ll still find ways to be unhappy
That having what I really want
Will make me outcast
Or that in order to keep up appearances we will have to hide our truth

Oh the drama in these fears
And then I think well alright then I should just go for it
But how?
On apps? No
In bars? I don’t like bars
At the farmers market? In the city? But I like to stay at home and dance around naked and paint
And I don’t want to go hunting
I want to just happen upon my lover somewhere
But I keep not happening upon them

Half the time,
Half the heart it took,
Double the time and hiding beneath the cloth of the breakfast nook,
Lay fast asleep the death of dreams,
That would awaken when,
Her satisfaction,
Was just a fraction,
Her inaction,
Was his redaction and their attraction,
Wasn't gaining traction but rather losing the bet.

Is it selfish to chase your dreams once you've pushed humans out of your seams?

It's March in California and,
It feels like an early September evening in Virginia,
An owl is cooing,
A nostalgic singsong that reminds me of the woods behind my parents house,
Comfort seekers in my senses inflate,
Disappearing into a heady haze,
Anything to distract myself from the mini self-betrayal I just executed.

I can watch myself as I do it,
Basking in this nostalgia,
The detachment from my pain easing my shoulders,
Making me feel high,
Or maybe it's the serotonin and dopamine,
Coursing around in my body,
Freely,
As it pleases,
Results of.

The owl is howling and my roommate is home,
My phone is silent and I'm blissfully alone,
Detachment, detachment, detachment,
My favorite drug, how I've missed you.

So sickly happy,
So near to trauma,
(my familiar place)
But my perspective saving me from feeling it..

I could be in Virginia in 2008,
My legs a little hairy,
A breeze blowing through my long, long hair,
Innocence teasing me.

Or I could be here, now,
Listening for an owl that has stopped calling.

How delicious. Sweet detachment.

My favorite drug.

My favorite poets
Are the ones who don’t know it
The pedestrian texts
From people who love
Who’s love has made them artists

Days where I'm nostalgic for poems I haven't written

For  words I haven't said

For feelings I used to have

But now I can't remember what they felt like

Anything can be sad if you look at it the right way

Anything can be glorious if you sit low enough

Claws click on my hardwood
Thump
A petite beast lands on my bed
She stalks over ruffled blankets and
Yesterdays sweater
Tentative paws
Test the certainty of my torso
7 purring pounds keep me company
Kneading paws
Dazzling eyes like emeralds
Fur softer than soft
Lounging on my belly for the nth time
She bestows upon me the peace of her closeness

I have been having
Good days that I work for
And I patiently await the return of
the middle moments where you look at the wall
While you’re taking a ****
And think
Man
The wall is pleasant
And I feel good

Simplicity
In all its forms is good.
Simplicity
Simplicity
Sim pliss ittee
Even divinity has nothing on it
For simple things are not simplicity
It is the conduits and the nuances and very pragmatic essence of things that are simplicity.
Divinity is better than to be divine
Simplicity is better than to be simple

Be in the dark, in the quiet feel yourself, only yourself around you, feel just one bit of your skin as it exists on you, and be clear. That simplicity is where you find rest.

Oh, divine.

I lie awake at night
Plotting revenge
Im not sure I’ll ever take
I **** the meat juice from my finger
While I cook a messy spaghetti sauce
And miss kissing someone
I delete distractions from my phone
Only to watch hours of Hulu
And also to sit for hours in the woods
I respond to a text from a week ago
For whatever reason
The stamina now in my fingers to type
I think of my sister
And cover my room in crystal protection
I feel bad about myself
And remind myself
Not to feel bad about myself
I pet my kitten
And wonder how she likes this new home
She loves my mom
Which delights me to no end
I feel my heartbeat
Pulse in my toe
And wonder what’s going on
With my circulatcion

I hurt the me
That was good to me
By being his,

I betrayed my own sweet heart,
And now she’s run away from me.

Now she hides in the shadows.

And I miss her smile.

I want to steal her light.

Of course she hides from me.

Im feeling many feelings
I’m feeling sort of tense
I’m feeling pressure to better
And feeling pressure to relent
To fall into my bodies rhythm
If I don’t I fear I’ll fail
At living the life I’m supposed to live
And doing what I’m supposed to do
Supposed
What a word
A sibling of should
Both children of pressure
Far off descendant of good
of dreams
And desire and visions
Im scared of my visions I suppose
I’m scared of the knowing I know
That I’m not a go getter
That I’m happy in the home
That I’m a creator and a lover and a dancer
That I’m an artist in every way
That I’m happy in the kitchen
And I’m happy on the stage
I’m happy writing songs
And writing scripts
And painting with paints
Money come my way
I’d be so pleased if you would
Land in my lap
So I could frolic in the woods
And this makes me want to cry
I want to be taken care of
And I want to take care
I don’t want to run a business
I don’t want to manipulate clients
Then the thought
That maybe I’m burnt out
And if I rest I’ll understand the grind
And I’ll want to be in the workforce
No
I don’t and I won’t
I want a slow life of joy and friends
And children and love and good good food
And my cat
And long hours spent writing in the sunshine
I want a private life
And public performances
I want a small circle of wonderful friends
Who know me
I don’t want to be tired
And I’m so tired now
Is it the eclipse or my period
Is it my dads cancer
Is it the pressure
I feel the pressure and I must step to the side
And let her fall on deaf ears
I don’t hear you anymore
Pressure
But I’ll lay here in the grass beside you

I think private lives are cool
And I would like one of my own

Muérdame
Hazlo, fuertísimo pero
No
Tan
Fuerte

¿Recuerdas que soy que?
Ah, si. Delicada. Una delicia.

Muérdame
Ahora. Hazlo, peor que antes
Por favor... amor?

¡Ooi! Muy doloroso viejo.
¿Sangre?
Sin sangre. Entonces otra vez.
Por favor tesoro. Otra vez.

Y al mismo tiempo
Mi cariño
Toca mis costillas
Suave, suave, suave, sutil.

Otra vez.
Muérdame. Pero con cuidado.

Soy que?

Memorizarme.

Delicada. Una delicia.

Hay amor, muérdame otra vez?

Jeans tight up to her waist
And a thick *** *****-line
water dribbles on her nails
From a jar of water that still smells like Ragu

you made me feel like the hundred acre wood
and then you slowly rot my oaks where they stood
you burned the grass
soaking my soil with redbull and whisky
the maple sweet syrup you once adored now you find too sticky

I don't know you anymore and that is good.
Better than the falseness of your wind blowing through my wood.

One time
You used the word
Reek
To describe how badly yours hands smelled of orange
And now sometimes when peel a cutie I think about
You saying
Reek
And how your hair flopped into your eyes
And that stupid watch
Everyone liked
On your wrist
Just there
Beside your fingers

I remember your thumb knuckle
I liked it a lot
I don’t remember your finger nails
But I remember the way
Your hands sent me
The way they felt on my skin
The way I craved them
The way that electricity jolted through my throat when your palm pushed against my Adam’s apple

For my withoutness of you
I can be humbled when I need
I can feel longing when my other seeds
Fail to take root

But

I wish I knew
You
Still

So

I could eat a cutie and
Not try to remember
The way
Your lips parted
And you flashed your teeth
When you said
ReeK

I used to write poems
Who knew how to rhyme
Easy words hung out together
Matching pace, keeping time

But now I like my proses
That don’t have to try so hard
I can write each phrase
Quick as it catches ablaze
No rhythm in it’s ways
Just minding its own business
As it swirls across my page

But I guess it’s not the words themselves
That put in the effort
That craft phrases so pristine
You’d think they’d been conceived by Robert Redford
(Oof)

It’s my latent mind
That no longer lives in the land of
Rhyme
Where AABB and ABA
Just aren’t my preoccupation
They don’t rise me to another station
Of talent and prowess
Of being the very best

I just want to write out how I feel
And not worry how it sounds
That is until I go back
And see how emotions lack
In words that don’t capture me
Don’t rapture me
With their romanceless apathy

I forgot that poetry is poetry because it is an art
That a lion is more a lion for his mane than for his heart.
Would a balding lion still best the other beasts?
Perhaps
But if so,
Wouldn’t you know
That a bald lion is a she
The one who hunts and bears new beasts
The one who bleeds and shares her meat
The one who mangles cub thieves
And I’m sure the one who untangles
Knots in the mane of the he

I digress from this feminist lioness
But I like this point of view
That sometimes beauty is better
And sometimes better is use
But I also already knew that
And if you’re still reading, so did you

My point is that though I am
Smarter now
Older
More mature
With thoughts that vibrate higher
And far less victim overtures
My poetry has suffered
And I enjoy it less
And now to create
Swooning phrases capped in rhythm
I must confess
That I labor

In my old way of feeling I found it easier to create
But in my new way of thinking

Ah
There it is.
In my new way of being I think
I choose when to be swayed by an emotion
Rarely being overtaken
But also rarely feeling forsaken
Accepting calmly an occasion where my intentions are mistaken
No matter,
I remain unshaken

There we go
I’ve got it back
A little rhyme
Picking up the slack
And in the evening I’ll have a snack
Some carbs
Some sugar
And the extra poundage won’t give me anxiety attacks
Cellulite on my thigh
Doesn’t make me want to cry
I’m not so lonely
I am content
I am ambitious
I pay my rent
I don’t overeat
Or undereat
I just want to feel sated
I’m not frustrated
I don’t feel hated
And my gratefulness is never belated
I’m happy
I am not manic
An unanswered text won’t send me into a panic
I moisturize
I don’t have bags under my eyes
I don’t compromise
I won’t lie
And when I care I really try
I love my home
And love my skin
I love my bumpy shins
I don’t feel stressed about my age
Or the passing of time
So I suppose I won’t fret
That my words won’t always rhyme

Rose petals thick and heavy
Just ready to wrinkle
Strong, firm, delicate
Simple
Feigning delicacy.
Tighter and tighter to their middle
Lips curling back
Pouting open
All eventually revealing the
Veins!
Veins
Veins
Veins on the roses
From the underside spread upward,
Uncurled,
Veins.
Some so proud and broad
Some coy and curtseying
Some wide open, greeting you.
——
Some angling to the light
——
Some fading their color at the tip
——
Some!
Some doubling inward. Two twists inside!
Why? Overcrowding.
Petals wide,
petals too ready, petals broad
And she made herself a lover
——
Some older, wiser
By quicker death wisdom grows
The peaked face within
Afraid
Afraid of what is coming faster for her.
Something her beauty could not slow
An aging ballerina, refusing to retire her slippers
——
Some wider
More careless
Hippies
——
Some like a dance
Such a vulnerable entrance  
Opening up her lips, her arms, her legs,
Spouting out her tiny tongue
Aroused
——
Some so full
Hiding herself in her layers
More of her.

Ancient.
Just a blip.

Trimmed from their bush. Here to die in a vase by my bed.

She reaches again
and finds it.
Ah, yes, there,
Swept under the rug.

I didn’t even know you were on my mind

Hair like spun gold
Your lips remind me of a big beautiful ship cresting the white water in a warm ocean at golden hour
Aura like a goddess
Scent of exactly what I want
Smile like a child
Heart of a lion and a kitten and a snake
Legs tall like the pillars in Ancient Greece.
Did they know you? Were you a goddess way back then too? That they built their cities on pillars modeled after you?
I think so

Romanticism gets the best of me on eves like this.

I'm thinking of my old lovers all the time
All the time they are on my mind
I think of texting them
Unblocking them
Looking them up on Linkedin
And I can't
Or I don't
What if I'm disappointed?
What if I would be inviting the wrong energy into myself?
What if they come and the magic is gone?
But all I want to do is smoke a ******* cigarette
On the water
While I get too tipsy off an aperol spritz
And a hot man looks at me and rubs my calf
While he thinks about how to get me into bed
Or better yet,
He already has me in his bed
And he still acts like he's working to get me there
I want to be touched
Tenderly and aggressively
I want to be lifted and throbbed
I want to feel hot, tequila breath on my neck
While a sweaty, hairy chest looms over my back
While a hard **** enters me
And one hand holds my throat and the other holds my hip
Holding me in place to **** me just right

But then the problems arise in my mind
The problems are as follows:
1) who would I select? an old lover? Probably not, they are in the past for a reason, and yet a new one I can't be sure of
2) what if the *** is bad? And I give myself some new trauma to overcome. The vessel of my newly healing ***** is so tender and I could easily disturb the climate of peace growing there, rip the tender shoots from their roots because I want so badly to get manhandled

Aren't these problems just fears?
And why shouldn't I be afraid?
After the three assaults of 2018-2019 *** wasn't the same anymore
It's less to do about the assault of 2009
But even as I type that
"2009"
I remember that I was just a sophomore in high school
The womanness in me barely beginning to grow
And those roots were brutally ripped out of the new soil
The new leaves on my sweet spring green branches
Were torn and smudged
And the soft velvet of my body was ripped
And new pollen was discarded

So of course 2009 also matters
And it's so shocking
2009 sounds like a time for babies to exist
Not a year for brutal assaults
But what can you do? Things happen as they happen.

Anyway.
After the assaults of 2018-2019
I went back to Tony
My stallion
My perfect ****
My daddy
My sweet long beach lover
And I left shaking
Unable to connect
Unable to **** or *** or play in the same way
I left reliving the rapes of the summer, fall and winter
And then no *** was the same
No *** was as free
And now I still have this overwhelming feeling
That the good years are gone
But that can't be true. I know it's not true.

My ***** just needs to heal
And it's hard to heal from ****
When I crave a good, sweaty **** down
And I am afraid to have it
Because what if I get triggered
And then I feel like a broken woman
Or what if I get triggered
And I say hey I'm triggered
And I don't beat myself up for getting triggered
And I don't get embarrassed and I don't cry
And it's okay
So many what-ifs

But I know I'm not broken
And anyway my goal in life is not to **** well
The measure of wholeness is not how well I ****
If I don't enjoy *** exactly right now
that is okay and is not a reflection of my wholeness
I am whole

And yet still
I want a ******* cigarette
and a spritz
and an espresso
and a hairy man with a big chest
wearing an open button down
who looks at me
like he'd like to ravish me any minute
and within all of that
I want never to think
never to worry
never to feel unsafe
or triggered
I want my brain to dissipate
but my brain doesn't feel safe
leaving me alone with my body
with my body where dangerous moments have left scars
and that is why I am trying to cultivate safety in my new garden

Safety in the body
Safety in the body
Safety in the body

and even better would be then to feel safety against someone else's body
safety with someone else inside my body
I feel so lame feeling scared
Feeling scared makes me feel weak
It's toxic I know
It's utterly toxic

But the point is that I am actually safe
I am utterly safe
And if I were to decided to find someone to ****
Right now
Either from my past
Or someone new
I would vet them
And then
The **** would be safe.

How did I do it back then?
At 5'2, inviting strange men to my HOME
Men all above 6'2 by the way
Muscular, fit, strong, healthy
Total strangers into my house and never ever feeling afraid
Knowing they were safe
And you know what
The ones who I knew were safe actually were always ******* safe
And if they showed me that they were less than safe
And I had my faculties in place
I left them
Or made them leave
I did.

I did my best to protect myself at every turn as best I could
And it still didn't work 100%
but I guess that's not true huh?
I could have valued my gut more
Said no earlier
Not had the shot that felt strange
Because I had many many shots
That felt great with safe men
Who wanted to have a good time
And we did have a good time
And everyone went home or to bed or to wherever happy
So it wasn't about the shot
It was about the feeling in my gut that didn't want it
And the women beside me who said go ahead
And the betrayal of my instincts.

And isn't this all just a part of the journey of life
as a woman re-learning to listen to herself
And listening to myself now
having said all this
I suppose it's fine that no man
Is laying in my bed hoping to impress me by playing guitar
Ready to lick me and squeeze me and touch me.

But I would still love a cigarette by the water
and an espresso
and a man bringing me a cool, strong drink
who wants to rub my feet
and **** me mindless
as the sun goes down
I want to forget my name
in someone else's arms
who also forgets their name
inside my perfect, precious, healed *****.

Steal down the stairs won't you?
Come into my quiet heart
Here in the dark
Undress me
Savor my quiet parts

Turn your mouth inside out
Let me know your taste buds
With my fingers my nails and my tongue
Put your knuckles in my lungs
Tear the flesh
Beat it numb.

Why did you break it when you knew it was broke?
Why did you take it when you what they'd wrote?
Why did you taken me to you rivers when you knew I couldn't float?

I was somber and blue
But I lit up like a fool
You blonde goddess
I lit up like a fool for you.

The thought of you and I smiled in the dark
Whispering "Undress me
Savor my quiet parts
And please don't hurt me
Here in the dark".

She's a seamstress in her way,
Stitching together her dreams,
So the seams lay exactly how she says they may.

With sharp scissors and a wet tongue,
She snips the cloth and licks the one,
Who'll slip through the needles eye,
Carrying all that metal in her noose,
coyly cuddling with rose and chartreuse.

Secret thoughts,
Secret thoughts,
I have about,
Those who I adore,

Secret thoughts,
Secret thoughts,
I have wishing,
They loved me more,

Secret poems I've writ
Secret words scribbled on page slips
Wishing they would love me different than they do
And wanting to tell them the secret words
But then they wouldn't be my secret thoughts
Secret thoughts,

I guess I want everyone to puddle
In a pool of loving goo
Around me
To lay on me with the couch
Wanting nothing more
And nothing less than
The couch of rest
Together

Is this just a place where I go to feel lonely
To write my secret thoughts
Isn't it so much better
To love how they love me
To appreciate how they are able to show their love for me

So what if he doesn't love me how I wish he would
Doesn't want me how I wish he would

I feel sexually attracted to anyone I find attractive
So
I don't understand how
Him not loving me
Not wanting me sexually
Means anything other than that I am unattractive to him
I think this is something I will learn
On my own
And I don't think it's something I will ask

I am sinking deeper into the couch
Knowing I need to go put chicken in the oven
And chop up the zucchini
I thought of texting my ex this morning
To see if he would want to go get a coffee
Check in

I can picture him saying, "stop being weird! Just text me"
But it was early and he was probably sleeping
And if I'd texted him maybe he would have followed up
Later in the day
And tried to rain check
But no
I don't want a standing rain check on coffee
With someone I only want to see on random mornings
When Gotye is stuck in my head

I am dancing much more lately

I am glad the other guy left town
It was too much
He was here for too long

I am being more open
To life
To friends
To opportunity
And also to
Energies around me
They are getting in me and on me
And being big and large
And feeling larger than me
And it's hard to feel so stuck up with other people
To feel so affected
To wake up with thoughts
secret thoughts
of someone else's life

Secret thoughts, secret thoughts
The secret thoughts I have about myself
I don't want them to be secret at all.

Neon
No neutrals
New and glowing
Green and wet behind the ears
High on nothing but the night

I'm 28
and I'm reclaiming my virginity
I've just realized in my bath
That *** is optional
Which came from the realization that ***, good or bad is amoral
***, good or bad, has no innate wrongness to it
**** is wrong
*** cannot be wrong, it can only have varying degrees of good to weird or mind blowing or awkward
Just like a sandwich
Of course it is more than a sandwich sometimes
Sometimes it deep and energetic and connected
Sometimes it has ramifications
Sometimes it makes life
A sandwich cannot make life
So the good and badness of it carry more innate weight
But in terms of morality *** is eating a sandwich
A poem from my bath
"*** is 100% apart from ****
But it happens in the same place
Here in this body
That remembers it visceraly"
I said this poem and thought
That this would make a good moment in a play
A woman in a bath sitting up tall in the tub with her arms against the wall, saying "*** is optional" then slumping and sliding down until she was submerged, breathing a long loud sigh on the way, only to muster the courage, arm gliding upward first and body trailing behind to sit up straight and again say "*** is optional" and to repeat.
And then I wondered if this part of me
The artist
that has visions and is mysterious
It felt clear to me in this moment that my creativity
Came from the confusion in my body of *** and ****
And wondered if my creativity, my artist, knew that she had come from this confusion
And then it dawned that maybe she has always been
Maybe I haven't been enjoying ***
Because I've been having the wrong type of ***
I don't know what the *** I should be having is
But I am willing to try things
And then I realized I am maybe scared of what I might like
And then I realized I was scared
Because lately my fantasies have been me naked in heels and chained, walking into a room of naked huge hard men who I have to ask for help because I'm a damsel in distress and then they touch me and **** me
And that sounds like an actually very scary fantasy to come true
And then I realized that maybe it's my fantasies
That don't match up
Maybe I want completely other stuff
Then I got worried of what I might like again
I rememered my ex-partner who one time made a sound like a baby in a tub when we were in the tub on shrooms and his **** was hard
And in that moment I thought oh god is he into adult baby stuff
And I was super icked out by it
And then just now I thought, did I only think that because maybe I am into adult baby stuff?
And then I thought am I into adult baby stuff?
I'm not but it does really upset me
In various ways
And then I was like oh right of course,
Because I was molested as a baby
And then I remembered the ****** I have when I'm alone
and how only two men have every given it to me
Out of the nearly 100 I've ******
Only two
Maybe I shouldn't be ******* men?
Maybe I'm actually really gay?
Though women haven't given me that ****** either,
The ******* fantasies I have
Leave me feeling so vulnerable
But *** that doesn't do so much of what I like in those fantasies
I don't enjoy very much
It would just be so much better if he choked me
Or held me down
That would be more exciting
It would send a thrill through my body
But afterward I'll feel exposed and
I'll want someone who loves me
To hold me
And if someone who loves me
Is there is there to hold me
I may shut down in fear of intimacy
Probably I will cry
Why can't I have that ****** with partners?
I have a fear that my squirting and the ****** I have with ******* doesn't count
Because that one ******, the best one, the one that waves me and quakes me and send my ***** into outer space, the readiness of my lips, the bloat of my *****, the viscous wetness that drips down my tingling *****
Doesn't come out with partners
Something faster comes, something hot and wide and flat, something high shine and piercing comes, white hot pleasure. Dehydrating waterfalls that spill out, calming the white heat before the next attack of pleasure
I'm exhausted by the latter
I'm exhausted by ***
I'm underwhelmed by *******
At this point
I've been ******* since I was four
I've had *** with all the hotties
In many countries
In all the seasons
In every stage and phase of romantic attraction or plutonic mistake
And I get it
I've squirted on so many people
I've *** in my own hands so many thousands of times
And I'm exhausted by it
But of course also I crave it
I think?
Or do I just WANT to be a sexually healthy woman who WANTS it
and I remind myself again,
*** is optional

Today, my mom and I obsessed over my kitten's beauty:
"she's so precious"
"mirala come se pone asi"
"a work of art"
"her eyes are BEAUTIFUL"
"un modelo"
"preciosa"
resounding in the air around her
as she tore at the rug by the door with sharp claws
motivated by each word of praise wafting around her.
Then I said:
"I think she could have been a show cat, but her personality won't allow it"
and then mom got busy with her breakfast
and I had some space for my thoughts
Sometimes, when I notice something new about my cat
I wonder what this new knowledge
Can tell me about myself.
I think I am just the same as her
I could have been a show girl, a show something, a trophy wife, or by now a print model getting botox to fend off the aging that tugs on my laugh lines
But my personality, won't allow it.
Too sensitive, too knowing for that 'could have been' that's not for me.
Too disregulating to my nervous system to be beautiful and voiceless.
Again, again, again, again
Thousands of times in this mind I contemplate myself
As if I am constantly being beheld by a thousand eyes who will judge my value as a thing of beauty
Will that ever end?
I don't think so and I suppose it's something to accept.
That's being a woman in this life isn't it?
Being a cat, always beheld.
Or who cares if it's being a woman or a cat.
It's a distinct part of my psyche to be beheld.
Just like it's an integral part of my cats life to be beheld and praised as she tears up a vintage rug.

We went to a pool party
Of a friend of a friend
We had ****** before
But decided to stop
Because we were working on a documentary together
Anyway we went to some pool party
And he judged the dark hairs on my thighs
That I didn't shave
I couldn't be bothered to care
I played up my attraction to the women there
For his enjoyment
We got quite tipsy
And went back to mine to work on the doc
We smoked a joint on the balcony
We got faded and swoopy
He kissed me and we went to my bed
I was riding him and wanting his to slap me
It excited me
But he wouldn't do it
So instead I slapped him
He was confused at first
So I slapped him again, a bit harder
And then he was a bit annoyed
I slapped him again
He told me okay, stop
So I slapped him again and as I did I stuck out my tongue
I slapped him again and again and finally he got angry
And saw my game
He slapped me and I squirted all over him
He saw how much I loved it
And he did it again and again
It was all I could do to ruin my sheets
And cover us in my ***
Finally he came, we were a mess of *** and slaps
Even as we lay there haphazardly slung across the bed
Sideways and hanging off
His long, long, long arm could still extend to my face
And laying there, breathing heavy and slow
He kept tapping my cheek with his finger tips
And my **** kept throbbing

My little Christmas cactus is growing
A lovely slime mold
And my dads cancer is spreading
From his esophagus to his lung
I guess that’s the way of life
To grow
But the slime mold will coexist
And make the Christmas cactus happy
The cancer won’t coexist
Won’t make his body happy
It will eat up the life
He forfeits
And he still won’t call his grandson
Who so badly wants to hear from him
His grandson, a 19 year old, fully formed, passionate gift from the universe
In his late age
And he won’t call him
It’s prolonged and prolonged
It goes on and on
The breaks from treatment
Only make the cancer worse
And make the treatment worse the next time around
He refuses to stretch and get a massage
Refuses to let his muscles
Be coaxed into relaxation
But who can blame him
Everything *****
His body has turned on him
No vices linger near to take the edge off
Poor darling who is anything but a darling
Spewing vitriol
Seething disdain
Or silent
A small smile of something like escape when a bright red cardinal flits by
Free

Slowly thinking thoughts
while cooking a late dinner in a
dimly lit kitchen,
A quiet I haven't said hello to
in a long time,
But I suppose she's always been here
Waiting for me to slowly think my thoughts

I've got oceans
You've got boats
I think your solar plexus is also open

Feeling like maybe for now music is too much
For now all those sounds sound like noise
Silence accompanies the flick of my lamp
And the sudden quiet of my mind
Much better than the
Constant ***** beats and nasty flows
That used to charm my ears
Now the sound of crickets in the city
Are a luxury I simply can’t override with a synth pop track
Now the way my sweater brushes against my skin
The way my glasses rattle when I spin
Around the room to a tune I’m playing in my mind is all I want to hear
My neighbors air conditioner
The random honking car
The voices echoing down the hall
All these anonymous sounds call to me

They have no master
No order
No point
They exist simply because they do, they are collateral and in that they are everything.
They are collateral and they make up the experience of one entire sense.
And I only want to hear them speak
To know what my world sounds like

Honestly the way
That Maroon 5 is constantly playing in my head
Is music enough for me
Just to sink into a pocket
Unexpectedly while I order coffee
“Give me that red velvet”
Making my hips twitch and my brow hike
Is enough music for now
Harmonizing perfectly well with the din of the world
With the sounds of my body
With the breath from my mouth

Who Knows? Maybe moans retire
Maybe silence is something else to explore
Maybe deep in the quiet a voice is calling
Maybe here there’s a rhythm I have yet to explore
Of course there is.
Of course it calls.
Of course there’s more.

When the bee doesn't buzz,
And the fleece doesn't fuzz,
When the drones die out in droves,
And no pollen dusts our alcoves,
When the holy taverns echo,
Y nuestra miel acaba y esta seco,
The sweetest verse ever crooned,
I'll always buzz for youned,
Bzz, Bzz, Bzz,
My sweet honey bee,
Bzz, Bzz, Bzz,
'cause only a Queen knows a Queen.

I hated your stiff ankles
Really really really hated them
I loved you
But I hated
Those ankles

Stiff, unmoving.
Like bricks, you said.

I labored for two years
Every time I saw you
And
Them

Cursed ankles.
Stiff and plasticy skin.
Freckles that weren’t freckles.
Burns that weren’t burns

Failure to coax
those muscles into relaxing
Failure to ******
the tendons into lengthening
Failure to ease
that joint into movement

But
I did like how my thumb fit behind
Your ankle bone.

There’s a cool breeze blowing
And I can already feel the relief
After the rain

The rain may not even come
Fickle LA weather teasing

But the sweet emotion
The unburdening
The wet eyes in the sky

Reminds me of home
Watching a rain storm pummel the pavement outside the garage
Walking up to my fathers back
Turned to face the storm
And I stood with him and felt
I felt held
I felt made of Stone
But one with the storm

Heady wholesome relief

Just a cool breeze is a enough to rustle through these memories.

I want a foot massage and tea made for me
I want to acquiesce and please
I want to back and forth
I want to have breakfast at the cafe by my house in the morning with my lover from the night before
I want good *** and better moods
I want someone who I don't know yet

I want *** and touch
I want more I want you to bite my teeth
I'm hungry and I'm tired and I want someone nearby
Who knows how I like it
Who know how to grab my thighs
I want a fantasy
I want a dream
I want someone who can tease me and make me feel super green
Super lean
Don't be mean
Make me feel seen
I'll be a dream
It can all be easy

I want to laugh and dance around
I want magic and sleepy breath sounds
I want what I like and nothing more and nothing less
I want someone I don't know yet

Reminding me of London
Nightmares huffing afoot
Freezing cold
And far too sold
To wipe my hands of soot

Leggings tugging at my legs
In their cloth pockets
Bunching behind my knees
Restricting my relaxation
Stretching out all wrong
My knees will be baggy in baggage claim
No matter I’m here now
As you shiver there by my side
A touch is a touch is a touch too much
Wailing indistinct won’t subside

Detachment in the whites of my eyes
Devotion dripping from my cornea  
Doppelgänger in another life
Singing sweetly the song you crave
She’s named Gloria

No bad memories
Let’s push them away

Naked now in bed and I’m feeling as
Cold brew in Alaska
Try to smile spotting a moose for the first time
How much is not too much to smile at this sighting?

Thinking of Madrid
Your one redeeming quality
your thumbs
Gliding along the coffee mug
In that old woman’s cafe
Aged photos on the wall
The best tomato I’ve ever had
Walking for hours while you called me a *****
Denver
Baltimore
With the gun and the perimeter and the door

Woodbridge
With the spaghetti in my throat
And the tremble in the notes
That you chose to bestow
There I am poised
Delicately
Trying to decide
Which of the two evils
May take my life tonight

Too much time spent in cars
In the cold
On the floor
Being BORED
what a waste

Sad sad sad man
Trauma and oblivion whittle away at your kidney
Doppelgänger in another life just a sheep herder in Sydney.

I am learning to be free
I am learning to stop giving into the feeling that I am being watched
I am learning to lose myself in the present
I am learning to stop trying so hard to be anything other than what I am
I am learning to indulge myself in my every whim
Why not?
I’ve gone my whole life not indulging, judging, chastising, trying to fit, trying to be everyone’s cup of tea.
It didn’t work and I didn’t like it.
Now I think I will just be.

I get a feeling in my fingers and my mouth
That tell me to type "hel" into my browser
Chrome remembers the rest and I find myself here
"Title" I leave until the end
"Poem" usually knows what to say

This time I just want to say thank you hello poetry
For being a place where I can put my thoughts
Organized and attractive where I read them over and over
Where I can write new words and not get carpal tunnel
A place to gracefully dump out my feelings

A place to cry with words
Dance with syllables
To romance with the tapping of my fingers on my keyboard
To maybe catch someone's attention
And also maybe to not

Thank you for years of thoughts spelled out
Thank you for a place to read my ex's poems about me
Thank you for a page to write poems about my ex's
Thank you for a community of a few

Thank you to everyone who's ever liked my poems
The "<3" always make me giddy
Just to think that someone read my words
And liked them
Such a delight

I love this place to collect my words

Haven’t you heard
The howling’s on tap
Even the birds bump
uglies and love a night cap
Uglies? Why uglies
I think I disagree
With that phrase entirely
Some transparent ploy by the religious patriarchy
I guess we don’t bump uglies
But it rolls off the tongue
Either way
Thump and bump
Smush and ****
Hillbillies and heretics and hummingbirds and Haye’s
All have to howl
Then heckle the other
For doing the same  
So please for the love of
Patricia who can’t say ‘*******’ and the Preacher’s daughter down the lane
Lets just agree to oust ****** shame

That you that very extra part of who you are
That extra you
That refuses to be blue
That indulges in the new
That loves things examined and profuse
That darkness in your rhythm
That glory in your spine
That faded glow
Of mornings light
Living in the dusk of your smile
That raspberry bliss
That kiss on the lips
From these tips
The little pout of skin
On the rim of my digit
Is belightful
She’s a white stone
And a blue moon
A dark morado heart
And mint ice cream in her tones
She’s tralificent
Piercing eyes like a taradactal's call
Nose as knowing as the bill of a heron
She’s green corn
And green lights on Santa Monica Blvd
Cars passing before her on parade
Wizzing ever to her aid
She’s maple syrup
And pink Helvetica
16.7 or 32 pt font in bold
She's wistful
She's perfect
She's Buster Keaton
And Jessica Rabbit
She's Chicago in Paradise
She's Arnie's Vegan Pizza Palace
She's A to Z as many ways as you like
She is passion sizzling on a stick
She is upside down and inside out and abiding in her own bowl of Magic Soup

Recently, she’s baby blue, too
A color she’d never met that she never knew
A color she’d never thought she’d be
But now,
In this new season of weeping
Cerulean and turquoise go sweeping by
She’s heard blue in her ears caught this blissful mist swirling in the corners of her spies
And now here they are together in a dance in the ether
Both surrounding each other
Neither knowing either
Strangers to the danger that must surely lie within
But deep inside there does abide a spoon big as the moon to lap up the soup she's stewed and brewed since June.

A 47 foot tall marble woman resurrected by some teenagers trying a spell in the park
Shades of white with royal blue speckles
Lilting away into the day with 1000 pound foot steps and unstoppable knees
Leaving evergreen and fresh pine leaves
In her wake.
Spring up life where I touch down with these cool marble soles
Massive and made of ancient earth not knowing anything but what she must
Forsaking the flaws of humankind that would do her harm
be her fall
Paint her speckles
Cry wolf calls
Awareness found apart from that familiar shade of jade is what she seeks now clothed in freshly spun flesh

Been lost in the dichotomy of black and white
Of dark and light
Of wrong and right
But there is a shadow and a dim and a bright
There is a disaster and a mess and a slight
Colors and shades galore; eggshell, magenta and quite a bit more I could go on
But rather I’d tell you that

She’s skirts hoisted up crossing a river at dawn
She’s the soft pectoral muscle of a sweet mare in the hot summer sun
She’s a lineback dun
She’s creamed corn
She’s soft core **** but give it a slap, a thwack
A proper ****
Again
With feeling

She’s neon nightscapes
She’s every book she’s ever read
She’s scheming tree nuts finding the perfect spot to burrow into the soil nestled by nature’s urging to sprout a root and grow into a baby leaf creeping up towards the sky and downward further downward rooting deeper ever growing always breathing never being the same never changing in any way but in all the ways she must
A 1960’s average family man’s mid-life crisis convertible
Something turquoise
Fit for the kids and the wife and the ego and the front lawn and the grocer and a hightail down the coastline
She’s cinnamon and thyme
She’s spicy
On the back of her neck in the crook of her spine where the stardust that she’s made of meets for the millionth time
She’s a wave breaking in your mouth

She’s pouring boiling water into a lukewarm bath
She’s love

Salt water spewing levitating you but not for long if you don’t carry your own weight be dragged to sea always with me don’t get lost in my motion in my ocean in my Trojan horse my gift you mistook as something you could own

Moody blue waves go black with mischief in her moves,
Always flowing,
Spraying secrets untouched into the salt-heavy air above,
A slow smile spreads that far and wide away towards the sun,
Also turning on her tides.
Moonlight illuminating her curves and gestures.

Deceptive and lovely, a woman.
Never to be owned or won. Never to consider not being.
Magnificent. In her alcoves and her storms.
Gestures of night and paradise.

Well my dad has "a cancer"
And I suppose I want to write about it

I've just been to the chiropractor and
My beloved back ******* did something weird
Or I tensed as he heaved his mass
On top of my lower back to crack it
And now something in my right lower back dimple
Hurts

He collapsed on friday
Mom and I were home
It was a caustic flood of terror and dread
As we raced up the stairs
To find him
In the tub, unaware of himself

The screaming that ensued, the drag of the
Seizing, vomiting body to the floor
The wetness from his mouth
From his crotch where his body gave up its most basic functions as he left us for a while

Later he said he could still hear us
Screaming

I couldn't find my phone to call 911
I almost slipped on the stairs as I scrambled to the house phone

She was screaming "No! Estas vivo! Dios! Jesus! Estas vivo mi amor!"
She had her fingers in his mouth again
To keep him from choking on what was coming up
Even as his jaw tightened and his teeth closed down around her fingers
Later I saw blood on his lip where
His teeth had clenched down on her fingers
And caught the thin skin of his lip there
Blood and bile on the corner of his mouth

I remember one doctor we talked to
Said she shouldn't put her fingers in his mouth
I tried to pull them out
Her eyes bulged from behind her glasses
His eyes lolled, glossy and crossed
The foam across his lips, the limp body
The tightening mouth

I realized I needed to call 911
I ran for my phone but could not find it
I flew down the stairs, nearly slipping on my white socks
Screaming "No puedo encontrar mi telefono! Mi telefono! Perdón!"

I wondered if the extra seconds spent
Getting to the house phone
Would make or break his life span
As I shouted "perdón", I clocked the irrationality of that thought
Surprised that in this moment
I had the wherewithal to begin to blame myself
And to also dismiss the self-blame

I found the house phone and dialed

Sprinting back up the stairs

Her screams were even louder
I was screaming too,
Who knows if there were words in my screams

Nothing strikes horror into me
Like the sound of my mother's gritos
Terror, shrieking, demanding he live NOW
That he come back NOW
I don't properly know the words to describe how she sounded
I've never heard sounds like this
Screams like this

Ratcheting terror, acidic, piercing
It was not a wail,
Something in a wail has given up
This was a plea overflowing with fear and pain
While also a demand dressed in adoration and purest love
It was the sound of a child calling to her god
To save her one love
The sound of a wife demanding to her husband's
Earthly form that he STAY incarnate
The sound of a mother coaxing to the child still living in this man
Invoking each of his cells to come back to her
Calling him back from whatever ether
She could sense him disappearing to

He wasn't slipping away
He was seizing and foaming
There was no peace
It was maybe the fullest sound I've ever heard
I'm sure I'll hear it the rest of my life

Then I hear the 911 operator
Her tone condescending at the screaming
My screams were guttural
I have no idea what place those screams came from in me
I'm sure having my mother to mirror
Having her fullness to echo caused me to panic further
My body that once lived inside of hers
Heard that sound and nothing could be right
Everything was wrong
So I screamed and screamed,
Crying, guttural, shaking

The 911 operator said a few things and I heard her
I knew I could not speak kneeling there on the floor,
Everything in me, energy and body going out of myself
To these two who brought me to life

I leave the room and try to explain we need an ambulance
I tell her the address
Half way through the numbers
I hear my mother screaming again
And my numbers end in screams

I lean my forehead against the wall
I breathe slowly
And I explain the situation

Please send an ambulance
He's not conscious
Or is he?

I go back to the room
He is conscious
My mom is thanking god and holding his head
He is trying to brush her away
Feeling overwhelmed

He tells us he's going to stand up
My mother tells him no
He tries
I hold his arm and tell him no, you are not getting up
He says not to call an ambulance
My mother and I incredulous at his utter
Stupidity
The 911 operator tells us that he shouldn't move
He looks in my eyes and gives me his best death stare
I tell him no again
He stays on the floor and more vomiting begins

I grab a towel for him
It's not enough
My mother tells me to grab a plastic sort of square bucket thing from beneath a rocking chair nearby
I don't like that bucket though
And I don't think he would like it either
It's a weird color, a brand sticker has been ripped off of it, it looks cheap
So I go downstairs to grab a mug
The 911 operator has become more sympathetic to our plight
I suppose now that I am no longer screaming in her ear
The ambulance is on its way

I pick a large flowery mug with a funny base and a round middle
My mom says it's not big enough
I go downstairs again and grab a bowl this time
I take it up but it's not right either

My mom insists I get the square bucket thing from under the rocking chair
I do
It's right
I go back downstairs
The 911 operator says the ambulance is in the neighborhood now
I cry a bit as she soothes
I selfishly take this moment alone in the hallway by the front door
With the 911 operator on the line
Soothing tones and soft "yeah, I know, that's pretty scary stuff"'s
Wash over me and I cry again
Telling her this is the second time
She sees that on the file

Out of the porch window I see the ambulance, I let her know they are here
She wishes me a good day and hopes everything will be alright,
I hold her well wish in my heart as I open the front door for the paramedics
They go up the stairs and to the right

My parents and I are slight people, we are all under 5'6 and petite
These paramedics are so tall and large,
Equipment makes them even bulkier,
They fill the space so completely,

I don't want to go into the room,
I don't want to watch him dismiss my mother yet again
When yet again it was her who
Beseeched, demanded, begged, pleaded, created
With everything in her
For him

And he brushes her away with a swat
Of his large knuckled hand
He's an old white man
She's a youthful Latina woman

Wearing pajamas, red, swollen eyes,
Her accented voice filled with equal parts joy and suffering,
He's alive, but is he dying?
Frizzy hair in a low pony tail,

The paramedics follow his suit,
They want to dismiss her as well,
They downplay the seriousness,
He downplays,
They downplay,
And she sits beside him anyway,

I leave the room,
I pet my cat,

I go downstairs to text the family group chat from my moms phone,
I still can't find mine,

My brothers are coming into town today
For dads birthday dinner tomorrow night

I text them them a brief synopsis,
I hear the paramedics upstairs joking around,
My mom is helping my dad change into other pants
In the bedroom,

They carry him down the stairs in a chair,
They take him outside to put him in a stretcher,
I say "I love you", he waves
I go upstairs to check on mom
She will be in a frenzy trying to decide what to wear to the emergency room

I tell her to put on sneakers
And that the hoody she had on was just fine
She is beyond frazzled
She has to change her underwear and get new pants too

I stand just outside the bathroom door
She puts on the hoody
Then throws it to the bed with the dramatic flare of whatever panic attack she is stiffling
I demand she put on the hoody
Grab her purse and go downstairs now

He needs to go to the emergency room now
And she needs to go with them,

She obeys

She leaves the house

The ambulances leave the house

Mercifully, I am alone

I clean up the vomity things
I wash the dishes
I put clothes in the wash

At some point in the madness my mom told me
To turn off the grill
There was a brisket there
And it shouldn't burn
I go back to the meat
I can't turn the grill back on
I try the same useless technique for several minutes

Savoring the crisp air
I feel a bit selfish again
Wondering if there's something else vital I should doing
But I realize that no
There is nothing more to do

I let a few juicy self-pity thoughts soothe me
I'm just a child (I am 29)
I shouldn't be cleaning up my parents ***** soaked pants
Calling 911
Cleaning his bile from a hideous square bucket thing
Then I realize of course
I am 29
My dad is 80
This is what happens
Sometimes

Later at the hospital
They did some things they needed to do for him
He fainted from low blood sugar
He had been starving for a month or more
A growth in his esophagus
Not allowing food, water, even saliva to go down to his stomach
He had lost nearly 30 pounds in three months

He refused to go to the doctor earlier
In these three months,
Refused to be urgent when he spoke to the nurses or doctors
Refused to heed us that he needed to be seen immediately
But finally even his body could not resist his ego's need
To be okay,
And his body did what it needed to do,
To get the help it needed,
His body sent his mind away,
So that we might help his body,
Because he would not.

Now 6 days later I'm sitting in a Barnes and Noble writing this out
He's been released from the hospital,
He is home and eating again thanks to a stent in his esophagus
Next week there is a meeting with
The very nice oncologist
Today there was meant to be another procedure
But it got cancelled because of the stent
I am waiting on a call from the oncologist
Apparently she called us several times to let us know that the appointment was cancelled
But no one received any calls
I wonder what number she has been calling

We got up early this morning and went to the hospital
He didn't eat anything all morning and spent unnecessary energy walking around
He needs every pound he can get
But I breathe slowly
I can smell my charcoal and lavender deodorant
It's actually really soothing

Party in the USA is playing
I'm having a pistachio late
And right now, everything is okay

He is at home, eating some soup or something
Having a protein shake
He is stable and okay
It's all okay now

But it wasn't okay then
At all

And now it is okay
Which is hard to accept right now

I am exhausted.