I wanted you to fuck the safety into me. I wanted your hands on me for a much longer time. I wanted to matter to your body. I wanted your unique intelligence up in my unique intelligence. I wanted to see how being close to you would change me. I wanted someone to collaborate with
When I soaked black lentils on the counter at the same time you marinated tempeh on the counter, I pretended you were my friend. I hope your meal was as delicious as mine. I dodged you in the kitchen as well as I could, no longer crying about your leaving. I’d memorized your departure date,
I wrote this poem “sapphire” about choosing to live by making a promise about what to prioritize, saying no to love that would destroy me. I choose to survive. sapphire I got your message that you’re sober and back in Ohio with your family. I wanted to be your family. You lied to me. You
This poem “craziness and consent” is mostly about disability and family pain. craziness and consent does consent count how crazy is too crazy when I’m in another mood altered state another world unshared reality my spouse tried to do it with me he takes no for an answer and never shamed me for anything
I heard a dirty limerick on a Parliament-Funkadelic recording. Can I tell it to you? There once was a man in Peru who was dozing in his canoe. He started thinking of Venus and pulled out his penis: woke up with a hand full of goo. I’m not sure I have that quite right, but
I can only be close to people who like to communicate. I can’t afford to be abused. I’m crazy disabled and need my resources for myself. my mom didn’t form my body in her body to be harmed. my mom told me to get the fuck away from him. my body isn’t his to use.
the second time I was invited to bed with you, beautiful sacred man I believed was God visiting to bless my body, I would have touched your hips, peeling down the band of your chonies to know the bony articulating handholds and memorize them. I would have sniffed your chest and pet slower the brown
he’s the kind of guy who takes a bunch of naked pictures interspersed with not-naked pictures and wants to show you not-naked pictures, but you accidentally see some unexpected dick. he’s the kind of guy who reads difficult books because his head craves exciting brilliant difference. he’s the kind of guy who needs to sedate
sex as healing the bold head and matching wings form a plump wishbone shape I would lick until you shake. please rest in the joy of my care, then come on my tongue and learn my name in the depths of your contracting vulva. you gave everything to many loves who half-understood and blamed you
a previous, much shorter version of this was published in July 2020–I greatly expanded it, so here is is anew. i used to think relationships were made of words, all language. then i decided words are just little poop pellets that relationship leaves behind–mostly worthless evidence. then i thought relationships were soul level connection. like