trans anorganismic, etc.

sage only grows in loamy soil. it doesn’t coil out of rushtrauma impacts responsiveness
and if you quicken yourself to feel only the good stuff, the body will remind you how not ready it is.there is person and there is a nervous system. they are different.
these things don’t force themselves into fragrance. they are of the ground, in a procedural feeding. in other words, it takes time.i am the only they pronouns in here
the vitamins of waiting bring flock, pelt, children; a little bit every morning.so go slowly.
remember in finsbury park when you were too ill for yourself so i massaged your bread dough back and found seeds and shoulder blades and a home hosting a small child that wanted to play. i read your pages and their skins about to suck in a cherry pit. we spent a night with the knots, asking what fear eats.
your front tooth eventually caught my lower mouth and we stopped asking. there was only a coat rack with four shirts dividing our bed from the rest of the flat. your roommate was in the next room so we only went as quiet and as fast and as flat as our clavicles could. we ripped something (time, a futon topper, a leaving). i felt nothing while you were inside me and i only knew it was over when you climbed off.
my therapist with a teal ohm pendant tells me that it would be beneficial—for the return to my body—to try trauma release exercises. i close the door to my room and make an altar out of the uneven hardwood. she told me i need revival and you told me the same thing. we’ve all been stunned. she sends me videos of polar bears shaking their whole mass on snow as they induce neurogenic tremor to release the trauma. there was, they survived, they convulse, there is. massive white tufts spinning upward. i imitate, desperate: punching my pelvis in the air. my carpet mimicking the white pelt. i want to be like a polar bear. able to unstick the stuck. my shaking comes back for a second. and then it goes.
the impossibility of staying means i am always reaching for some clout, some claw, some finally-arrived moment. i am becoming good at finding different ways of telling them “i’ve already tried that” or “no, thank you” or “that doesn’t work.” i am becoming good at evading the closeness, too: we spoon, you press your ass in my front body, and these old stories show up. about being wrong or taking too long to cum or not being able to do what is natural. i make you cum. something in me recedes. i decline your reciprocity knowing that tonight, like all nights, i am my own only booty call. i wait for you to leave so i can be alone again. i make myself cum, re-affirming something about brokenness. a truth i have but that is not mine. i try not to think that i am from a lineage of wrong time: delay, postpone, defer.
the self cannot be made wrong or late.
just cum, ok? just do it. it’s not hard. just let go. take the heuristic journey. locate the fist, the locus of her skin. just come and stay. one memory at a time. try not to do the same leaving road. remember the gyrating is food, good food. just fucking cum, ok? eat and comb the colossal and break through the broken. control is not safe anymore. just stretch your gut and take. do not stop until you feel something open
27 years and the shame is getting me nowhere.the work is to work through the frozenit can’t protect you anymore.
write at the top of my journal: i will love my pussy no matter what. this will become my body’s engravement: loving. sweet correlative flesh, i take you as you are. sweet magenta mother mouth, i choose you. i don’t know why but everyone’s hurt layers on our pink. Life has placed a staircase on our pleasure nexus. i don’t know why but here we are. and i accept it. that we will gain and lose each other.

going slow allows us to feel what changes

           

bodies are wired to heal.

your unfailing tenure scares me. can i sit at your table? clumps of mizuna are calling. i’m starving. he bent me over and said don’t move. i need time. i eat late at night like i’ve never known an AM. i’m scared, trying to win my lines back. my therapist said it wasn’t fair. eleven years later and it finally starts to feel different, as in more.
she makes the dark spots easy and fucks me until sunday becomes a whole week.
i see my reflection in the skin of your stomach. the air is musty. you grouped your honey and invited me to taste. today, i won’t run as fast from it. i love each chin and i think that you are the sweetest person i’ve ever loved. can you believe how it changes? how i see a flower and not a dying pile, how excess can take on different meanings.
you wait for me to grab the vibrator and caress my face. you gift me presence: no clocks, no keeping track, no measuring progress. you ask nothing of me. i cum, egressing. i am a mouth that knows its origin. you gift me your witness.
i remember when i learned that fresh water lakes are not just homogeneous pools of one thing, but layers of temperatures. the thermocline, a gradient middle. the sun-hit top, the warm family. the coffin deep where it stays black. lakes, pussy, our historicities: all complex climates. i am lucky enough to have layers that are reaching for each other.
stay present at the edge of where you leave, this is where the negotiating is.
i love my pussy even if it can’t talk to me right now. even if we can’t look at each other. even if it is busy hosting (still) and making gravy from scratch and repairing the wounded. i love you, pussy palace. i love what you give me. even if you disappear randomly, barely hanging on. i love you, garden bitch. currently less actual pussy and more family ciggies, secrets, sugar, shame. less organ and more coveted skin collection from suppers stuffing vertebrates with quiet to make bones.
leaving is my most developed muscle.
not later, now. i love you right now. incognito legs, far body, cumless cunt. in the mundane of tuesday. in the part of the healing they call non-lineartrauma is a straightjacket
devastation
i love you, even when we can’t remember why we are floating.trauma is being all dressed up with nowhere to go.
there is a field out there.curiosity opens to softness
i will not be stuck forever or be one thing for long.take all the time you need