Proximities.

This is a blessing
For the bliss of
Breaking down
Breaking out
Letting go
Of love
(or closest proximities of)

Fond affections
Now disfigured
And distorted
Embers burn
Down to ashes scattered
Into the howling wind

What is a little bit of
Betrayal between friends anyway?
A glance over the shoulder, lamenting
How the worst enemies
Are always the ones
We know the most intimately

I propose a toast tonight
With a heart closed
And a raised fist clenched
Drink to your health
And the wealth
Of lessons learned
In blood sex
Promises half spoken
Unremembered and never meant

Viva love
(or closest proximities of)
And long live its death

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Proximities.

Dream of apocalypse sex with apocalypse ex

A dream of you this morning
Three years on
Pressed against the wall
All filthy and tender
Open

We were never
Going to be anything like
The love of one another’s lives
Or grow old together
And that’s just fine

Because we both have known
That kind of love
Shakes you to your core
Pulls you out of your skin
To dance in your bones
The kind of love that
Will not let you settle for anything
Gets you fucking moving
And this, this just is.

An exercise in anything goes
An exercise in escaping emptiness
From one moment to the next
Running circular furrows in
All the same well tread paths
Until boots burn holes in our maps

In the afterglow
Beneath the flickering lights
Whisper your secret fears
Of the fire next time
Written into your genetic code
Whatever horror this world holds
You feel it coming for us
In your root of your soul

So here we are
All fucked up
Yet unbroken
Against the wall
In love and war
All at once now
For war
But never in love.

Dream of apocalypse sex with apocalypse ex

For fucking fearless queer love.

queer bootyI wanted to send my sweetheart a cute selfie tonight.  We will not be seeing one another for a few days, and this is literally what I look like in bed, so I figured why not?  I look fucking good.  I’ve been feeling myself hard lately, and not ashamed to admit it.  I wore a ton of make up to the gym the other night, and chuckled internally just a little bit at the bros giving me a wide berth as I made my way to the squat rack with Black Sabbath’s Paranoid blaring in my headphones.

I’ve hit a wall with my writing the last few weeks.  I have two larger pieces in progress, and I just don’t know how to land the first one, and the second one, well some of the subject matter just feels so raw somehow to dive into fully.  So instead I write short poems, and read a lot.  I don’t do enough work revising pieces intended to submit to journals.  I keep meaning to, and I keep running out of time in the day.

I’ve been playing with gender expression regularly lately for the first time in a long time.  In so many ways it’s still such a strange and terrifying journey.  I grew up effeminate and sensitive in your slightly more homophobic and right wing than average family.  My lack of masculinity and sensitivity quickly made me a target for bullying, and soon after it made me a target for sexual violence when a few of the older kids in the neighborhood got me alone.

By the time I was seven, I was well on my way to learning to keep parts of myself cold and buried forever.

And those pieces of myself refused to stay buried.  For that, I am so, so lucky.  This isn’t to say I didn’t grow into one hell of a vicious streak, and that I don’t still have plenty of ruins to undo, but still.  I’m so blessed to not have a head that is entirely filled with bad memories and broken glass.  I’m lucky enough that I figured out how to not let my trauma define me.

I have spent my life surrounded by some of the most courageous and loving people on the face of this battered earth.  I don’t know how any of us could have made it through this burning nightmare that is the modern world without one another.

Middle school in the 90’s, and tough girls in combat boots taught me how to wear raccoon eyeliner like my idol Robert Smith.  When I was in high school, I played in bands with boys who cried, and crusty punk girls who punched nazi skinheads at shows.  I hit my early twenties and came out as genderqueer.  I wanted my gender to be total negation.  I didn’t want a gender at all.  I would wear all black everything, and keep my face shaved a smoothly as possible.  I learned to only share my body with those who I could actually be intimate with.  Nobody else deserved it, or could even understand this strange and distorted reflection I saw myself in.

When it was time to drop out of the rat race we’re expected to inherit when we get out of college as soon as I fucking could.  I hopped freight trains and into speeding vans with fearlessly criminal trans women who survived and braved lives that I could scarcely imagine on and off the streets while I was still dreaming of running away from Southern York County.

In my late twenties and early thirties, still trying so hard to live bravely through trauma and mental illness, I allowed black and white thinking to cloud my vision.  In this world supposedly without boundaries and binaries, I still found myself feeling as if the world held no place for me.  Maybe if I tried harder to squeeze into a binary, it would.  I would identify solely as a transwoman.

That part, I don’t really want to talk about, aside from noting that my exploration of this identity led to the worst mental health crisis I have ever faced in a life that has been well, kinda filled with mental health crises.  It took years to pick up the pieces and get back to where I am right now; which is living relatively comfortably in my occasionally made up and lace adorned skin.  While existing in this gender fluid space with relative ease, I also I live in awe of all the courageous, creative, and criminal queers that came before me.  The trans women, the gender benders, the fags, and the dykes that fought and died so I could be right here.  I think about the QTPOC who threw bricks at cops a decade before I was even born, and live with a lack of privilege that I can scarcely comprehend.

Thank you.

I’ve rambled enough, and it’s time to sleep.

All this to explain one cute selfie.

For fucking fearless queer love.

Written in the dairy Aisle, 8:08 PM.

I love you and
I hate you and
I don’t hate you
At all.

We were both just
So fucking mad
And I’m so sorry for that.

I hear nowadays
You are hurting real bad.

How seizures keep
You shivering in your bed
Gasping for breath
And clutching for your CBD pens

I heard it at the grocery store
My first thought
Was to shoplift
As many of those
Little fuckers as
I could possibly push
Into my pockets.

Seal them safely in a package
Sent with no return address
To your last known residence.

With love,
Your favorite ex-friend.

Written in the dairy Aisle, 8:08 PM.

In The Spirit Of Sound

Sound out lost youth
And dreams gone to dust
Shuddering, thundering frustration
Pulled screaming out of
Every last distorted chord
Scream it out, scream it out
Loss pouring from glass throats
Scream it out, scream it out
Every shadow that we hold
Every last cobweb from the corners

With quiet moments
Of cautious hope
Resounding triumph
And the joy we’ve lived
Or just a nights calm rest
Within a warm room
Or out to paint the town
(and ourselves)
Black and blue, but still true

This sound, the sound
Of breaking down
Breaking out
Paper cuts line tired, tired hands
Twenty years singing the same tune
And a movement for invisible truth
A lifetime of wearing wounds
Twenty years with the light creeping
Into the corners of a cold room

There is a light
Piercing through these miles of night
There is a light
And this time
We chose not to hide our eyes
Twenty years with beautiful noise
Coming from a crowded room
Twenty years breathing, moving, screaming
Living, always living
Every iota of us poured out
Into the spirit of sound

-2015

In The Spirit Of Sound

11/15/16

11/15/16

Oh, holy darkness
I ask you to reach down
From the vast night above

Oh, holy darkness
Wrap this burdened body
In the warmth of your ebony arms

You are not the most tender
Lover I’ve ever known
But tonight you suffice

Tonight your shadows
Carry me all the way home
And tuck me away into safety known

Oh, Holy darkness
My night is long
And dark, and full of dread

Save for the refuge you offer

11/15/16

Dear Absentee

Dear absentee
With this ache I want to much to believe
This could be our very last sad story
There’s just so much out there
Lurking in the dark to be afraid of tonight

First and foremost
I’m afraid for all the beautiful
Broken toothed victory stories
That we might never live to tell

How we were supposed to grow
Old, brilliant, but most of all, unbroken
Bitterness and defeat never taking deep enough
Of a hold on our bodies to ever hold them
In place

Because we were always born to run
To move and grow and bloom
And not let the brokenness of
The world we left behind break in turn

At home
I pause to breathe the cold air in
Beneath the light of the moon
I pray with all the strength I have left
That the light finds its way down to you too

Wherever you may be, lost in a wilderness
Of fractured reflections
And the hardest of truths
While everyone who ever
Ever loved you

Most of all
Waits and waits
And waits
Hoping
You’ll just come home.

Dear Absentee