I read somewhere that Nemo is Latin for "nobody"
and the way you look at me confirms,
you see only a long haired mess
and a box of childish thoughts.

I was never one for silence,
Those times I hear nothing but the earth
moving along with a wheezy breath
pushed wholeheartedly from my chest

I was never one for quiet,
the heaviness of unmoving lips
the weight of every moment held
on a tight, tense string

I was never one for stillness
I revel in the way chaos moves
with steadiness and deliberation,
she makes no mistake.

I don't want to *******.
No, I want to be the midnight air
seeping into your pores,
witness the horrors
of your mind
and make them no more
I wish to row,
                    row,
                           row,
gently down your stream
of consciousness
and to arrive safely
at the solutions
to all your heart's
conundrums
and hope to God
that I am one of them.

I'll make love to you,
if you want to, too,
or lie silent in the night,
syncing heartbeats,
never touching you.

But I don't want to *******.

I want to set sail to your words,
to conquer the ebb and ride the flow,
establishing allies and vanquishing foes

I want to know the history
of every mystery
that you find compelling,
to correct your m̶i̶s̶p̶e̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶  misspellings.

To be the lyrics to your favorite song
to be the sunrise when the nights get long
Yes, I long to be the object of your sideways looks
and to sleep between the pages of your favorite books

To stare in admiration at your eyes
like constellations
and wish on every star
to know every part of who you are

To have my sun-baked skin
be consumed by the waves
on the curves of your face

To trace and map
every landmark
on your effervescent skin
and be the nervous sweat
that clings to it

I want to let your strong lungs intake me
and let your cool air sustain me
and pray that you might save me
a spot in your heart

I wish to start pulling your mind's
fibers and wires
and to start a fire
under your frozen tongue
and be the unsung hero
who rescues you from yourself.
I want to silence your loudest thoughts
and embrace your silent tears
and I want to make this clear:

I do not want to *******.

I want to be inside you.

It's like floating,
sinking in a deep pool
of potential raindrops
that are destined to fall
on your head.

My 2 Cents

“the advocacy of women’s rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.”

Let me start by mentioning that I don’t usually get involved with political matters, but in this case, I’d say it’s more of a basic human rights matter.

I’m a man, and I’m a feminist.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a home with three women; my mother and two older sisters. Growing up with them gave me an enormous amount of respect for women, (even though I may have lost a certain amount of socially expected masculinity along the way), and their current lives continue to increase my respect for the opposite gender.

My oldest sister is leaving to study abroad at Oxford in less than a week to major in philosophy. Philosophy. She also graduated high school with a 4.0 and was involved in power lifting competitions and is enlisted in ROTC. Simply put, she’s an animal. She’s worked hard her entire life and I’d hate to see a world that put that hard work to waste.

My other sister is working three jobs to pay her way through college and is planning to major in psychology. I’m always envious of her work ethic and level of commitment to not only her education, but to her friends and family as well.

My mother has been my backbone since I was a child. She was always the one I turned to in times of trouble, and continues to be. She works hard everyday, while going through mentally straining marriage problems, and comes home and still asks me about my day. She has given me nothing but unconditional love for my entire existence.

For these reasons, it boggles my mind why anyone would ever be anti-feminism. I am genuinely confused as to why, because their bodies are different, women get less privileges, respect, opportunities, and even money. I just don’t get it.

I am also disgusted that women are seen by most men as walking ****** organs. l will admit genuine guilt to using the number scale to “rate” women. It’s something I grew up with, but now it sickens me. Assigning a number to a woman based on your misguided views on how she should look, whether you would **** her, is something I find repulsive. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the opposite ***, but no one gives a **** about your stupid opinion, especially the woman.

I hope someday if I ever have a daughter that she will have the privilege of living in a country of gender equality, tolerance, and open-mindedness.

Anyway, I just wanted to put my two cents in.

I am a man.

I am a feminist.

Peace.

I grew up in a home
where words like "atheist" and "agnostic",
if uttered, were shoved under rugs
or place mats or quilt-work sentiments reading
       "God Bless This Home"
And so I too, would hide from those who hid
from God.

But then amongst the distaste and disregard of things
less than God,
I Became An Evangelist!
Ah, yes!
Because whose soul doesn't want to be saved
by a thirteen year old with a clever Christian
saying on his shirt that's a size too small?
But not only that, no.
I dragged my friends along with me.
We were, in fact, a regular children's crusade.

But I was a little bigot.
I pushed away those who
pushed away God,
shocked at the thought
that anyone could not believe
in what now seems
completely
unbelievable.
I even scorned the science teacher
who had the audacity to introduce
the evil of evolution.

I was on fire.

But then the Devil himself
put Kurt Vonnegut on my lap.
Yes, I accredit my loss of faith
to a crazy science fiction writer.
At least, he pushed the first domino.

And my God, I was afraid.
Afraid of feelings of distance
Afraid of questions that never seemed
to have an answer.
Afraid I was losing myself.

I struggled with the traditional questions, of course:
Why would a benevolent God send good people
to hell for not believing? Is he that insecure?
If he is omnipotent, wouldn't he know what
he was getting into when he created such sinful
little *****?
Why should we be indicted simply because we
were born?

How does He expect me to give Him my entire life?

Fast forward about four years.
I'm eating lunch with my oldest sister,
a philosophy major, no less.
She tells me how she experienced almost
the exact same thing I did.

And after an inward struggle of four years, finally I had the courage to admit my Agnosticism to myself.
I simply did not know.
How could I?

But now I'm left to deal with my friends,
and most of all my mother.

I should not feel guilty for my beliefs, or lack thereof.
I am an agnostic.
I am a humanist.

I am on fire.

I was asleep in the backseat.
At least I pretended be.

The man in the driver's seat
began to spill insecurities
on the cold steering wheel
and into the woman's ear
about how his children
judged him too harshly,
were too emotional.
That he'd done the best
he could with what
he knew.
That man was my father.
At least he pretended to be.

I was asleep in the backseat.
At least I pretended to be.
But my mind was wide awake
flashing angry colors I couldn't
comprehend.

I could not comprehend how
the man in the driver's seat
believed that his actions,
his infidelity,
would roll off his children's
shoulders like warm rain
water.

I could not comprehend how
he felt sorry for himself
because we would always see
him as the bad guy,
the cowboy with the black hat.

I could not comprehend how
he'd expected us to feel.

But we were all okay, now.
At least we pretended to be.