But

I called Allie and told her:

That’s it?”

Okay.

First kisses aren’t supposed to be good, right?

But can I think of kiss with a man that was “special”?

Some felt special…but I never understood why.

With her though…

I felt a hunger beyond thought,

beyond practice —

beyond expectation and protocol.

Do I feel that way with men?

Or is it more me practicing a movement,

an excitement, a momentum I’ve been taught?

The idea of being with her is more all encompassing

than I have felt for anyone else.

But I still know, deep in my soul,

that Adam Levine is hot as fire

and I would have been with Charlie in a heartbeat…

that it’s fun to dominate a guy,

and that I can do it well– ask them.

But am I aching for their touch?

Even with all those long term crushes?

I could play this game all day, comparing

gender

when I’m actually comparing

people

and there is not much more to it than that.

 

The soft skin — it’s real.

The emotional connection — it’s real.

Wanting to call you, she, they

baby…

that is something I know

I would never want to call a man,

even before my pink brain understood feminism,

before I had a reason to ask Charlie to a ball,

or chase Dan around a school yard.

It just feels more right —

and yet I have practiced this with men all of my life –

how many of us are there?

Chasing people we can never love around a globe, around a city.

It’s unfair to everyone involved, really.

Will I never be with a cis-man?

Of course not.

I have loved men before and I am sure I will again, statistically.

But…

 

To every bisexual who has every wondered if they were just gay or a lesbian…even when you’re confident in your identity.

 

October 12, 2019

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Three Parts

I.

Our hearts wide open

on the sofa, in the den,

we glide

past memories and landscapes

of lost wishes and dreams untouched–

but oh, my dear, did you touch them!

How far you ran!

How far we traveled

when home was right next door?

I can only tell you so many times

how much I love you,

mom and dad,

how much I owe to you,

my gods on Earth, my saviors

of moon and light —

of all the in-betweens and all-togethers.

Success? Winning? Acting out?

Do you remember me,

do you know me better than I do?

I am your baby bird…

and I am here, beautiful, flying…

you make money not to chase

your own dreams, but for us…

talk about pressure!

But I suppose each generation

has its shortcomings of identity

and mind that the world threw at them,

so you throw it back up,

say I’m better than you.

 

You made me.

Without your light,

I cannot shine.

 

II.

And you tell me: “What doesn’t kill you

makes you stronger.”

What if I fear I have lost part of me?

But dear…look around,

you are here,

and this is now,

and now is the Earth and time kissing

on two planes, four dimensions

that we know of, hurtling off in space

and yet perfectly safe.

This world may think its won–

they may have knocked me down–

but maybe that was not me to begin with.

You ask why I’m so quiet?

Because I’m readying up to get mad

and spread some joy around to make it better.

You told me you have some secret cure?

Cure for what? A story unfolded?

Afraid of one’s own shadow?

Or the light bouncing off your face?

Is that how trauma works?

Healing is all Earth is,

is all that’s in your blood, your muscles

and tendons and heartbeats and breaths.

I am here to guide you,

parents, elders, child.

You may see me as Father Time,

but I’ve been your mother, all along…

riding sunbeams, glorifying everything

and nothing. I am Earth.

 

III.

It’s cold in my childhood, only-home

for-a-while bedroom

and I wonder what life “should” have been…

Life sees no life without death.

I was there. I played. I fell. I rose.

I survived, god damn it.

My body and mind are still god damn

here, my spirit unbroken.

 

Sleeping, eating, breathing…honey,

you are an animal as we all are.

There are moments you must do nothing

but rest, let the Earth care for you.

You cannot take over for her.

We all know what it’s like to interrupt

the most powerful women in our lives.

This is the mother of all mothers,

life giving grace from the God

that is a woman, that is everyone in between.

You have a scary fucking story in your head,

taking over God’s role?

Hell no!

I have my dad’s wings

and my mom’s heart,

so I can keep gliding,

gliding…

 

January 4, 2019

An Apology

Does it feel like I’m standing on a pedestal,

lining up facts to throw at you

like pies in the face:

wham,

wham,

wham?

 

Is that where the education you sacrificed

so much to get me has left us?

One longing to be understood;

one in another world,

where fathers raise belts

and call their daughters stupid

and cheat on their wives,

make their daughters believe it,

even at 55?

 

Is that why you look away?

I feel threatening,

on another plane,

a plane you do not think

you are capable of reaching?

 

I am sorry, mom.

I never meant to make you feel alone,

abandoned, like he did.

I never meant to shut you out of another world.

 

He was wrong.

Look at all the choices you have made:

look at all you have created for yourself,

for your children.

 

I want to look you in the eye,

tell you you are smart before beautiful,

that it is okay to talk about difficult times

and keep going with no interruptions

until you run out of words.

 

I want to tell you how proud I am of you,

how lucky I am to be your daughter.

 

What different lives we have lived,

both birthed from the same stone.

 

We are humming, we are singing,

and we will dance, hand in hand, soon.

 

November 22, 2018

Oh, heart

How many ways can a heart break?

How many ways can it be seen?

 

It’s different than being watched–

that’s what they teach us

(that’s what I’ve learned, anyway).

 

They are watching me, all of them:

walking, sitting, eating, drinking,

readying themselves

to be the same animal I am.

 

But they don’t teach us that.

Animals?

What animals?

 

Do squirrels know a broken heart?

A lost friend, cousin, partner,

hopeful wanna-be?

Do humans have a “special”

bone in their bodies?

 

Back to heart break, then.

 

One way, friendship.

You make excuses.

You give them the room they need to hurt you

because you love them, and so they leave you

(congratulations on your wedding–

your dress was snug, but otherwise alright.

P.S. I don’t know how to forgive you).

 

Sometimes, you hurt them, friends.

Sometimes, you don’t know how or why.

Letter to future self (heck no, past self):

communication is a measure of maturity.

If someone won’t talk to you, it’s not your fault.

Go find someone that will, and send your love

to the quiet one. Fuck them, but love them anyway.

 

And then there was the time you fell in love with her

anyway, the time you learned that it was possible.

The world of love is not only “he’s” and “she’s.”

That is good.

 

And then you look behind that crevice in your heart’s

third chamber and you see all the “he’s”:

the high school acquaintance, the high school sweetheart,

the best friend. You see the quiet, lonely college boy

in the body of a man, the head-one-size-too-big gentleman

who was not so gentle, took a plane to Berlin

and never called again. You see the stupid in-betweens

who you never really cared for, who sunk you down

slowly, slowly,

and the one you learned from for a year,

but still kind of reminds you of Arnie.

 

And then there’s you.

The perfect face. The perfect hair.

The perfect laugh. The perfect stare.

All the perfections of a momentary crush

that don’t seem to shake off.

 

You’re just the next one to break my heart.

 

I don’t want you to, though. It feels too good

thinking of you. So I’ll keep the talking to a minimum

in my head, save it for next time I see you and make up

another story of how I’m not good enough,

of the ways your perfection (I know “there’s no perfect,”

but you still mesmerize me)- could never consider

looking my broken hearted way.

 

But you don’t know how I feel, do you?

Why would you?

I’ve known you for 2 years

but have felt this for 2 months.

 

It never makes sense, remember?

 

Because humans are not special.

Because no one is watching.

Because we’re all just trying

to find someone,

some one,

to see us.

 

Titled inspired by/owed to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqvuydbEv10
September 30, 2018

Life as She, as They

To look upon a lover

and see new life

coming into being…

when you didn’t know

that life was beyond

a baby and a cradle,

that this moment

of one life manifested

with another that is god damn

beautiful

enough to allow a new life

to emerge–

a love that is a life itself.

 

And so I must challenge myself.

 

We all want that love,

so why not work on it on our own

stake your claim

on yourself

put “you”

first, middle, and last

interwoven, intertwined

in all other loves that come your way.

 

Love is only two manifestations

meeting after all;

that’s all it takes.

If you’re lucky enough to find

two, three, four–

my darling,

devour them.

 

Wonder how you got so lucky

but do not ask why

because you are here,

and this is now,

and only she knows,

only they know,

only Life knows,

the sum of all nows.

 

July 17, 2018

A Song For You

To write a song for you…

I’m not sure

that would be enough

to conquer all the land mines

and droughts of ego,

to call back love and light and mystery

all in their due time.

You are an angel

from a sky I have not seen;

you are a fighter

sent to battle with the demons of our ancestors,

a capitalistic machine

that drowns us all in its own way;

you are the oxygen tank.

 

Take your place on the stage, my dear,

and I will hear your heart sing before your lungs,

will promise to throw every rose

from my garden up to you,

to let you take a bow,

to strike up a conversation with my neighbor

when he says, “God damn, that child sure does know how to sing,”

to which I will say, “And she sure does know how to live.”

 

May 6, 2018

Hello

my darling,

sleeping in this bed,

waiting until

there’s only now

and no tomorrow;

each cell

a masterpiece

of sound and I

celebrate

the beauty

that has come

into my life.

 

Slowly, sun lifts

from eyebrow

to eyebrow,

yawns across the sky

and grants us a grin–

now tell me again

of this thing called love?

I hear you

in the night,

just as gentle

and unafraid

as you are

in the morning–

sun shining,

blades of grass

shooting upwards,

following my mind’s eye

as I send

a word of thanks

to whatever god

there is for sending

you to me.

 

How many steps

were taken,

books read,

conversations had

until you reached

my lips?

How many times

did we scream,

“When?”

before I could

tell you,

“Now”?

 

It is always now.

 

It is always now

that I will love

your midnight kisses,

blush as you name

your reasons

for loving me;

now is the time

I love you

and the tongue

you use to speak,

words of rise

and triumph

and resistance

and awe.

 

Now is a time

for no time,

for no thing,

except our cells

lighting up,

greeting each other,

saying,

“Hello, again…”

 

March 8, 2018