Tag Archives: self-love

evergreen

this is exactly what I love:

early mist, morning in the woods
nothing in particular to do but float in solitude,
thinking fondly of loved ones
and the sacred distance from and between them.

Kote chewing tall grass
curious peacocks and one-footed hens
startled doves, and no feathers on the ground
tiny pink and white spring petals where I expected them
mosses and lichens, green on the side of everything
collecting lilac and cedar bows,
a care-filled gesture
bundled and wrapped tight and loosely
in cottons, wools, and silk
hole in the boot as usual
and carrying Sofia’s scent of some fire
her smell of knowledge
tinctures and drinking and dancing
she knows all the plants of the Pacific Northwest
our home, our evergreen.

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there is no book

today you’re milestoning miles away
and you are owning life in fistfuls,
for you there will always be poems
I think of you fine, like eating all my greens
I think of you fine, like one more whiskey shot
my love for you, discovered nameless
uncovered, a swirling, effortless brook
you are a rare bird,
beautiful, and flown from the pages
body as a nest,
there is no book.


stay bolden

night is a calm wisdom that winds down circular
spinning gently as a floating flower with the year’s end
the road is a lapis knife splitting air between the trees

so,
do I want it ruby rhinestone gems
glinting in thick whipped mash-potato life-line splat
or heavy-cut dripping open orange oil tang meat

we are content or we are going to be


first blood

(found this, written a year ago)

I wake before morning
dark, moonlight
surprised to find my body naked
leftover wetness from a dream
smile sweetly, indulging
diagonal on the bed
and in the morning, first blood


homeless with money is a boring series of cafes

I am moving to a warmer middle of nowhere. I have to keep reminding myself that this is the goal.

It’s getting Cold. Cold is not a  memory, it’s a fact. And I forget every year. I remember rage, shaking hands, damning the sky and needing dry pavement like air. But I don’t ever really remember the feeling of Cold.

 This year, just as all before, autumn is a gift and my heart leaps at the thought of stretching it down the Alcan. Fall is a season everywhere else but here. Here it’s a bitter tease, a jest.

Every year I don’t have enough sweaters. Where do they go? I’ve never had a coat that seemed warm enough. I need a coat.

My dog needs a coat. She’s loosing all of her hair. One of three things is wrong with my dog:
1. Nothing
2. Auto-Immune Disease that costs $20 a month to treat
3. Auto-Immune Disease that costs four hundred dollars a month for the rest of her life to treat

But, oh yeah.. Cold.
Lastnight was Cold. I cried in the parking lot of Wal-mart because I had a really bad headache and a stuffy nose and I’m working too much and my back hurts and my neck hurts worse and my pain medication doesn’t really work anymore and they won’t give me anything stronger, not that I really want to be taking medication anyway and I know there’s a couple beers somewhere in the van underneath all the clutter, that will at least help me sleep, but I already took the pain pills that don’t work and I smell and I need a shower and laundry and my parents are out of town and I wish I could go to their house and eat and watch tv and cry in the shower but our relationship is all weird and they won’t let me have a key and whatever ’cause some people don’t have parents so fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll just go to bed and if I masturbate I’ll fall asleep faster, but I can’t even jerk off because nothing is sexy to me and I’m too cold and thank god I borrowed that sleeping bag from Aren when I did or I would be dead and I need to give that back, so I need to get some wool blankets but Wal-mart didn’t have any wool blankets but why would they and I hate Wal-mart anyway but everything else was closed by the time I got off work and I could go sit at Barnes and Noble but I don’t think I can sit up because I feel sick and I just want to lie down somewhere warm but everyone is gone or busy and nobody cares that I’m too cold and I’ve been fucking up all my relationships because I’m tired and cranky and selfish all the time lately and it’s my fault I’m homeless and cold.

So then I’m like: ok, yes, you made this decision. There’s a point to all of this and you are working toward a goal. You will get there, and it’s not that bad. Many before you have dealt with so many more obstacles. Obstacles, you are strong, you are a lion. You are a momma cat, but you are also a bird. You are smart and strong. You are resourceful. You have been through so much worse than this. Fuck everything in your way. You can do this. I can do this.

And then I just went to bed. And this morning I awoke. Still alive.

I’m going to live with my father. In November. I’m going to nanny my new baby sister, Cedar, born in July. They live in a town sixty miles from anywhere on the Olympic Peninsula. I’ll have my cats back, get a side job, walk Kote through the snowy forest, get to know my dad and have lots and lots of time to make music and art. I’ll stay as long as I want. and when I’m ready I’ll go somewhere warmer still, hot even. I’ll go to where the queers are. And I will collapse, relieved, revived, in the arms of my chosen family.


mean reds

I adore my menstration
fuck  its bad reputation
I love  the sensitivities it brings,
how it makes me soft, tender and tame

and when the pain makes it so I don’t want to eat
it feels good not to fight
take off my glasses, kick the covers off the bed and writhe
face smashed against the little acorns, rocking hips

I feel happy
no one can take this feeling away from me
I am alive.


pin holes into the sky, part 2.

give me one of your freckles
we’ll trade a tiny part of ourselves
I’ll do you and you do me
constellations of love over our bodies

Honey Bucket’s hands move just like Elena’s
and I remember warm nights
sleeping exausted
from talking and dancing and kissing

I’m pretty sure the girl at the counter at Middle Way
is something like eighteen years old
but she has a septum piercing, moustache and this demure style about her
all of which turns me into a fumbling dork when I order from her
especially today when she complimented my glasses

I told Meg I wasn’t fit to carry an anchor on my finger
but that’s not entirely true
I was born in a fishingtown
I know the quiet rocking of boats
and otters in the harbor
I know slippery seaweed dried on rocks
and red and purple starfish

if we are different people with each lover
if they each bring out varied qualities in us
and we relate to them in diverse ways
if in every relationship we are able to express unique parts of ourselves
and learn varying lessons each time we connect
then how on Earth does one go about considering
committing to a monogamous romantic relationship for the rest of their lives?

I can’t stand the way you chew your food
but I liked watching your fingers
wrapping thread around the needles
your teeth helping you hands make the knots
and the blunt side of the needle gently parting your moustache

the reason I call myself a queer dyke
has nothing to do with physical attraction
and everything to do with socialization and social construction
so stop fucking calling me a lesbian
and fuck me