So, he tells me you’re a Switch and into BDSM, right? — I’m at an in-person story telling event. I survey the partially filled-in crowd and assess who to inconvenience with my presence next to them. It’s a thinner crowd in the back, and I want a seat on the outside, preferably for an easy exit. …

A Poem —

I see you reading and not reacting, and it’s me too — The internet became my sex education as a pre-teen. Being raised in a private Christian school, we weren’t allowed to talk about sex, evolution, or science, for that matter. I don’t think we even had a science curriculum, which was what Bible class was every morning. When I found the…

A Poem — A future without anything new hand-me-down skin figure accidents happen because to try means accomplishing something beside caution thrumming a possible harmony in the necessary wild of terror, apricots and accidents of loving me. Thrum cautions whims thought of nothing until now how a world can be waiting in your throat and all you…

No, darling, I don’t want to be in your threesome ever — Too gay to be straight, too straight to be gay, so we’re erased in all aspects, needing to be either one thing or the other, when sexuality is a spectrum that can’t be defined so easily in extreme terms. When I mentioned my past partners were men, I have had…

I’m not going to steal him from you despite what you think, I swear — I walk into the bathroom to have every other woman having the same thought as me with a burlesque intermission. The speakeasy music plays in the background and fades as the door opens. I enter to see the legs of women squatting through the small slats from behind the stall…

A game where the quiet win and the ones who make a stand and say something, don’t — I’ve muted the ability to hyper-react to passive-aggressiveness when it comes to my parents. But, one word kept being repeated that I knew it was never in my mother’s wheelhouse until she uncovered my hidden writing account yet again. This happened as a 10-year-old with a journal and how she…

How do we repair what we both are responsible for breaking? I’m trying to write things that astonish me each day — What do you do when you’re supposed to be working fifty hours a week and find yourself staring at a day on call, which morphs into a free day? What can you do when the weekend is yours when normally it’s for those who pay to relax at your expert…

We can’t piece this back together again — I’ve been a fractured person for most of my life. I’ve had some traumatic things happen and just found out within a year I have PTSD, Autism, and probably other things hiding just waiting for me to find out. …