Mouse Under Moonlight
The road to his place was always dark
Subtle enough that I’d slam from 80 to reverse
when I saw his house aglow in the rear
I’d roll up with the sound of upset gears
All Entries
Buttercream
She slides her index finger knuckle deep and twirls it around
It emerges, enveloped in a scrumptious coat of buttercream
She daringly brings the sugar to my mouth
I squirm as her frosting-tipped finger pushes past my lips
But Nothing More
I asked a psychic about you
She said we were good for friends or fun,
but nothing more
But nothing more.
We’re no good for ice skating or roses,
Rugby
She carried our conversation like Atlas
Her stalwart arms held our dialogue firmly
I was flustered by her rhinestone-wrapped biceps
A drop of sweat dripped down her neck
It slid across her skin and hung in mid air
Just Get It Out There
Creating is incredibly difficult. Actually, creating is unbelievably easy, but we have these voices inside our heads that tell us what we’ve made is shit and not good enough for anyone else to digest. It’s using your own damn voice that’s terrifying! Speaking up, saying who you are, and bringing new things into existence is …
In My Nightmares
In my nightmares
I can never speak
No protest breaks my lips
I sit sentinel silent
Eight Eight
- I Accept and Provide Motherly Love – I surrender to the divine feminine. I am loved. I love others.
- I Listen to My Body – I rest, replenish and refuel when my body asks for it. I respect my body’s seasons. I water my garden.
- I Am Communal – I know the importance of community. I listen to my soul’s need for human connection. I give to others and participate in making the world a happier place.
Six Lessons from Six Months Out and Trans
One: I love my body. It’s a beautiful vessel capable of amazing things. I’m happy where I am, where I’ve been, and ecstatic for where I’m going. Two: Having the right hormones makes the world a whole lot happier. Each day glows a little brighter with estrogen. I’m enchanted by beautiful flowers and tranquil environments. …
Porch Swing Paradise
Her name sounds like August rain
Like the sound of ice in a glass of perfectly-bitter lemonade
She’s a different brand of nostalgia
Like a childhood joyride
Kaleidoscope Goddess
sunflower oil
painting of a red dirt sunrise
chlorophyl warm emerald leaves
shaking and strumming an ethereal symphony