please open the jar don’t sit down yet just don’t call off again this week I am thirty-four and I have the hand strength of a fifty-three year old. I am thirty-four and age means nothing in the face of chronic illnesses. When my DNA was coded, my connective tissue was made too loose. NowContinue reading “There is a certain kind of tired that only comes from arguing with your own body continuously”
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I am somewhere beyond this existence.
the walls are made of flowers holding hands. no one gets grief for holding anyone else’s hand here you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel cry in any gender and still be seen as strong we know nothing of prejudice, capital, or constraint here save historical examples archaic relics, reminders of who we will neverContinue reading “I am somewhere beyond this existence.”
“Doesn’t it get very exhausting, viewing the world through that angry feminist lens?”
or, alternatively titled, ‘a study on how to dissect my anger and find it villain,’ find it too sharp, too mirror too reflective and you didn’t really want to see yourself as the problem did you so instead it is me and I am told to put on something else like maybe it would beContinue reading ““Doesn’t it get very exhausting, viewing the world through that angry feminist lens?””
When I laugh it is a holy sound
It is the thing I do in rebellion to the many things that try to trim my joy and sometimes gouge and sometimes win so when I smile, It is vast like the solar system stretched like a big top tent, wide as a tug boat pulling everything I’ve ever been right alongside me andContinue reading “When I laugh it is a holy sound”
I am not the handcuffs on my bed post,
nor what you assume they say about me. I am the steady voice that asks them to be used. not just IN control I am control even when I consensually give it away. I am a sovereign entity, allocating all this power exactly as I see fit, boundless even when bound I am safe. IContinue reading “I am not the handcuffs on my bed post,”
“You know you can’t be walking around looking all cute like that, getting me all worked up like this.”
As it turns out, I can. As it turns out, your being turned on is not an excuse to turn off your brain. This honestly sounds like a personal problem. This is something I don’t have to don’t want to and am not going to help you with ‘cause this is what I damn wellContinue reading ““You know you can’t be walking around looking all cute like that, getting me all worked up like this.””
Perhaps you fell in love with the idea of me.
It was my hair, wasn’t it? it accented your t-shirt at the time or your eye color, or your endless insecurities. you forgot entirely that i am a person entirely- not just a big smile, an aesthetic, some kind of misplaced manic pixie dream girl let loose in the wild for you to discover andContinue reading “Perhaps you fell in love with the idea of me.”
Asked about the greatest fear they have with online dating,
cis-men most often answer that their partner might be fat. Asked about the greatest fear we have with online dating, trans people, non-binary folk, and cis-women most often answer that we might be murdered. It appears that a cis-mans’ greatest fear is someone not living up to their expectations while our greatest fear is notContinue reading “Asked about the greatest fear they have with online dating,”
When I raise a son, his first language will be no
his second will be I don’t know, and his third will be silence, I will do so just to teach him how they are all synonyms, how they might as well mean the same thing because none of them mean consent. I will teach him yes is the only word that ever means yes, andContinue reading “When I raise a son, his first language will be no”
To the voice in my brain that tells me no one will give a shit about my poetry:
I am writing anyways. This poem is yelling a relentless echo around me for a reason. It knows hide and seek isn’t always a game, sometimes it’s a lifestyle. It knows I might as well have been wearing camouflage for my formative years but I am trying to live a different life these days, oneContinue reading “To the voice in my brain that tells me no one will give a shit about my poetry: “
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