how tall is your serpentine?

How does one live without fear and doubt, just instinct?

How do we learn from nature and mimic its survival?

I want to not think of what might happen, or what I wish would happen.

But I also think perhaps, nature isn’t as traumatized as people.

But perhaps it is?


Is there rape and war in nature?

Is there the breaking of hearts in nature?

Betrayal and abandonment?

Social media anxiety?


How do you even begin to mimic something, that has a mechanism that doesn’t even resemble yours?

I want to be loved in a way that defies all of these things. Supernaturally.

I’m tired of always giving so much of myself and expecting the same shit in return.

You cannot force someone to love you the way you need to be loved.

I do that.

Expect a certain kind of love.

I want someone to know when I need to be hugged, or kissed, or told that I’m beautiful.

I want someone to understand that my manic mouth won’t stop talking, and that annoying feeling that is swelling up inside them will pass, and so will this manic mouth.

It will tire, and drop off.

I want them to read my mind and remember what kinds of foods I am craving and to rub my back when it hurts.

I want them to say the right words at just the right time.

I want them to find me utterly amazing and sexy, and talented and the very thought of anyone else comparing to me is a joke. A JOKE!

In a soft whisper, at my most insecure moments, I want them to scream—”I LOOK AT NO ONE AND THINK OF NO ONE ELSE EVER MY LOVE…”

I want them to mean it.

Please mean it.

C’mon, MEAN IT!



(I am the best thing that ever happened in your life, aren’t I?

Wasn’t everyone else just a dull beige in comparison to my crimson?)



I want them to know when I’m in the mood for kisses and when I’m in the mood for being fucked.

How to hold me in the streets, how to love me in the streets.

How to listen when I’m in need, how to calm me to sleep.

I’m a baby.

A full  adult baby, and I’m not embarrassed.

Not at all.

I understand this part of me, and I don’t necessarily cater to its every demand, but I do give it some love now and again.

It’s hard to remember to forgive yourself, and make yesterday appear like decades of growth. Like 9 new versions of you sprouted from the depths of your feet.

It’s hard not having a family to rely on, a family that’s not riddled with Jesus talk and the bizarre expectations of what your life should be. A family that forgets their flaws and leaves it to God to erase it from their timeline.

How is it in God’s hands? Please explain?

How is he responsible for your actions?

How can we put that much responsibility on just one person, regardless of how omnipotent he is?

Let us all pretend together now, c’mon!



It’s baffling.

How does one find a god man, or a god woman. Not good, but god.

One that resembles that perfection that this person we worship has without doing much but existing?


Where are you perfect person? Where?

I need you because I have that God complex inside me and I need someone as close to that perfection to come find me. To reflect back this perfection.


Please come find me!?

No one else will do.


Sweep me off this ground that grounds me.

I’ve always longed to fly.

To be chained to the sky.

To be free in that way.

To have my bones melt to wings.

My heart, the birdsong.

My mouth, the flutter.

My breath, desire.




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