Willow, like the tree

next time i have sex, i don't want to engage in a process where i am guestimysing what it is someone might like, just aimlessly fumbling to please.

i would like to take my time, get to know a person, have conversations about errogenous zones and things that make them flush with heat. i want patient seduction and build up.

the erotic is a muscle that can be trained.(?) just because arousal arrives does not mean it needs to be explored. when arousal arrives, how can i unpack its mailer? decipher its contents?

earlier this year, i started receiving treatment for ADD.

i've discovered i have a range of effectiveness, usually about 5-6-7 hours. at which point i hit a wall and experience fatigue/mental block.

the first 2-3 hours are euphoric. hours 3-5 are effective and routine. hours 6-7 are sputtery and difficult, and lead to dead end brick wall.

whose dick i just sucked

talk to a woman

on the phone

it could be his sister, his cousin, his bestfriend,

but knowing men, even this one,

“I think I’m afraid too.”

We hold hands and you smile gleefully, drawing me inches nearer a rollercoaster guaranteed to sink my stomach and make me gag.

“What if I do something wrong,” we both think, booming, aloud from our heart space.

We grip each other tighter, pressing the maps of our blood against one another,

“We will figure it out. Go with the flow. Figure things out as we go. We will dance to the lead of the wind.”

my heart is clouded

I am stuffed with cotton

my shadow is fleeting

guilt is my first skin

grief & mourning cling tight

my chest is a dull & stuffy cavity,

ragged moths scratch the wall

I have no pulse, no sight, no cresting

green wave of light to tell me I’m living

In a bed of gray & muddled watercolors,

lovethick

lovethickkkkk

more transition teas / tease / t-ease

did some wonderful gender affirming piercings Sunday, 23 October, 2022–I feel like the metal really fills out the void in my face sans beard.

losing my beard felt like losing my masculinity and the privilege it afforded me to move thru spaces less-questioned. just a “boy” with pink hair. the shock of cutting my beard was that I looked undeniably trans, and adjusting to that space. literally a whole ass new face I did not recognize myself.

yesterday, 11/3 I shaved for the first time. my hair began to grow back and I knew I couldn’t live with it, so I finished work, bought some razors, and did the thing.

How can ppl bare the sight of me?

I look like my mother.

Incestor returned. Never left. Raft in a river of purpled poison blood. When does the story change?

I tell no more lies. Even when it pains me. The flight of truth is worth diving for.

I am (like) an exoskeleton with no vital organ to protect, a yellowed husk of shed.

I invite a boy over, he sees the white walls off which my moans echo into something like laughter,

I am a cockroach hull of a house, paint chipping off the blue-gray interior,

the thick of something dead and wearing a human leather thick in the air,

When I walk into my house, I see a paint can, beige peacoat, several bald hangers, hospital cleaning supplies,

a long hallway, a threadbare dining room, cold wood floors, dust and dog dander in the corners of the ceiling, pale light, an empty hair dryer box, white mail slips,

a grey maudy disorganized chaos that is perhaps reflective of my own dust bowl chest cave,

my gloom is a roommate, is a haunt who takes up space regardless of what I say, because