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Ongoing
Ongoing
I've been writing poetry since elementary school. As a kid, I loved complicated rhyme schemes, and that blossomed into a love of sonnets, villanelles, sestinas, and other constrained forms. I still especially love blank verse. I'm only drawn to write poetry occasionally, and am rarely as pleased with the written product as I am with the process of writing it.
I became interested in diary and memoir in middle school, starting with journaling and then moving into online platforms. I maintained a LiveJournal from 2001 through 2017, and still write on DreamWidth and Twitter regularly. I keep most of my writings there locked to a known audience, to provide some separation between my work and personal life.
I've always enjoyed storytelling, and some pieces from my journals have become small performances. The Medical Bathroom is a story that would be much more dramatic if the fact that I was there telling it didn't assure you that I definitely wasn't murdered on that third date. My Mother Takes My Things is a reflection on scissors and love.
It's the minor dental imperfections
Framed by a mouth that would swallow me whole
That stir my sense of adventure tonight.
Hoping you don't notice my hands shaking,
Quivering with the fear that it will be
As easy to say yes as to say no,
I ponder what it means not to love you.
Eyebrows knit as I discard my clothing
Reveling in the tactile sensations
Which come with a newness that I can taste.
Ticking off numbers in a blackened book
Younger selves thought we would never open.
Exhaling deeply when you're not looking,
Confident at least one tooth won't bite me.
2012
Thirsty, I take a sip of water
An ant comes with it
This is how this year has been
Each moment
Pulled squirming and drowning from my mouth
2020
In this dream we sit in a wooden room
Somehow, tangled together in ways bodies don't when I wake
My legs slung over your body
My hand on your stomach
Feeling you breathe in and out
I look at your belly button and see my hand rise and fall with your breath
When you kiss me, I'm surprised
Because when we're awake you've said no kissing
Because the cultural cache of Pretty Woman apparently hasn't worn off
The kiss is deep, passionate, engulfing
It feels incredible
Your tongue is full and wet
I am over the moon
Beyond excited
But somehow watching your stomach rise and fall out of the corner of my eye
Feeling your breath as we kiss and having that connectedness enforce it all
I think to myself
"This was worth waiting for"
I awaken, heart pounding
My warm and heavy blankets the only thing keeping me on this earth
No yearning, only satisfaction
2015
There is a flutter set into your skin.
It's faint and constant like the beating heart
Of something small, a hummingbird within.
Each quiver makes it hard to tell apart.
2019
1995
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