I quietly experiment with my life.
No one needs to know.
The feeling of the glowing light
in a dark room all alone.
Wishing for you.
Wishing for exercise.
Wishing for inspiration
outside of the frame,
the page,
the screen.
Anxious about my shaved head,
my protruding ribs,
and childlike body.
Anxious what you'll think,
what they'll think...
afraid to go outside;
afraid of nothing.
Manic.
Afraid to talk to anyone.
Suddenly feeling the urge
to email my grandmother
and ask her about
the anonymous weight of people
who refuse to get off me,
and then hate myself
for sounding like a
hipster war-victim.

I stand still,
and they push me in circles.
Circles of friends, lovers,
and kindred spirits
who think I'm too much.
I hold hands and look away.
Close my eyes while they **** me.
Avoid their kisses and remarks,
devoid of attachment.

I was dazed
twenty-five-three-hundred-sixty days.
Nights itching, wishing,
to be a door.
Ed, I needed love,
but wanted release —
naturally —
when I least expected...

FINALLY!
I can't articulate how,
but I know why.
I let my body take over
and then I cried,
my bliss all over the pillow.
Everything I had resisted,
Gone with *******!
Yet the trust lingered.
A blur in the dissipating bliss...
but at least a blur!

I am proud.
The shadow of men thinking I'm crazy.
I am still proud.
I will shout loudly off empty rooftops for no one to hear,
that I am PROUD of my ****.
My breast swells deep with enormous pride —
I am free. I am free!
Giving up  knowing what feeling means.
My **** clearly know better.
She is my teacher.

Anxiety is love's greatest killer.

It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you.

You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

They teach me things and I **** them in return.
It's all I have to offer.
They wouldn't bother otherwise.
I'm  good at *** and they want me.
All I want is to learn.

I am curious.
I want to get ahead.
Even if I'm tired
or not in the mood,
I pretend I like it.
I like seeing their faces
light up with glee
when I give them what they want,
after they've given that to me.
I like hearing them
tell me I'm beautiful robotically.
I like hearing them
lose control and moan,
surrendering their
worthless pretenses.


Maybe one day the trade
won't be the same.
I'll be older, wiser, uglier,
and generally less fuckable.
And then who will teach me new things?

one day (or night)
it hits you
(the feeling that you are not alone anymore)
and even though you were never afraid of
(loneliness)
you don't want to feel it anymore

Warm brick glows every night;
a friendly embrace lighting the way.

Always someone wants not you.