I stand here on a street corner,
daisy dukes and fish nets,
my favorite Metallica crop top
floating up on moonlit skin.

Monster truck inching close,
breath pacing through the city streets,
I walk to the edge of his dark lair
to bite any hesitation.
With curt words and close heads
I smell the whiskey in his breathe.
Pulling into the alley's grip,
I let him lead and grit my teeth.

"Shhhh, I won't get busted again."
the whiskey whispers against my ear,
"Don't make a peep."
Then I'm not sure if it's man or whiskey
who turns me around in callused hands.
He spits first,
entering with a grunt,
and my hands slide down the window with each ******.

5 minutes.
I horn honks in the distance, long and mad,
as whiskey man unloads on my back,
along with his long, satisfied growl.
That's it, with a reluctant 20 bucks,
and I'm back biting the wind.

why are you so cute?!
*******
i can't breathe
i used my last
on saying "hi"
and "how are your classes?"
and can i kiss you?
which i swear
i almost said
but *******
do i want to
to feel your hand again
brushing mine by accident
hot ****
i remember that
and oh i can breathe again
to say "bye"
and "see ya around"
hopefully tomorrow
and the day after maybe
hopefully always
i miss you already

I'm a lot gayer than originally planned.
*******. Gay.
But I'm worried about the concept;
not sure if it's right to use the word
“gay”
when (I'm sorry I said it)
I'm really bisexual,
just particularly into women right now.
Like,
is that bad representation
of my sexuality?
Only encouraging
bi-erasure?
It just doesn't have the same
“umph”
to say
I'm feeling particularly
bisexual today.
But I've been telling myself
over and over
that it's okay,
no matter what
I'm feeling today.
I don't
need
your
box

anymore.

your lips taste like sunflower seeds and nicotine,
i imagine,
though I've never seen you chewing
sunflower seeds.
your favorite place to have ***,
i imagine,
is on top of a stranger's pool table.
not that I've heard stories.
one day i made a joke
and your laugh and smile combined
made me permanently *****
but still, i only imagine.
i just keep tasting
you in my
sleep.

Turn off the pain and up the heat
   Puncture me with needles so sweet
Run the blade right through my heart
   And love me 'til the blood runs dark

Cut me arms and pull my hair
   Tell me just how much you care
Take my body, I wont fight
   Take me far from the light

Tear the meat from my bones
   And make it feel like this is home
Slash the whip across my face
   Bring me to my happy place

Yesterday was like spilt milk. Each time I folded the shirt it became imperfect in a different way, mocking my calm face and salad fingers. My current occupation is crying in an empty bathtub, imaging floating in a space where my brain can be separate from my body. Where knives are for vegetables.

Yesterday was yet another existential brain ****. Mother stood in the shadow doorway shaking necks from afar and my teeth retreated into their gums with each mental earthquake, nailing deeper the words I try not to think about, softening my surface.

Yesterday I decided to eat my tongue and forget thoughts as soon as they come.

My mind is blank,

   where I should be tumbling
   over everyone who gives me love
   and ****.

Over every mother who informed me
about the "real world".
Over every leader who told me the "real words".

   Even my own self,
   queen of no *******,
   even I've been washed away.

Even I've been
                             saved for a better day.

I used to be
afraid of my *****,
thought it looked loose
and unusually mushy.

I thought my first time
having ***
would be lights off
in an insecure mess.

I'd been told
"they're all unique"
but I'd look at mine, teary eyed
and couldn't even speak.

It wasn't until I went
lights on with a girl
and I still thought she was
the most beautiful thing in the world

that I realized how
she felt the same
and we only put
our own bodies to shame.

So I want to write an ode
to my beautiful ******
and give her the love
she deserves.

(p.s. I named her Carolina)

May you feel the hunger inside
subside by the tip of my tongue.

May your every fantasy and more
be born through the touch of my hands.

May you cry out into the night
that you might see yourself through my eyes.

May these moments be nothing more than love
when the morning shows a pillow gone cold beside you.

Amen.

I noticed how freaked out they got
when that couple kissed in sight
or smiled just a little too wide
into each others’ adoring eyes
and it felt like compressed air
too many soggy molecules
packed into fleeting cold stares
because god forbid you be happy
and *you don’t get to have love
when I can barely sleep at night
because my silly ******* job
keeps me from what I really want
and I am always the depressed wolf
who gave up on finding meaning
from this **** storm we call life
so please, “get a ******* room”
you stupid storybook happy people
I don’t want you to remind me
that I used to want to care
or that my thoughts used to have
resemblance of a child’s wish list
just get out of our deteriorating lives
don’t ******* come here again
with your stupid storybook ****.

Every time I see a beautiful girl
that I want to kiss,
I feel less self-conscious my self,
because every time I am reminded
of how **** us women are.
Yes, especially in our too-big
***** t-shirts
and bed-head  hair,
we absolutely ******* gorgeous.

Hey-
everybody listen,
I think I have just discovered
the one advantage
of being gay.

Oh yeah,
for the win.

His muscles are tightened
and my intestines twist in my stomach juice.
His eyes are glued to the glowing screen,
but mine trace the curves of his back, shoulders, and neck.
I close my eyes and feel his touch,
his soft caress and tender ******.
My hands and fingers through his hair,
his chocolate skin and everywhere.

I open my eyes to the TV's glare.
Light shines back across him,
an arms length away from my burning.
I bite my tongue and hold my breath,
only breathing again at the fantasy
of someone loving me.
Saving me.

He's right there and doesn't know
how he makes me cry inside,
every time he moves an inch, laughs out loud, or-
god forbid he turns around.
He does just this, an looks at me,
smiles that smile and pats my knee.
As if he feels for me.
Won't you feel me please?

At home I lie in the dark,
trying to smell part of him on my clothes.
Nothing.
I stare at the ceiling,
my mind too full to let me close my eyes.
I'm only able to smile,
though I know I will later cry.
His image ingrained for another sleepless night.