14/3/2015
Girl on Girl Violence
Disgusting. The first line of Plath's Lesbos: "Viciousness in the kitchen!" as if she were announcing a fight. I hate the fact that I compete with men, but I hate even further how I am forced into competition with women. Should I say "fellow women"? Does my biology tie me to them? I am a disgusting person. I am filled with disgusting fluids and bones and marrow. I am full of disgusting hatred and foul feelings. Who the fuck cares. My goddess-like figure is all-at-once disgusting to me. Entire epics can and should be written on disgust. I am disgusted of everything around me. You. My words, my sister. My mother. She fucked me into existence. Existence was inflicted unto me. Disgusting.
Girl-on-girl. Why do they call me a girl. I am disgusted by being a girl, but I would hate even more to be a man.
—
23/10/2016
tie a string to my heart
and call it a tendril
next morning I'll leave
a note on your windshield
"I was here where you are
remember me
laugh at coincidences
carve your name
unto a sycamore"
I will tie my destiny to yours
I will become we,
dissolve unto your skin,
carry you within me,
craft you into existence
with my words
my collision with you,
a catastrophe
—
21/11/2017
When we were five, Megan took me to her attic to show me something. I was scared, so she took my hand. I felt a warmth that spread from my right hand all the way to the bottom of my feet. A seed was planted in me that day. She became my lungs. I learned to love in seconds. I asked if she felt it too. She didn't understand the question.
—
2/1/2018
They use the term "unrequited" to describe my love for her. To requite is, in a way, to reward. She does not love me like I love her. We came to accept this fact very early on. She is my one and only love; I am not hers. It hurts, but it hurt way more when she wasn't in my life. Some things hurt by their presence and others by their absence; she hurts either way, so I decided to love both ways of pain. Pain makes me woman. Pain makes me real.
—
3/6/2019
"I think I left your backseat"
sounds on the radio as she drives me home
her eyes on the road
hands ten and two
she worries too much
rides the bumps slowly
so it will not hurt me
she asks me if I still feel it
and my loins fire up
do I still feel what
that thing you felt
when we were little
what was it
it was love
has it faded
not one bit
