Death is always with me, inside of me, and layered behind what’s in front of me. The life we see swirling all around us is fueled by death. What lived before is part of us. My ancestors speak through me. Plants and fish that died help form my body. The earth is full of minerals,
Dear one, Years ago I was in love with my friend G who introduced me to the band Woven Hand. Yesterday I got a weird craving to hear them again but didn’t know the name of the band. I tried searching “dark country” and “dark country guitar” and finally found a playlist with a Woven
This poem “when Michael dies” is about my close friend who I never met in person yet. I ask for her post-husband visit so we can be animals together, and I would like to comfort her in her grief. when Michael dies When Michael dies, freedom will fly into your life like a wild wind,
Is it possible that a family has something rotten at its core? My family has something like a horror movie woven into the cloth. I don’t want to use the word “evil.” More like diseased. But that sounds like an ableist metaphor. Is this rotten-ness real, and if so, what do I do about it?
My dad’s suicide has been fucking me in the head lately. I’ve been thinking about death way too much. His death–my eventual death. My mom’s death. My spouse’s eventual death. I’m terrified. It makes me panic in the night, which interferes with my sleep, so then I panic more. I hate all that. grief spiral
“I need something different,” I told my spouse. “Something very different. So I’m going to write down my direct request.” He was in the mood to please me, even more than usual. “Ok, sounds great,” he said. a mood I had been experiencing intense grief. I was in a mood, and I needed sexual pleasure
My breasts never see the light of day. They are the whitest part of me–the skin there feels thinner and fragile. I have veins on my right breast that are visible through the pale breast skin. These veins are a big deal emotionally. They make my right breast look different from my left. I have
“You wanna put your mask on and sleep some more?” I asked my spouse. He has sleep apnea and uses a cpap mask. “But if I wore a mask, no one would recognize me,” he said. “I would, and Bunny would. We’re who matters the most,” I said. “Ok,” my spouse said. “We recognize you
content warning: sexual assault I found out my rapist died. Googling my rapist is something I’ve done and asked other people to do for me, periodically. This time my good friend offered. I asked: is he alive, town of residence, and whether he’s in jail. I think this man raped countless people. I’m an anarchist
My spouse went to read yesterday’s post with the meme of the ’90s kid about to instant message your girl, and he was confused. Gender trouble! “Is that you?” he asked. “No!” I said. “I didn’t make that meme!” “Oh, ok,” he said. “Wasn’t sure.” “I didn’t look like a boy that much!” I said.