commitmentphobes

fuck commitmentphobes.

you're not scared to touch me;
you're just scared to say you love me.
you're just slightly like my father
& you wonder why this bugs me?

it takes guts to say "i like you"
but i do it every day.
do you notice? 'course you notice!
it's just not a game you're brave enough to play.

i bought you flowers, tokens
of this irritating attraction
but you stared over my shoulder,
pumping your veins with liquid distraction.
probably on purpose,
to elicit my reaction.
you probably thought i'd leave,
but if you'd think for just a fraction
of a second, you would see
that this is not my kind of action.

fuck commitmentphobes
& your slippery slimy hands.
i never liked your stupid moustache.
never liked your emo bands.
fuck the way you're like an ostrich,
head submerged beneath the sand.
fuck the way you run away from all uncharted lands.

here's a newsflash, honey:
hard-to-get's not sexy.
no, it's not your face that's funny -
it's your distance that's perplexed me.

relationships are one plus one
plus sharing. talking. bonding. freeing.
when your gaze glazes over
i wish i knew what you were seeing.

i KNOW i'm great. i KNOW i'm hot.
i KNOW that's not the issue, lover.
it took a lot of pondering,
but the problem, i've discovered,
is that you are insecure.
you think a better life will tempt me.
so you drift away, more each day -
you think it's better to pre-empt me.

here's another newsflash:
i don't leave if i feel loved
& closeness makes me want to stay.
& if it's what you want to hear,
i'll say again what i say every day:
i really, truly like you, okay?!

no, maybe it's not okay.

'cause i deserve better
than someone who'll make me feel alone,
& i deserve so much better
than someone who refuses to think of me as home.
or someone who calls me too clingy
if i pick up a phone.
or someone who doesn't wanna hear who i am,
just wants to hear me moan.

fuck commitmentphobes.
fuck your whole species.
if this is your thesis,
then kindly release me.

i'm done trying to act like i'm "cool."
i've never wanted to be "cool."
i want to care, i want to fall open
but i can't with a lover who's romantically frozen.

you thought i'd leave you for someone better?
i'm leaving 'cause alone feels better than together.
i'd rather date myself - just me.
god knows i make better company.
's'that jealousy i hear? you jealous of me?
i guess you shoulda taken better care of me.

yeah, fuck you, commitmentphobe
for being so distant.
this boat is damn fine but you've gone & missed it.
this girl is damn fine but you ditched & you dissed it.
this story's the truth so don't try & twist it:
from the moment you saw this & wanted to kiss it,
we both needed risk but you're too chicken to risk it.

writer's block & comfort food

if you wanted to inspire
cataclysmic creation, the kind of which i know
i'm capable, you should've stuck it out
a little longer, let the love well up a little louder,
get a bit bigger & brighter before you
broke all the borders &
let it all loose.

the love was half-baked,
all creamy & goopy & not fully-formed,
not yet, then, now, ever.
premature evaporation:
the mortal enemy of all
angsty adolescent artists.

now there's nothing good to write or
paint or sing, just a flop & a mess
covering everything.

mushy haikus written in the library today

kissing your rose mouth
feels intimate, delicious,
like sharing cherries.

face buried against
my soft welcoming chest, you
feel exquisite now.

my left shoulderblade
is hypersensitive to
your evil kisses.

you can seduce me
into immoral hijinks
in your cramped office.

desk in the corner:
sometimes practical surface,
sometimes makeshift bed.

our eyes alight with
mocking humour, we cut each
other down again.

you know how to touch
to make me gasp or giggle
when i oughtn't. whoops.

soon, i will take you
to meet my grandparents. the
pressure's on us both.

since sunshine exploded

oh dear you near you clear you i
like you i want you i need you
it breaks you it makes you it
shakes you i teeter and tumble
you smile and you mumble and
nervousness takes you like kisses
can quake you and i can't control you
but i'm bound to know you and
you won't regret me the day that
you met me and planets will travel
right into the gravel and stars
cannot touch you and i will not rush you
and talking is coded since sunshine
exploded and you are my darling my
sweet chirping starling

time stretches like baby pink bubblegum

time stretches like baby pink bubblegum
between our aching mouths sore from
talking into kissing then connecting
in more ways than i (at first) knew how -

& your brown brown eyes search for signs
that some part of me is lying but
my body & my words, when faced with you,
can only tell the naked bright white truth.

exhaled against your lips a silent prayer
that you would never leave me, you'll stay tied,
confined, but nicely, sweetly, trapped by girlish wiles
& knowing no one has it better
than you & me as we
sink slowly at starbucks & streetfolk stare.

the lifeblood of this love-precursor lies in the
languid details, the way i'm weird & you're weirder
& we both think weird's kind of wow. 'cause normal people
are boring, you know it, i know it,
& i also know i'm never bored
by you.

word vomit

"i still like him a lot."
i say this like i'm expecting her
to be surprised, even though
she's my ex-girlfriend so she knows
exaaaaactly how long it takes for me
to evict illegal inhabitants
from my harrowed heart.

she smiles because she knows i'm
pathetic & i can't help it
& maybe she remembers (warmly?)
the quiet excitement of that time so long ago when
she was the bad habit i just couldn't kick.

it's tricky business spilling angst
to an ex whose eyes still kinda sorta
mean something. it stings a little
retelling emergencies to a face that still
sets off soft alarms in my head.

as if i can
help it,
though.

three little poems about the same person

1. disorienting

oh funny freak i find you sooooo
disorienting & you don't even know it.
that eye contact you thought was
nothing? it was so much. those few
words you thought were empty? they were
overflowing with meaning - for me.
mid-conversation i spot you peripherally
& i'm gone. my sentence ends whether it was
finished or not. that's your effect on me.
i hope you know. i hope you never know.
i hope you feel it too even if i
know you don't. i hope you
feel it too. i hope. i
feel.

2. something terribly interesting

you walk by
& i
pretend to do
something terribly interesting
so you won't know
that what really interests me
is (of course) you

3. haircuts help my heart to heal

(so far) every time someone
has bruised, broken or betrayed
my little heart, i've spent a day & a night
swaddled in bedsheets & dripping in tears,
& the next time i saw
the criminal in question,
they'd changed their hair
(colors, cuts - why?)
& it looked so different
it was hard to imagine
they were the same
person i'd been so
affixed on
for so damn long.

sometimes i am ugly

sometimes i have dreams where
my teeth are crooked & my
skin crumples like old paper & my eyes
sink into my skull &
i am as ugly as you
make me feel;

sometimes i shuffle around the house
in old sweaters & sagging pants
& i can't remember that i could ever have been
a blushing beauty queen
in pink & green taffeta ruffles;

sometimes i see you walking by
eyes apprising a prettier girl than i
with her thin arms & flat belly &
simple, nonconfrontational curvature
so boring but i can tell you
are loving it;

sometimes i sit by the window
away from the mirror
& pretend all the birds & swaying trees
are my face, my hips
my smile...

if sex were as simple...

if sex were as simple
as seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
then life would be less
& i wouldn't worry
or wonder what might have been.

but it's not that simple:
it's yearning & wanting & crying
& finding & losing & lying
& hoping & begging & wishing
& fucking & touching & kissing
& losing & hurting & meeting
& stabbing & yelling & cheating
& all this expected, protected
by standards so solid that no one remembers
what love & sex mean
when they're all by themselves
with no hectic pressure -
just primitive pleasure.

so seeking & finding & fucking
& leaving & living & dying
is honest, is simple, is better
than making these messes together.

miscellaneous crushsick haikus

hurt-me-boy: heart thief,
improv'er extraordinaire,
catalyst of joy.

i miss kissing like
an old friend i never quite
got to know fully.

the love in my heart
bursts, screeches, spins, flies, adores
you, you, you, & you.

optimistic girl
ventures blindly into him,
knowing it will hurt.

i trust him not to
hurt me anymore. i trust
me not to hurt me.

all the love on earth
percolates through my body
for you, only you.

i dream of waking
next to you, my favorite
goofy grey-eyed boy.

hungry for your eyes,
always. look at me, cutie.
that's all i need now.

all the world conspires
to bring what i want to me.
it's coming; just trust.

(i was inspired to
write most of these by mr.
tyler knott's haikus.)

a flawed epiphany about unconventional beauty

he said he wasn't
attracted to me. it hurt, i admit.
i did that girly cliché of staring
in the mirror pulling at skin
& peering at pores. there is so much
that can be wrong with a girl, & he made
the wrongs seem heavier, bigger.

but truth always comes when we listen to
our own deepest words, sentiments
that speak quiet but persistent. & when i
took the time to listen, i heard
what i already knew:
i am exquisite,
i am enchanting,
i am attractive,
but only to the wise.

& ultimately, this
is the best kind of attractive
to be.

Sonnet for S.

When first I saw your small, expressive face,
I knew it was to be a great romance.
Rebelled against my given social place,
And asked you, sweetly, meekly, to the dance.
And so we went; my crush grew through the spring.
You brought me roses; I began to fall.
I’d heard that love was such a fickle thing
But I could scarcely feel the slightest squall.
Then when, in autumn, you did subtly stray,
I took the high road, trying to forgive –
But you were mean, and made my world turn grey;
That winter was as long as love would live.
And so it was: a year from lust to rust,
Where love goes ash to ash and dust to dust.

three-way date

brought together through music we were
a trio who could not would not
cease to sing. made toonies by the handful
on a gently indifferent street corner
in the middle of the
city. you were so beautiful
in the light of the lamp bringing me back to
the old days of falling in love with voices
and loveliness and love. and you
and he and i made a team so stunning
that policemen stopped on their beats
and chose not to ticket
the unauthorized busking band.

when night came and you liked him and
he liked me and i liked him and you and
we liked each other best, we ordered
three hot chocolates in the shop across the
street and shared a few silent warm moments
where there was only the triangular forcefield
making its message clear: this is
a three-way date, something you've never done
before and probably will never do again.
split your smile three paths in an elegant fork
and see it verge on merging, then merge
in the form of a song
that makes us more money the more we play.

each of us has both an instrument to wail on
and some love to pass on. we are not stingy
with our tender donations to this
band-becoming-something-else-something-more.
passersby can see the chemistry
forming in the clouds made by our hot breath
on the cold air. fingerless mittens and
out-of-tune strings. make this never stop.
make this never cease. make this never
end.

hey, i like you

when i smile i smile with all my might
when i touch i touch with all my soul
when i laugh i laugh because it's funny
when i'm with you i notice i feel whole

when you wake up, do you think of me?
am i in your dreams when you're asleep?
i'm so damn shy i can't just ask you out
i send the signals but i do not make a peep

is that okay? are you confused?
when you go away, is it because you're bruised?

one of these days i'm gonna march right up
& say "hey, i like you - do you wanna go out sometime?"

why is that so hard? it should be so easy
i overanalyze every little thing
now i know that eye contact can be the devil's tool
& every time we do, i feel a ZING

one of these days i'm gonna march right up
& say "hey, i like you - do you wanna go out sometime?"

love ain't free, i know that now
you gotta risk to make it happen
love ain't cheap, i see that now
i took a risk, & look what happened

i'm so happy that i marched right up
& said, "hey, i like you - do you wanna go out sometime?"

Love letter

Dear __________,
Questions remain closed
but ready to be opened.
May I kiss you?
Would you like to go out sometime?
How do you feel about becoming my Boyfriend?
I tell dreamland stories
of tender embraces &
joint-custody journals.
One day I'll buy you
my favorite album & a
slice of pie & we'll
dance dance dance.
Candy, massages, photobooths,
impromptu public makeout sessions,
handholding without being asked,
chivalry without being told -
we'll do it all.
Thoughts become things but
these thoughts are particularly tricky.
I find myself floating away
from classes & mundane existence
to my reserved space between your
arms & your chest. So perfect.
I could be happy forever.
This is all I want.
Madly in like with you,
Kate

slowly look

dark chocolate eyes
drip sex & expectation
moony, solitary
slowly slowly slowly
i can't
look
away.

your beauty is entrapment,
dark hurricane skies,
but safe, &
slowly simply slowly
i can't look
long enough.

drink you in &
gasp with glee
manifesting deep,
slowly simply sweetly
strangling & stifling
i can't look
at you in public
(scared of my own crazed reactions)
but i do.

O: The Intimate History of the Orgasm: a haiku review

arguably, our
orgasms are our most strange
physiology.

who knew they had a
history? well, of course they
must. so i read this.

the author's thesis:
testosterone can drive us
to some crazy shit.

from prehistoric
cavemen to victorian
prudes, sex remains big.

different cultures
have different sex beliefs
that seem odd to us.

furthermore, fuck off
if you still think women have
less sex drive! bullshit.

reading this convinced
me that men invent stories
to conceal failure.

please buy this book now!
it is bold, innovative,
& very saucy. ;)

Journal bits from the past couple months

June 26th
I realized that yesterday, I was flirting with _____ on the phone. A lot. Talking about bras, love letters, etc. The thing is, I don't know how to flirt. I can't turn it on & off. These suggestive comments just crop up in my queue of things to say, & conversations move so quickly that I have to keep running with whatever I've got. She didn't seem bothered by it, but she didn't flirt back or anything, as much as I sometimes wish she would (it's a self-esteem thing, not an I-like-her thing, don't worry).

July 7th
What is it about me that makes me so much more attractive to girls than to guys?! Specifically, girly girls, in whom I rarely have any interest? It's flattering, but frustrating. I would say I need to make some changes to myself to optimize the people I attract, but I'm really, truly happy with myself at this point in my life (body, style, personality, values/opinions, manners/mannerisms, etc.) so I hesitate to make any major alterations.

July 12th
I made a little chart of all the adjectives I'd use to describe all the people I've ever liked, & the top contenders were: cute, funny, smart, good taste in music, pale, talented, open. That's kind of boring & predictable. Ohhhh well.

July 21st
Most beautiful dyke of my life on the subway. Cropped platinum blonde hair, GORGEOUS face, olive cargo shorts, white sneakers, pink lilies in lap, reading Nerve: Literate Smut. I practically stared my eyeballs out of their sockets. Good gracious.

July 27th
If you're gonna chill with Joey, Jeffy, or Johnny
You don't want a cotton-dried punani
So put away your tampons & your pads
'Cause all they do is make your pussy sad

Turn to something fresh & something new
I love it, & you're gonna love it too
Stick it in - slightly back & up
Now pledge your allegiance to the Diva Cup

August 17th
Elizabeth Gips on orgasm: "Male & female are one body that is no body in the time before time when God/me gave birth, created itself. An orgasm beyond orgasm that shakes loose streams of energy which become space, stars, planets, trees, bugs & people. RAPTURE. Am God, energy or whatever, me/you/they. Everything. Created creator."

August 18th
I've been reading this book, O: The Intimate History of the Orgasm by Jonathan Margolis. It's fascinating. I've learned so much. For example, as I've always suspected & felt, queer tendencies come much more naturally to many more people than the religious institutions would have us believe. Countless cultures throughout the world embrace gay sex & intimacy as a natural part of life. One of the most interesting cultures was on an island near New Guinea. Young boys from the age of ten will fellate an older man every day, so as to absorb the virility & fertility of their mentor. (You can't make this stuff up.) If not for the fact that they disdain cunnilingus, I would totally love that culture.

August 22nd
I am currently wearing a bikini in public, for the first time in my life. I always used to have this deathly fear that people would (gasp) see my stomach, which bulges a little, or my ass, which is not flat, or whatever. But firstly, hardly anyone actually cares or even notices whether my body is perfect or not, & secondly, why should I care what they think anyhow? Like Dr Seuss says, those who matter don't mind, & those who mind don't matter. It's as simple as that.

one of those weird bisexual-specific things

...wherein i find myself attracted to a boy
because of the qualities in him
that make him like a girl.

well you're so damn beautiful with
arms that ought to go around me & only around
me. i've tried to convey "why can't
i have - " with my eyes but not much works.

pretty boys are all the rage in the flashing
trendmill that is my romantic mind. & so it goes.
my wanting, like the tides, is rushed & erratic
& pushing steadily until you get it.

talking til all hours about hair metal, nachos,
girlfriends & death. it seems you understand me
but, based on other things, i'd wager to say you're
just playing a role & i'm not fitting the script.

Butch Is A Noun by S. Bear Bergman: a haiku review

I know what butch is.
It is a noun; this book told
me so. It is true.

Butch is a profound
identity - no limits,
no rules, nothing's fixed.

Gender outlaws, you
have found the book you must read
(after Bornstein's works).

My favorite parts
are those which flatter femmes (of
course), making me blush.

Also made me blush?
The sexy parts. Whoa nellie.
Erotica bliss.

You will feel like you've
known Bear all your life & ze
"bears" hir soul to you.

I met Bear & ze
was the sweetest Jewish geek
butch I've ever known.

Butches, femmes, trans folks,
& friends of the above should
all savor this tome.