Tub Time

I do my best thinking in the bath

getting in before the water

and sitting there, chilled

until the water creeps up

inch by inch, warming my body.

Sometimes I let the shower

pour water down on me from above

like a calming rainfall;

bringing cleansing thoughts
in addition to hot flecks of water.

Once the water has reached its limits,

past the tape I’ve placed over
the drain to stretch those bounds,

I can relax and think.

I watch the water play over my body,

causing little ripples in reflections of the tub,

the faucet, the drain spout,

using my hands to block or aid 

my vision of myself.

Coffee Filter

I drink my coffee through a straw,
the conduit acting as a filter
to draw away any bitterness;
Any teeth staining substance.

A way to let the hot liquid slip
straight down my throat:
a bitter pill made less
difficult to swallow.

Much like I did with you,
using lust as a conduit
to safeguard my feelings
until I had enough distance
to realize what you were.

A bitter substance
better left untasted,
no matter the caffeine rush
you promised to give.

It wasn't worth the risk
of tasting you
craving you
becoming addicted to you
for a simple jolt to start each day.

But I did it anyway.

Down to the Quick

I bite my nails, 

down to the quick

because at least that way

I know I've reached 

my limit.

Pain when my fingers clench;

blood when I make a fist.

A tiny bit of masochism 

no one sees

beause they can't look past

a filthy habit.

And it is both,

but it is so much more-

A sweet release, 

an oral fixation, 

and a way to make yourself feel something.

Even if that feeling is one of pain.

Orange Juice

The taste of orange juice,
reminds me of you;
an acrid taste inside my mouth
coupled with an articifical sweetness.

This shouldn't be. 
You are the sweetest guy I've ever met.

I constantly miss
the taste of you;
your tongue inside my mouth.
Coupled with you, that's real sugar.

Kitchen Disaster

Every time I go home,

I bake.

I bake, and I bake and I bake,

Until my mom groans and bemoans

that I ruin her diet, with my sweets.

But it is a compulsion-

Where real life is suspended

for easy choices and pre-cooked meals.

But I like to bake,

a safe place for me:

where I can still fail and not feel

too bad about kitchen disasters

I can later throw away.

The time I made the Tangerine Soufflé,

Complete disaster.

Forever to juice,

zesting my knuckles instead;

perfect curls ending up smushed.

Fruitless.

But I misread the directions

Left out a key component

And when I smelled something burning

I thought all was lost.

But I managed to salvage my creation

burned parts scraped off,

lots of whipped cream;

A little slice of orangey heaven.

Even though the rest of it,

Which my family didn’t eat,

just sat in the fridge,

until I finally threw it out.

So Instead I'll Be Your Nothing

Most days, I can't remember what you looked like,
but the smallest things have imprinted on my soul:
    the pebbly, raw texture of your skin
    the way you vocalized your favorite word
    and the coarse texture of your hair.

I've lost track of your smile-
don't remember how you said my name.
And I know I'd get it wrong,
if I tried to put down on paper
my memory of your face.

Though I hold fast to what I can remember:
    the necklace from a religion you didn't believe in
    the downward curve of your nose
    and the way you looked at me that summer.

You wanted me to be your everything,
so instead I'll be your nothing.
I've let you slip away,
only for you find your way back to me in dreams,
a hint, a memory of what was.

Shadow Flicker

The shadow of you haunts me;
an itching presence between my shoulders-
that prickling feeling of being watched-
yet also of watching
as I visit the places we went
and those I'd expect to meet you in.

Your generic looks an unwelcome specter
as everyone can shapeshift to become you
from the edges of my periphery.
And still I turn my head,
not wanting it to be you,
but already preparing what I'd say if it were.

Though it never is.
Because you are a ghost in real life now,
barely living, barely being seen.
Believe me, I'd like to forget you,
but instead I'm being haunted.

Retemomreht

Always remembered in the light,

You showed the coldness in the bowels of the earth,

Yet you were shoved into a corner

Of the bland earth, not looking after smooth preps.

Unheeded by bimbos,

Completely content

In your wealth of surroundings

And you stayed put

Wanting to go, but ungratefully, you were

Placed during the sunrise,

Staying put for an enemies enjoyment,

And for his enemies experiment.

From the bright day to the murkey depths

Into the foaming sand,

That mineral enriched mud,

With all the life forms teeming,

Better off than after,

When you bumped into the smooth

preps once again.

Never told to stay put, stroked feet

And lightly speckled, wide-open mouths.

When you kept the chill:

42°F,

unconsistent,

with Freddy dead, good company. 

Her stunted growth,

Smaller and smaller,

Because he starved her and ignored her.

Less peeping eyes and softly squeezing feet,

Ignored you too-

Uncaring if you would start to be

Unsure of yourself.

Thermometer

In a dark and forgotten place,

with no one to show the world’s warmth to.

Taken in by salty water

to tend spiny urchins in a tank.

Watched over by the few scientifically minded, but still

sort of lonely in sterile surroundings.

Unbidden, but gratefully, you traveled,

stolen during dusk, taken

from the murky closet to the brightly cluttered desk.

Into the still water,

The distilled water:

No life that you could sense, seemingly worse off.

Bumped by other needled creatures

often moved, by grabbing hands

with darkly rimmed, peeping eyes.

And still you kept the temperature: 24°C,

constant.

After it hatched, also alone.

Growing bigger and bigger every day

because she Fed him, Watched him, Obsessed over him.

More peering eyes and groping fingers

watched you too,

to see if you would continue to remain

Constant.

Silence

I choose silence as my companion.
More secure in that relationship,
to stillness- to solitude-
than any romance that's come before.
I can bask in this silence,
give myself up to it and just think:

I can think sweet thoughts - have innocence-
without feeling like I'm missing out.
Without feeling like I'm missing out on something,
some monumental part of my development-
my relationship to adult society.

I don't have to prove anything to silence,
don't have to say anything
just to make the time pass.
We are just content together,
silence and I.
No awkward pauses,
no interview style dates.
We've known each other far too long for that.

And it's a comfortable silence;
me content to be myself
instead of wondering
how I might appear to someone else,
breaking myself from relaxing into the moment
and just being alive.

Silence is inside my head,
a calming presence.
It doesn't break itself into my thoughts-
it already belongs there-
nestled in a spot I'm comfortable with,
not taking up too much room or attention.

Silence is inside my soul,
a contentedness.
There is no force, no anxiety.
I'm just whole and at peace
with the silence.

That soft stillness surrounding me.
Silence.

Instead of Some Boy

She cried when I told her, 

then lied straight to my voice,

Worried I was not being straight,

With her.

And I sat, crumpled into the smallest possible form,

My own hands hugging, holding

Because she wasn’t there to do it for me.

And she sobbed and asked me,

Was I sure?  How could I be sure?

What about that boy…the one I like before?

And I sobbed something back,

Taken aback by her shocked reaction.

But also in watery relief,

that she still loved me,

even though I loved her.

Loved a her,

instead of some boy,

the one I liked before.

A response to hearing Rigoberto Gonzales speak; dedicated to my mother and making peace with ourselves and others.

Untitled

You are both hard and soft, to me. 

You turn me on, you turn me off, 

you are both hard and soft, to me.

Your skin so warm next to mine, 

I marvel in it's silky feel, much

easier to feel than the sting of your words, 

like the rough barbs on a cat's tongue.

You are both hard and soft, to me.

I'm not ready to prove my worth

in case I let you down. 

I'm not ready to trust you either, 

in case you push me down. 

Then the shield of your soft arms, 

won't be enough to stop the hurt.

You are both hard and soft, to me. 

Do opposites attract? 

Or are we only trying to fool ourselves-

only out to get what we each need:

A snuggle on the couch, 

A quick kiss at the store, 

A giggle in the bed, 

And a moan the night before.

You are both hard and soft to me, 

both a pull and a push. 

My body wants to stay 

wrapped in yours all night,

while my mind tells me to run, 

before you turn out my light:

You are both hard and soft to me.

Kreuger, the Carnivorously Inclined Crustation

Oh Kreuger,

You are my little crazy crab,

Swimming all day back and forth,

And all around the little tank,

You go.

Girl or boy, we do not know, Hermaphrodite:

You are a gender ambiguous crab to me,

And may you stay,

For you have no playmates.

I took your tea bag away,

Your resting (spot) in the darkness,

Once I turned out the fluorescent lights,

You were left with only the bag. 

Until the thermometer came into your life.

And oh how you love it,

You caress that thermometer like your mom (eter)

And you wish to make sweet love to it,

And you wish to give your babies over to it.

Hopefully, you will not eat them, when they hatch,

Because I forgot to give sand to you,

And I am unregular in my feedings for you. 

Sorry little guy/girl,

I love you.

On birth control

I mark my time in pills,
little daily doses of reality
as time slips away.

These perfectly formed pills-
a stark contrast to my life-
stamped and placed efficiently
in their perfectly formed
blister packs,
ready to be swallowed.

sometimes a girl feels
as if she's drowning
in pills, being swallowed whole
as she lays there alone.

Encased by many blankets
as her feet try -thump- to escape,
in the throes of a bad dream
little nightly doses 
of terror made real 
as time slips away.

AMF Lanes

Laughter in a swirl of motion and color,

Red and blue lights- our disco

Balls are spinning, 11lb meteors

Aiming straight and true to strike

the pins.

Or, veering wildly off center

Into oblivion for the infamous,

and tragic, gutter-ball.            

We make up dances for each

play, getting sillier with every

throw as around us-

body odor and stagnant beer.

But we don’t care, because tonight,

We are Unstoppable.

[Lady Deer] horse, unicorn, disco-dancing ballerina

Relationship between order and chaos,

Magic and rhythm;

It’s why we say “abso-fucking-lutely-

We don’t say absolute-god damn-ly.”

One thing’s in focus,

But the rest is blurry.

Gesture is powerful.

Making out with our hands,

Making art with our hands.

A small change,

A measure of taste.

Progression: choice of order.

When you can’t believe

She just busted out

that song mid-question,

and realize singing has been around

Since the beginning of homo

-sapiens.

 Impressionists, all of them.

Expressive eyebrow.

It’s why infants are helpless,

Different from other animals;

They have no control over bodily functions.

Bad mothering is the cause of every problem,

individual to one.

Mother and smother.

We need a security, pattern

Mechanism in our minds.

To create individuality,

We would be crazy.

A Response to hearing Robert Haas

Graphite Keys

His writing,

One clack of his booted foot on the carpet,

Seamlessly walking where he has never been before,

The click is loud like a sigh of flowers,

Put in the forefront of my mind,

Stopping, a triangle of sound,

Walking downward, sloping as I wait,

Trying to grasp the meaning,

And the loud rubbing

As a cat hissing to get out

Always begins again.

Her typing:

Like a never ceasing click of high heeled shoes on a tiled floor,

pausing only to examine where she has already been.

The clack-clack is faint like buzzing,

put in the background of my mind,

Going on and on, in circles,

jumping hurdles around me as I try to sleep,

as I try to think of something, anything,

but the faint scratching,

so like a dog wanting to be let back in,

never stops.

Gender Dysphoria at the Gym

In the men’s locker room,

There are urinals,

Lining the walls,

And sinks. It stinks.

 In the women’s locker room, 

There are stalls. No balls.

In the men’s locker room

the shower’s have no soap,

and though they have no soap,

there is hot water to spare.

The women’s locker room 

should be the same. But it’s not;

There are stalls to shower in,

With two curtains and soap,

But no hot water.

In the men’s locker room,

Urinals are places to pee.

In the women’s locker room,

Urinals are places to decorate,

Grapes and leaves,

And neutral smelling tablets.

In the men’s locker room

There are lots of boys;

In the men’s locker room,

There are lots of eyes.

In the women’s locker room,

Females change clothes;

In the women’s locker rooms,

Gravity slows.

Migraine

A cacophony of discordant thoughts

a jumble inside my head

each thought shrieking 

in a different pitch

to be recognized, reconciled.

Until a slow rhythm builds

as their insistence

to each be heard first

grows stronger, louder.

And just when you think

you finally have the rhythm;

that you can relax into the beat-

the pattern shifts, 

becomes more shrill, 

adding flashes of brightly colored lights

to the existing music,

which creates

an entire audio visual performance

behind your tightly closed eyes.

Your wince puckering 

into a grimace.

Quite the performance.

Now if only you could

bring yourself to enjoy it...

Surgery

I know they talk smack about me

when I'm out, cold,

lying prone on their operating table.

I want to write on my body,

"don't treat me like meat."

I have a story and a life,

I'm not just a chunk of flesh, waiting,

to be sliced open

by a knife, left hung

in a balance of life and death-

a subtle ballet.

But choreographed by them.

I have no control, no clothes.

No dignity,

lying in a paper joke.

And yet, even more

they take from m;

that they judge my body

my life - me-

by my naked unconsciousness.

But I judge them too,

in consciousness.

Though they might

save my life, they

don't have to be smug.

After all, they are only human.

So no,

I won't feel bad if I don't wait

until your shift is over

to die.

After all, I'm also human.

So give me that, at least,

my humanity.