#avengent

I have mixed emotions about this. I want to say yes because it is a marginalised group and for some an orientation. However I think that some people would be uncomfortable with cis-het poly people in lgbt spaces.

This is literally the number one thing. Its so frustrating, only like 5% of the population votes for congress...

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother?

That's a hard one. Uh, probably Peter Davison? My sixty something year old brother? Can that count? He's just so beautifully flawless and ioeuifihsuhfd.

13. What's the worst grade you got on a test?

A zero. Yes, I've gotten a zero on a test before. I majorly struggle in math.

23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in?

I live in California, so Spanish would be most useful (also other languages stem from there, so even in I wouldn't be able to fully understand, say, Columbian, I'd get a gist.

33. If you have a nickname, what is it?

Some friends and teachers call me the obvious choice, 'Alex'. It just happens, I don't really mind or care.

43. Where do you buy your jeans?

I hope it's okay to publish this. I waited a while to respond because I needed to think it through thoroughly.

First off, thank you so much for the advice and the offer of future advice! I definitely appreciate it. It's good to know many people are accepting of this kind of lifestyle.

Pursuing new relationships through internet dating doesn't really fit my life right now, but it's something I guess I can keep in mind for future.

My real trouble is that I am already completely in love with a couple of people, one of whom I know IRL... so I don't know how to broach the subject with them to see if they'd potentially be interested.

Let’s talk for a second

about how your hands feel on my skin

when I don’t want to let anyone in.

But, you do nothing

but pull sweet nothings from my lips.

And darling;

your love eliminates my every sin

as we silently exchange

every song that we weren’t able

to bring to fruition.

I want you to shut up,

and listen

to the rhythm of your own heart beat

and how the melody of our love

is harmonized in the seconds

when you walk in the door and meet my eyes.

When you’ve heard the stories of each of my lives.

Thank you,

for not needing me to define you.

For letting me be me.

In spite of the posture I hold,

or the fact that I have broken the feminine mold.

I am not just a daughter

A lover

Or friend

I am everything you’ve ever dreamt me to be

and you are the stanzas behind my teeth.

Don’t think for a second

on what that may mean;

Only that you and I are meant to be.

Four-hundred-and-one days ago

I fell

hard

fast

and strong

for the man you had become.

Darling, I will still love you on day one-thousand-and-one.

As excitement builds to our next chapter

I think of only this moment, and not the one after.

Do you understand the wisdom in your smile?

Or is it as lost to you

as my identity is to the world?

Do you still smile when the girls ask about my girlfriend?

I’ve heard your laugh when I say, yes, he’s inside.

As I inhaled a cigarette on that cross country drive.

When you became more than the man I loved

but the son my mother always wanted,

and the brother my sister needed.

Is all of this too much to breathe in?

Because for me,

this Louisiana heat,

is nothing compared to the humidity of our hearts entangled

on grey cotton sheets

from a three am journey to Wal-Mart,

on the night we bought the bed

that we would wait to consummate

until the night we were wed.

And I love you, underneath a blanket of air plane exhaust

over every mile that we have ever crossed

I love you,

and when your hands touch my skin,

on the nights I don’t want anyone in.

I hope you try a little harder,

and remind me that this kind of love

is what people write poems about

this one not excluded.

That we are forever to be entwined

on the journey that they call life.

For each touch to my skin is reminder

Dear Writer’s Block,

I fucking hate you. You vindictive little whore.

You only come around when my fears have all but been confirmed. Yes, I know you enjoy taking my Talent on little jaunts around the park, but Talent was mine first. I made him, with each time I spent hours deciding what tense I should write this next poem in. When I couldn’t decide use the word ‘and,’ or simply just a semi-colon. Bring him back, and let him please be safe; or so help me God, I will come back with such a vengeance on you, you’ll wish you died along with Plath when you killed her. Let my Talent be untarnished by the Nebraska winters I let him linger in, along side an old friend of ours named Memory. Let him be free of ailment, such as dry rot, like the souls of my boots are taking on this godforsaken Louisiana humidity. Of all things don’t tell me you left him lost on the side of a highway during those Texas thunder storms.

Talent, was my dream, he gave me everything I wanted to be. I understand where he may believe that I left him, I did no such thing. I simply signed myself away to the military. I was however saving him inside me, hiding him from the Drill Instructors who tried to beat Art out of me. I never left him, so stop telling him that, Writer’s Block, stop lying to him! I locked Talent away, with Individuality, and Love. They are all there just waiting for the opportunity for me to reveal them again. But You, you just took him away, let him play with you, hold you in his arms, and caress the ease that is your way of life. The never having to face the pain of denial. Because when you’re with Writer’s Block, how can anyone ever tell you that you re not good enough? Writer’s Block is beautiful, she gives Talent an excuse for not showing up to work. She lets him, roam free to do what he wishes.  

Well, since I know he ‘s with you, tell him I love him. If he can ever forgive me, let him know I am still his home. I will always hold his place next to Modesty, Dignity, and Respect. I will further his academic endeavors as much as he needs. Tell my dearest Talent, I am forever waiting, and that I beg of him to not let you, Writer’s Block, come between us again.

I still hate you,