It’s been 100 days with this president, and I’m tired.
It’s been a hundred day panic
attack, like when I used to lie
on the floor, door locked, lights
off, wishing to be less afraid of death
so I could finally give in. If I survived
that, maybe I can survive this. If only
I could sleep a hundred years, days,
one-hundred hours, wake again to
a new world. Instead, we do
these things to make us
sick–the dog eating
grass, me opening
The NaPoWriMo prompt was about taste, and I took it in a very NSFW direction.
You smell like chicken soup but you taste
like mucus. I won’t romanticize,
use salty or sweet. You taste like
nothing, but heavier. You’re honest
with me, you taste like what you are.
But when you’re doing the tasting,
the flitting of your tongue, unending
need for so much more. It’s better
like that, don’t you think? I taste
the same as you.
NaPoWriMo had a prompt about small spaces, so I thought I’d try to write it in a small space!
I’m no good at small,
hands trembling at the tweezers,
afraid of breaking.
Apiary had prompts about fandoms, obviously something I write quite a lot about. This started with Lena and Kara from Supergirl but turned into something more general about lesbian ships that will probably never happen.
My lungs burn with the freezing,
the waiting, with expectation,
impatience. Breath is easier
when I look at you, your beetle-
green eyes, your tight jaw.
Do you ever think we could slip
these roles, spend a secret week
in the dark unnoticed, end
all these hours of wanting?
Do you ever think about free will,
about loving someone unsanctioned,
someone who curves like me,
who opens to accommodate you?
Wouldn’t that be better
than a life slammed shut,
No prompt for this one, just things I needed to say. About living in Washington, DC, and about a straight friend who keeps talking about going out to gay clubs.
Not Your City
This is not your city,
it is ours. Boys in red hats pass
and I wonder what they’d say
if I didn’t pass for something
I’m not, if they could see
inside me. They gawk
at a skyline they cursed
from hundreds of miles away.
They’ll curse again
when they get home as if
They’d never been.
This is not your nightclub,
it is ours. The streets outside
are safe for you, but I walk
rigid, wondering how long
I can keep up not being
a victim. You dance, wife
and husband, like you’ve done
so many times. You brag
when you get home like you
saw something exotic.
I hug walls and hope
no one sees.
Apiary Lit had prompts about fandom today, and the defining fandom of the past few years of my life has been Once Upon a Time. I finally officially cut ties with the fandom this weekend, which was surprisingly hard.
Elegy for Emma Swan
You dress for mourning
but you’re not yet cold.
I can see the blood running
through the thin tissue
of your arms. You’re all
arteries and bones these days.
But you aren’t sick, you aren’t
going anywhere. This is just bad
humours, bad vapors, melancholia,
something for women from long ago
who buttoned themselves up
to the neck like you. Tell me
again to let you leave
but I won’t listen. I will tether
us together, to this world,
fill you with my own heartbeat,
dress you in red too garish
for a funeral, make you stay.
Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt was to try out the elevenie form. The Apiary prompts were about fandoms. I mixed the two and came up with these elevenies about some of my favorite Emerald City characters, Tip & Dorothy.
set in gold
shows the old me,
melt into skin.
I didn’t want this