It was a feeling of deep ecstasy and deeper pain. It was the ache of knowing there weren’t more of you I was allowed to touch.
Don’t let them tell you you’re immigrants in your own land.
When was the last time someone asked you how you felt of this world and you didn’t weave the words they’d like to hear?
last messages should be urgent, they should sound like the bombs falling, the ground shattering on impact, they should feel heavy as the roof crashing down on unwitting shoulders
I’m the transgender who wears lacy panties and paints
a mole beside my lips because it
reminds me of Marilyn
How to get laid in 18 easy steps: fourth from the left, third shelf, received as a gift, never read
When she pushes me onto the couch and straddles my thighs, I feel like Atlas with his quivering heart