That was the moment I would have touched your hand or asked if I could kiss you. We both wore pretty dresses, brick red and pink. I wanted to learn everything about your life north: splitting wood in your free time, community conflict, living in an RV. You said I was a role model of
I have one good friend who’s dating. She broke up with her boyfriend a few months ago, and she’s free. She tells me about her dating experiences. Sounds like a shitshow. But she wants different things from what I want. fat As a fat person, I endure the pain of being mis-seen and projected upon,
I was happy to learn that my poem “how I find it” published in BiWomen Quarterly is on their blog. Happy to have a poem in this magazine, and share my world view and love-philosophy with bisexual women and all people. I read my poem in the big pdf of their newsletter. But I enjoy
I used to feel very private about my feet. I didn’t want them messed with. They seemed lowly, making contact with the ground. Calloused, never super clean, vulnerable to a shard of glass or stubbed toe. Sore, a lot of the time. They seemed off limits. An ex had sex with my feet, one time.
Sometimes I think bad art is better than no art. I don’t mean bad in the sense of boring–I mean bad in the sense of unskilled, shaky, rough. Lacking context too. My art doesn’t call upon a long history of art and situate itself within a school or have a philosophy, really. I think of
The silk of the thin scarf feels extra good on my vulnerable breasts, and the yellow gives me pleasure also, which must be pretend. It’s not like my skin can really feel the yellow. But my soul feels it, responding with a yellow glow of its own. My breasts are my favorite part of my
“I really want to have sex with you,” I told my spouse. Then I started listing reasons. Here’s the bouquet. You are sexy and really hot. You are conveniently located. The commute is short! I don’t have to worry about catching illness from you, really. We are already germ bonded and fluid bonded. You are
I heard from my aunt, on my dad’s side. Normally I don’t speak with that side of my family at all, the white side. My aunt is a racist, harmful person. Her unwanted message totally threw me, for half a day. The most upsetting part of hearing from her was her asking if I was
Hey, I missed International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers. It was December 17th. Sex work is work. Yeah, who decided sex workers aren’t valuable people whose well-being matters? I didn’t decide that, and I won’t play along. Sex workers are my favorite people. Thank you for making choices to speak up for sex
My friend sent me a link to this song that made him think of me. It summarizes ideas that I believe really hard about freedom and self-love. I love my body, and I enjoy loving my body. Definitely I want to talk about that, on this blog and everywhere, and laugh publicly at the oppression