Thinning fabric

We broke up the other day, I’m trying to pretend not to notice

Truth to tell we were never really together

I try to recall the times you’ve broken my heart

I’ve let them fade into the fabric of our story

Fabric worn thin by my worrying hands retracing patterns again and again

Trying to commit us to memory

I glance at your piece of our cloth, you’ve cut out bits of us, leaving patches in our truth

I wonder if you remember what it looked like before you erased us

Does your mind recall how beautiful we were?

Threads woven together bright and dark, hazy and shining

Like sun breaking through clouds after a raging storm

These days, you see only the storm, can only take in the chaos

Should your fingers try to retrace us, they’d find holes held together by trivial pieces of our memory

I still see us, breaking boldly through clouds

Weaving our story together with threads of tenderness, laughter and pain

How could you cut us apart?

I’ve kept my piece intact; fingers retrace our history at times lovingly, at times mournful

Feeling always where we’ve thinned out

Our fabric is worn, the time has come to put us away

Tracing patterns once more I fold us up and place us in my dresser, next to old faded sweatshirts of love gone by

What you choose to do with your fabric, I have no say

For my part, I’ll keep mine hidden and safe

Neatly folded and forgotten as we carry on the aimless game we play

We broke up the other day and today, the sun is hidden away

Skies are dark, dreary and grey, contented to stay that way

When Dragons don’t Text Back

‘Would you rather be a dragon or a unicorn?’

I repeat the question my sweetfriend asked the night before

‘Oh. That’s a good question!’


‘Dragon. Definitely dragon.’

I text my friend too much. Sometimes she responds. Sometimes she doesn’t.

I know she loves me.

She makes me feel safe, absorbs my madness and spits out rational thought in her sleep

We talk about sex, fuckery, and the magic of extra biscuits

I am learning this is what friends do

Practicing the art of leaning into my sexuality isn’t a joke

Especially since I tend to extremes, abstinence or Lilith on fleek

These are my settings

Fate and the Universe have sent me on a side-quest to balance

My friend is my inspiration, guide, and also the dragon who lives in old, dark caves fucking with nearby villagers

Weary traveler, exhausted from my quest, I approach the village

Naturally, recognizing my warrior status, the villagers solicit me for assistance

I oblige

Slowly I trek up the mountain to the cave where the dragon sleeps

My approach wakes her. I find her to be perfectly lovely, if a bit surly

She explains that the villagers often climb through her caves and interrupt her sleep

To ward them off, occasionally, she takes to burning one or twelve of them to a crisp

She says they taste wonderful with salt. I laugh

This is how our friendship begins, the warrior and the dragon

I came to slay, but stayed to play

Anyway, I’m texting my friend

We are talking about sex and trips and food that makes us come

I eat a canna-chocolate and write one last message before sleep pulls me under

Typing it, I am glad for her, her fiery mouth and her ancient wisdom

The text is word vomit in the form of late night poetic mania

I know she will not respond, I send it anyway

When she reads it I know she’ll think I’m ridiculous,

Smiling to myself, I think of where we began

Ridiculous, isn’t that what dragons think of man?

Bon Nuit

You tell me goodnight in five different languages

sleep clings to the edges of our eyes, of our lips

your voice scratches out the words

hoarse from loving and laughing, at each other//with each other

I ask you to repeat it in Russian, your native tongue

I want to hear again

how your mouth forms the words

want to watch your lips push them out

I love to watch what your mouth can do.

All that Remains

I purge you from my body

with the shedding of my womb

you were the last thing to come

out of me


before the blood

it’s symbolic, don’t you think?


what remains of us

runs down my legs

like the times you

made me cum




I whispered, hoping to God he couldn’t hear me

But the way he pressed his fingers into me,

I knew he had

I uttered the word like a prayer

Thanking whatever spirit rules passion

Over and over again

as I felt that spirit rise up in me

My body is a temple, he came to

Pray at my altar

I traced the lines of his body,

Devoured the color of his skin

Rich, bright, the color of mahogany

Deep, musky scent

Breathing deeply,

I took him into my lungs

Sexual Healing

I want more kissing in my life

More bodies and lips pressed against me

More mouths grazing my flesh

I want to love and be loved

Deep, frivolous, sacred

I want to worship and be worshiped

I call this energy to me

in deep, passionate waves




I am not sure how we got here.  I am not sure where we will go after this.  There is no turning back.  I am certain of nothing.

Nothing except real or imagined, I never want this moment to end.  The beautiful culmination of all of our sorrows, our struggles, our laughter, our experience.

Feeling, finally feeling the softness of your flesh merged with my own. The hot wetness of your sex pressed, wanting, against my knee.  Rocking gently – a quiet request which I cannot deny. 

My hands are no fools.  They are not wild as with previous lovers, but slow.  Slow and cautious.  Moving up and down your body, cataloging every dip, every curve, freckle and mark.

These hands are my eyes.  Cupping and stroking; leading the way for my mouth to follow.  Tasting every inch of your flesh. 

Does your right elbow taste differently than your left ?  These are the things I must discover. Curiosity must be satisfied. 

I will know you.

My mouth is impatient.  It does not want to wait for my hands, to reach its treasure. 

It follows the trail of sweat, finding its way to your swollen, wet, lips.  I kiss them softly.  Coaxing them open with the promise of my tongue.

Running it from the base of your sex to the top, stopping just below the clitoris.  Gently, ever so gently, I repeat.  Each time, with a bit more force, pressing my tongue into you.  I taste the sweet tang of you.  I am consumed.

It is all that I can do to keep myself composed.  How sweetly you moan with my head between your thighs.  How seductively your body moves, instructs, guides. 

I am your student.  Show me, mold me, teach me.

Your hand clutches the back of my head, pulling me in, deeper, deeper.  My tongue is ravenous.  I feel I am drinking from holy waters. 

Warmth pools between my legs, throaty cry escapes my lips, slipping inside of you.  An invitation to join my coming, which you graciously accept – elation.

The Reality of the Situation



Epiphones are radical.  They are the culmination of a series of thoughts which you have undoubtedly had before, but occur in a moment when your mind is completely open to accepting those thoughts as truths, instead of dismissing them, or rationalizing them away as is generally the case.

I had an epiphone today.  It was a long time coming, and had tried desperately to rear it’s ugly head before, but I was in no mind to acknowledge, let alone deal with it.

A survivor of sexual abuse (particularly childhood sexual abuse) does not realize how utterly and completely sex rules their life. Today, I came to the realization that my sexual abuse has touched so many aspects of my daily existence. It has soured countless relationships/potential relationships with one thing, that I took as complete and total, unquestionable truth: when push came to shove, the only thing people wanted from me, was sex.

Now, I had examined myself, gone to therapy, medicated, talked, screamed, cried, and fancied myself mostly past the side effects of my abuse.  That is not to say that I did not realize that there were things here and there which would pop up, but I would deal with those issues as they arose and continue to move forward.

What I did not realize, was that my own perception of myself and of the world was skewed.  I was looking through a dirtied lense and taking all that I saw for truth.  Priding myself on my ability to read people, circumstances, and employ logic and reason to determine the reality of the situation.  I never considered that the eyes with which i was seeing, as well as the mind with which I was deducing, were lying to me, processing an incorrect picture.  When reason is based in falsehood, it is not reason at all.

I had a friend who set me on the path to realizing this truth.  Only six months after setting out on this path to discovery, have I finally reached the entry way.  I am finally seeing what I have known for so long, what my friend was desperately trying to tell me:  sexual abuse alters perception.  Sexual abuse poisons the mind.  Sexual abuse harms us in ways we can never fully imagine.

Only with deep reflection and extreme mindfulness are we able to uncover and amass the infected areas, and successfully root out the poison.

It is a revolutionary concept to me, that relationships can be entirely nonsexual.  The notion that two people can come together and share thoughts, hours, experiences and not want to sleep with eachother,  not have one person motivated by the primary goal of using the other for their own sexual gain, is utterly revolutionary.

How many relationships, friendships, might I still have, had I realized this one beautiful truth?  Countless.  Yet there is no point in looking back in regret, only in reflection to learn, accept, and move forward.

I think of this friend, and of the times that we had together and I think of how much time I wasted viewing our relationship through my dirtied lense. I think how skewed thinking and perception poisoned our relationship and ultimately brought it to an end:

Why is this person spending time with me? Talking to me?  Sharing with me?  Teaching me?  Taking time out of their personal schedule and life to be with me?  They must want something.  They must.

NO.  No, not everyone has some selfish, sexual desire urging them forward.  No, sometimes people just want to spend time with a like mind.  Sometimes people just want a friend to talk to, bounce ideas off of and to learn from.

Not everyone is going to hurt you.

That is a tough pill to swallow; that not everyone is going to completely destroy your soul.  There are bad people, yes.  But there are good people too.  Beautiful people.  Wonderful people. People who are here to teach you and to add richness and greatness to your life – and you to theirs.

Only with a true understanding of your self worth; an understanding that yes, there are sexual relationships.  Yes, you were exposed to that truth in a premature and viscious way, at a time when you were still learning the ways of life, and of the world.  But life is not always viscious.  People are not always selfish.  Relationships are not always sexual.

Trust is hard. Trust is a thing we hold tightly to our breast; I trusted those who betrayed it so devastatingly, when I was so young, so innocent. Trust is a thing which must be earned.  But I am more mindful now,  I am aware of my dirtied lenses and I am making an effort to clean them on a regular basis.

Perhaps with cleaner vision, and a clearer mind, we can learn to let people in.  We can learn how to see the reality of the situation.  Not everything is about sex.  Sometimes, it is just about love.