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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Should

Maybe

I should

write more;

maybe

I should

change

the story;

maybe

I should

wear a shirt

when it rains

and nothing else;

maybe

I should

pretend

I don’t feel

other people’s pain;

maybe

I should

go over there

and explain;

maybe

I should

keeping looking

for love

in all the wrong places;

maybe

I should

look at a poem

and not a mirror

to fix all the broken pieces;

maybe

I should

see my throat

as a moat

and not a trap;

maybe I should

gain some flexibility

in my lines

and my words–

cut myself some slack;

maybe

I should

be aware

of the fear

in my viens

and nothing more;

maybe that voice

in your head

is nothing more

than an eyesore;

maybe

this pen

never actually

runs out of ink;

maybe

I am a person

that can help the ship sail,

not sink;

maybe

I should look for God

a little harder;

maybe

I should

keep the drain

clear of any shit

expect clean water;

maybe

I can be

the person

that person

wanted me to be;

maybe

we can see ourselves

out of this misery,

penitentiary

of American “should’s”

and personal “would’s”

and keep going,

going.

 

October 22, 2017

vain

does death

always have to come

with vain

 

if the proper steps aren’t taken,

if you decide

to sit with it for a while,

question

why the loss of something,

someone,

can’t just stand still, be what it is,

a truth that lays down

beneath the dirt besides its owner,

doesn’t trickle into the water

asking you to take a drink,

to take it as your own.

 

it’s hard work, making sense of it;

but maybe we are responsible, in part.

 

maybe we can choose, if we are willing,

if we are able, to hold onto the love

that you have lost and rekindle it,

make it something valuable, something important–

something that, in it’s own way,

allows us to say,

“At least he didn’t die in vain.”

 

July 30, 2017

Inheritance

What legacy

have I been born into,

have you been born into,

have we been born into?

 

The farmer,

the preacher,

the banker,

the slave owner,

the slave;

the pawn,

the mom,

the sister,

the son,

the game.

 

It’s all a game of competition

or at least it all seems like a game of competition…

 

The Earth is not a game.

The Earth is life;

and we are part of the Earth.

 

We have each been handed an inheritance

that we had no control over.  You’re right.

 

We’ve all been infants, breast fed, bottle fed,

learned to read if we were lucky.

 

But how much did we really learn

if I am unable to read the society around me–

if society is unable to read itself?

 

Who created this inheritance, thought it was a good idea?

 

What is an inheritance anyway?

 

If leaves learned to read, write, speak

as we have…

perhaps we would have an answer.

 

January 22, 2017

Trees

My back

is strong

like a piece of bark

it has its edges

but it is stable,

it stands tall–

it is stillness

and silence

and me.

 

These elements

of control

have never been

my friend.

 

Illusive fears

of loosing

a self

that I had forged

by lack of force

the word loss–

I could write odes

to loss

and sonnets

to loss

and haikus

to loss

and I would still

remained

lost

in the same sentiment

 

Who am I?

 

Where do these attachments

leave me?

Where did I acquire them?

 

Did death bring up something

deep inside of me

that always needed healing?

 

An unknowingness of stability,

the entrance of doubt?

 

I am here, writing,

wondering,

thinking back to trees with hearts

written in their sides.

 

October 8, 2016