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Witherbloom
I spent a decade under someone else’s thumb. The finger changed hands over the years, but there I remained, trying to crawl out of the deep fingerprint lines that had become my permanent residence. I spent years being told that I was not enough, that how I dressed was a tease to other men, that…
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The Fear and Practice Connection
Practice is hard. Finding the inspiration and humbling yourself enough to acknowledge the need for practice, ironically, takes practice. This is a lesson that has taken my whole life to learn and I am still learning today. To practice means to fight fear, to shove those “What-ifs” into the broom closet, their long toenails poking…
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Endodonticts and Werewolves
Getting out of the house in 2020 is rare, which is why I took my 3 PM root canal as a social outting. I arrive freshly showered, my hair shimmering with silver and purple strands from my violet shampoo. The receptionist kindly tries to make small talk about my hair. “Is that purple shampoo you…
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Clifford
I pull him from my closet. I promise I didn’t forget him, he has been intentionally preserved on a wooden hanger. When my grandpa passed, my dad picked his checkered red flannel and Carhartt suspenders for me to keep. They smell of him. I asked my mom how long the scent of him would linger…
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Duvet Mornings
I love lying diagonally with you. Rolled up in my pink duvet, your curly chest hair tickling my ear. The suns legs crawl through the cheap blinds that came with our apartment. A yellow spider waking us. It’s hot already. 75 degrees by 6:18 am. But we don’t mind. We stay threaded together beneath the…
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Mole
“If I have to lose you, I will be devastated.” I say to the small brown oval on my left forearm. Last spring my aunt who worked at a skin clinic, stopped me mid-sentence. She gasped, grabbing my arm, studying the large mole. “Oh honey, you need to get this checked out. See these edges?…
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Rust
I slap purple lotion all over my freshly shaven legs, my pores smelling like spilt wine. “Be there in ten.” Dash texts. He is the “cool guy” at school, the moody senior who jumps over flaming fire pits, his rubber soles in a constant state of melting, drinks whiskey from its neck and drives a…
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Tangerine
My pain. I try to rename it, the chronic illness group I follow says it helps. “Your brain associates pain as a negative word and your body reacts to it.” A woman named Susan writes on Facebook. *** I share my pain with him, my safe place. “What should we name it?” I ask, heating…
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Blue Sunday
“We don’t have anymore tea bags, so I stewed you up a craft.” Our waitress says, setting down a clay pot of blueberry tea. And there you are. Admiring the Middle Aged man playing the saxophone. You sway, allowing the music to twist you, like a flag in the wind. Your honey eyes drip into…
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Bloom
On Monday, I buy my first record. We play it, while sipping a bottle of Cabernet. The haunting tone tries to cut through the patient space, opening the door for old ghosts to appear. White face, holes for eyes, looming to leave me with another cut. But the door doesn’t open. How could it? In…
treatswords
I have a story to tell.
treatswords 