My addictions are mine and comfortable. I wish I didn’t have them, but they’re part of me. They’re like my disabilities– I know what to do. My addictions are like soft, frayed blankets, easy to fall into. I’m not proud of them, but I’m used to them. I know how they smell. my addictions Long
I love betraying my family. Lately I betray them with my transness. Oh, so you think I’m a girl? Some people have known me since I was born, but they never knew me. In the past I’ve betrayed my family by… moving away divorcing my first husband, when they all did not divorce divorcing my
“Do you wanna shave me?” my spouse asked. “Yes,” I said. I had been saying no for a few days– felt good to agree. My spouse handed me the electric shaver. They grabbed my breasts and started to jiggle them, as I shaved their chin. “Be gentle, and get off the nipple,” I said. It’s
This is a letter to my lover, or to someone who was my lover, and I hope one day they’re my lover again. It’s about my chosen wound. Dear one, My chosen wound is partly about fatness. You know what the world does to very fat people. But it’s more about home and safety, and
Dear one, I want to tell you that paranoia makes sense. I’m not making a mistake exactly. I’m seeing what’s there after being gaslit by culture. The contrast between the truth and the official word is whiplashing. Like when my mom died. It’s bad enough to lose someone I need and all that entails–her unfathomable
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,
“It’s such a relief, not to be Miss Piggy for once,” I said. My spouse has been making obnoxious kissing sounds sometimes when they kiss me, and it makes me laugh. I told them they sound like Miss Piggy. “Mwaaah! Mwaaah! Mwaaaah!” they kiss, and I giggle. “Mwaaah!” My giggle inspires them–they do it more.
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
Dear friend, I was never young. In years, I was young; I was born as a baby and progressed as one does. But I was never young in the sense of needs met, well-being protected, spirit cherished. What’s innocence? I definitely wasn’t guilty. But life didn’t unfold in a stepwise way. Choices were denied me,
I’ve been thinking about eunuchs for a few months. I briefly dated a transgender person who was Italian-American, a witch, and had undergone bottom surgery to remove their dick and get a vulva. They related to the eunuchs in Rome long ago, some witch eunuchs. content warning: violence Well, honestly I’ve been thinking of eunuchs