i am now used to the weight of these bones,
and the grind of my body in moment,
the creak and the stretch
as i raise my arms above my head,
rock backwards, balance tipping
in an attempt to evenly regain myself.
and i am happy.
so smile, laugh widely at my face in the mirror,
hand on my hip as i turn,
tilt sideways, cock a cheeky grin
at the girl looking back at me.
for now when you tell me, i look fucking great,
i am finally able to believe you.
Saturday, 7 September 2013
Wednesday, 4 September 2013
never stop
motherfucker.
if i asked you to bite me,
would you?
i bet it'd taste sweet
on the way down, the scrape
of your teeth along the curve
of my neck while i inhale
your scent, gasp inward
and thread my fingers
through your hair,
just so i can attempt to pull you
closer than can be physically possible,
as if i could force you into me
so then this...
would never stop.
if i asked you to bite me,
would you?
i bet it'd taste sweet
on the way down, the scrape
of your teeth along the curve
of my neck while i inhale
your scent, gasp inward
and thread my fingers
through your hair,
just so i can attempt to pull you
closer than can be physically possible,
as if i could force you into me
so then this...
would never stop.
Tuesday, 3 September 2013
Kiss and Never Tell
Yoselin parked off to the side of the road and I got out of the car. I had a cell phone that I barely knew how to use in my pants pocket. “I’ll see you in two hours.” she said and the car pulled away, leaving me there.
She’d dropped me on the picnic grounds and I needed to find you. You would be up river at our usual stop. With a sigh I jumped up onto one of the tables and started walking north. I played a game like I’d done when I was younger; I jumped from rocks to logs, trying not to touch the ground.
It was a stupid game but it took my mind off you. Once I ran out of things to walk on, I started counting trees, birds and any other object that caught my eyes.
It took me about twenty minutes to reach you and by then my head was full of numbers. That’s not the greatest combination because I’m barely passing math 11.
Your bike was parked in the bushed and you shoes, coat and shirt formed a pile on the sand. You’d rolled up your jeans and were standing in the water, skipping stones along the surface.
I stood there, not knowing what to say, not after what I’d done to you. I hate apologizing because it acknowledges the fact that I was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that but an apology has the implication that I screwed up tacked onto it as well.
In the end I didn’t need to say anything. I stepped on a loose stone and tripped, falling flat on my face causing an amusing spectacle, announcing my presence to the world. It sounds like something out of a lame movie but contrary to popular belief all lame movies are real.
“What are you doing Jules?” you asked as you stepped out of the water and quickly put your shirt on. The act was almost feminine as if you felt you were exposing too much to me.
And who the hell decided that femininity was passive and masculinity was dominant? Remind me to shoot them.
“I’m repenting.” I sighed as I pulled myself up and dusted sand and dirt off the designer jeans Tierney had dressed me in. She’d kill me once she saw the stains I was now sporting.
You said nothing and neither did I; we just stared at each other. There was no electrical current like in those cheesy romance novels Tiffany’s got stuffed under her bed. All I could feel between us was guilt.
“Jules don’t do this to me.” you whispered and I felt my body jump. I don’t think you saw it though because your hand was covering your face.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Don’t come and ask that we go back to how we used to be,” you groaned, “You know I can’t do that.”
“I’m not asking for that!” I yelled as I spun around and grabbed hold of your arms. My voice sounded too loud and broken in my ears with an anxious hitch in it.
“What are you asking for then?” you asked. The look on your face told me that you were no longer expecting anything from me. I could feel the twitching in your arms beneath my fingers as if I was causing you an immense physical pain.
“Look at me!” I commanded and I felt my voice break. “Do you love me?”
“Jules I thought we’d been over this.” Your voice was harsh and annoyed as you snapped back at me.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Jules - “
“How do you know Alex?” I yelled.
“Jules let go!” I felt your arms wrench away from me and I pitched forward and hit the ground hard.
I looked up at you and saw my reflection in your eyes. It was the image of a woman’s face torn in half, twisted in pain, jealousy, rage and sadness.
“I don’t get this Alex!” I yelled, screaming almost. “I don’t get how you managed to figure out your feelings and conveniently place a label on them, forcing me to make a decision. It’s not fair you know!”
You just stood there not moving, I think you might have been unable to. I felt the tears well up in my eyes and the sick, sticky feeling they create as they ran down my cheeks.
“I’m blaming you Alex.” I muttered between the sobs that were wracking my body.
“Blaming me for what?” you asked. I hadn’t even noticed were you’d dropped down to sit beside me.
“Quit acting cool,” I said and I felt the sobs and gasping between tears starting up again. You caught my face between your hands and forced me to look at you.
“Don’t,” I muttered, “Don’t look at me.” I wiped the tears out of my eyes and the snot off my nose with my sleeve.
“Please,” I begged, all caution suddenly lost, “Don’t ever leave me again!”
This is the obvious part in the story where the guy takes the girl into his arms and kisses her. You made no move to do that and neither did I. To be honest I think we were both frozen from shock, you from my sudden, confusing confession and me from the fact that I’d just told you everything.
“You know one of us is going to have to move at some point.” I whispered.
“What if I don’t want to move?” you asked.
“Then I will,” I laughed, “My butt is getting numb.” You smiled and ran you fingers through my hair. I don’t think you meant it to be seductive, just comforting. Unfortunately, it was a little of both.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I asked and I think you stopped breathing then.
“What?” you managed to choke out.
“That’s usually what happens in cheesy romance novels.”
“What have you been reading?” you asked.
“The books under Tiffany’s bed.” I replied.
“I think the question is whether or not you love me Jules?” you whispered.
“I think I do.” I replied, my voice catching as I stumbled over the words.
“You think?”
“Alex can you tell me what love is?” I asked, “I can’t ever remember someone saying they loved me.”
“I love you,” you said.
“How do I know you’re not lying though?” I begged. All remains of my pride were gone and I was begging you to reassure my fears as false.
“Because you’re all I think about,” My breath caught and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.
“That’s a really, really cheesy line you know,” I muttered. I could feel the blush creeping along my face. When I go red it makes it look like I’m dying of exhaustion, creating a perfect tomato impression.
“Yeah,” you whispered, “I know.” Somehow I managed to gain an immense amount of courage and I slowly lifted your hand from my face and laced my fingers through yours.
“That took a lot of courage you know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “So why don't you muster up some courage and kiss me?”
I closed my eyes and waited nervously, partially because I was afraid to see your reaction. I felt your free hand move up and slowly grasp my shoulder. I could feel your fingers slowly squeeze mine and then your lips pressed against my mouth.
My hand went up to grasp hold of your shirt because I didn’t know what to do. I tightened my fingers in yours looking for a type of reassurance.
Your grip on me was almost too tight and I could feel your teeth bump against mine. Neither of us knew what we were doing. It was still the closest thing to romance that I’d experienced.
After you let go, we just sat together on the sand. We made no moves to unlock our hands and said nothing. We stayed like that for ages.
After I left you and climbed back into Yoselin’s car and making you promise to go to school tomorrow, I realized something.
That was the first time you kissed me and that was surprising. You’d never even tried to kiss me, not even when we’d slept together.
She’d dropped me on the picnic grounds and I needed to find you. You would be up river at our usual stop. With a sigh I jumped up onto one of the tables and started walking north. I played a game like I’d done when I was younger; I jumped from rocks to logs, trying not to touch the ground.
It was a stupid game but it took my mind off you. Once I ran out of things to walk on, I started counting trees, birds and any other object that caught my eyes.
It took me about twenty minutes to reach you and by then my head was full of numbers. That’s not the greatest combination because I’m barely passing math 11.
Your bike was parked in the bushed and you shoes, coat and shirt formed a pile on the sand. You’d rolled up your jeans and were standing in the water, skipping stones along the surface.
I stood there, not knowing what to say, not after what I’d done to you. I hate apologizing because it acknowledges the fact that I was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that but an apology has the implication that I screwed up tacked onto it as well.
In the end I didn’t need to say anything. I stepped on a loose stone and tripped, falling flat on my face causing an amusing spectacle, announcing my presence to the world. It sounds like something out of a lame movie but contrary to popular belief all lame movies are real.
“What are you doing Jules?” you asked as you stepped out of the water and quickly put your shirt on. The act was almost feminine as if you felt you were exposing too much to me.
And who the hell decided that femininity was passive and masculinity was dominant? Remind me to shoot them.
“I’m repenting.” I sighed as I pulled myself up and dusted sand and dirt off the designer jeans Tierney had dressed me in. She’d kill me once she saw the stains I was now sporting.
You said nothing and neither did I; we just stared at each other. There was no electrical current like in those cheesy romance novels Tiffany’s got stuffed under her bed. All I could feel between us was guilt.
“Jules don’t do this to me.” you whispered and I felt my body jump. I don’t think you saw it though because your hand was covering your face.
“Do what?” I asked.
“Don’t come and ask that we go back to how we used to be,” you groaned, “You know I can’t do that.”
“I’m not asking for that!” I yelled as I spun around and grabbed hold of your arms. My voice sounded too loud and broken in my ears with an anxious hitch in it.
“What are you asking for then?” you asked. The look on your face told me that you were no longer expecting anything from me. I could feel the twitching in your arms beneath my fingers as if I was causing you an immense physical pain.
“Look at me!” I commanded and I felt my voice break. “Do you love me?”
“Jules I thought we’d been over this.” Your voice was harsh and annoyed as you snapped back at me.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Jules - “
“How do you know Alex?” I yelled.
“Jules let go!” I felt your arms wrench away from me and I pitched forward and hit the ground hard.
I looked up at you and saw my reflection in your eyes. It was the image of a woman’s face torn in half, twisted in pain, jealousy, rage and sadness.
“I don’t get this Alex!” I yelled, screaming almost. “I don’t get how you managed to figure out your feelings and conveniently place a label on them, forcing me to make a decision. It’s not fair you know!”
You just stood there not moving, I think you might have been unable to. I felt the tears well up in my eyes and the sick, sticky feeling they create as they ran down my cheeks.
“I’m blaming you Alex.” I muttered between the sobs that were wracking my body.
“Blaming me for what?” you asked. I hadn’t even noticed were you’d dropped down to sit beside me.
“Quit acting cool,” I said and I felt the sobs and gasping between tears starting up again. You caught my face between your hands and forced me to look at you.
“Don’t,” I muttered, “Don’t look at me.” I wiped the tears out of my eyes and the snot off my nose with my sleeve.
“Please,” I begged, all caution suddenly lost, “Don’t ever leave me again!”
This is the obvious part in the story where the guy takes the girl into his arms and kisses her. You made no move to do that and neither did I. To be honest I think we were both frozen from shock, you from my sudden, confusing confession and me from the fact that I’d just told you everything.
“You know one of us is going to have to move at some point.” I whispered.
“What if I don’t want to move?” you asked.
“Then I will,” I laughed, “My butt is getting numb.” You smiled and ran you fingers through my hair. I don’t think you meant it to be seductive, just comforting. Unfortunately, it was a little of both.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I asked and I think you stopped breathing then.
“What?” you managed to choke out.
“That’s usually what happens in cheesy romance novels.”
“What have you been reading?” you asked.
“The books under Tiffany’s bed.” I replied.
“I think the question is whether or not you love me Jules?” you whispered.
“I think I do.” I replied, my voice catching as I stumbled over the words.
“You think?”
“Alex can you tell me what love is?” I asked, “I can’t ever remember someone saying they loved me.”
“I love you,” you said.
“How do I know you’re not lying though?” I begged. All remains of my pride were gone and I was begging you to reassure my fears as false.
“Because you’re all I think about,” My breath caught and I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.
“That’s a really, really cheesy line you know,” I muttered. I could feel the blush creeping along my face. When I go red it makes it look like I’m dying of exhaustion, creating a perfect tomato impression.
“Yeah,” you whispered, “I know.” Somehow I managed to gain an immense amount of courage and I slowly lifted your hand from my face and laced my fingers through yours.
“That took a lot of courage you know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “So why don't you muster up some courage and kiss me?”
I closed my eyes and waited nervously, partially because I was afraid to see your reaction. I felt your free hand move up and slowly grasp my shoulder. I could feel your fingers slowly squeeze mine and then your lips pressed against my mouth.
My hand went up to grasp hold of your shirt because I didn’t know what to do. I tightened my fingers in yours looking for a type of reassurance.
Your grip on me was almost too tight and I could feel your teeth bump against mine. Neither of us knew what we were doing. It was still the closest thing to romance that I’d experienced.
After you let go, we just sat together on the sand. We made no moves to unlock our hands and said nothing. We stayed like that for ages.
After I left you and climbed back into Yoselin’s car and making you promise to go to school tomorrow, I realized something.
That was the first time you kissed me and that was surprising. You’d never even tried to kiss me, not even when we’d slept together.
Wednesday, 28 August 2013
only girl in the world
there are the times when i am left with the memory of my feelings for you. the pale yellow sheen of the lights in the night, the red of passing vehicles on the way home in the dark, the faint echo of rihanna from the basement stereo as i dance, lay myself back along the guest bed in the middle of the rec room, feel the slide of my jeans against my hips, the press of my breasts against my bra as my stomach collapses in with each breath and the imagined sensation that you are with me.
i can hear the creak of the bed as you approach me, the rustle as i open my legs and the press of your weight as you pin me down, my legs around your hips, my arms wrapped around your back, my teeth in your neck as you begin to overpower everything i have in me.
take me for a ride. bite me, kiss me gently, slide your hands under my shirt, pin my wrists to either side of my head, force your crotch against mine without removing my jeans so i whimper when i feel your erection against my body and can do nothing about it.
i want you to fuck me, i want you to kiss me, i want you to smile, laugh, hold my hand in the daytime, hold my body in the night. i want you to want me and am willing to make compromises i had never considered before. i'll do anything to be your girl, your lover, your fuck buddy, your sweetheart. i'll give you a terrifying control over the whole situation.
and i had never considered that it would come to this. the silence wrapped around my heart as i smile when you talk, breathing shallow as i try to build my momentum for a move. any move at this point. i tell myself that you know, that this will work, should work, i want to make it work, for the first time ever i am not afraid of myself. i can make it work.
i want to be the only girl in the world. i want you to make me feel, bite my heart softly, gently pry my ribs open with a crack, kiss me slowly between smiles as you give me my false impression of your love.
for unfortunately, you never wanted me the way i wanted you, the way i thought you did before it was all over.
i want you to fuck me, i want you to kiss me, i want you to smile, laugh, hold my hand in the daytime, hold my body in the night. i want you to want me and am willing to make compromises i had never considered before. i'll do anything to be your girl, your lover, your fuck buddy, your sweetheart. i'll give you a terrifying control over the whole situation.
and i had never considered that it would come to this. the silence wrapped around my heart as i smile when you talk, breathing shallow as i try to build my momentum for a move. any move at this point. i tell myself that you know, that this will work, should work, i want to make it work, for the first time ever i am not afraid of myself. i can make it work.
i want to be the only girl in the world. i want you to make me feel, bite my heart softly, gently pry my ribs open with a crack, kiss me slowly between smiles as you give me my false impression of your love.
for unfortunately, you never wanted me the way i wanted you, the way i thought you did before it was all over.
Friday, 23 August 2013
Once Upon a Time
I run my eyes across the letters on the page, trace my nails over the edges of the envelope that contains each and every line of poetry I wrote for you, and I have this sensation that I am reading some one else's love story.
For by now I can barely remember the ache for you spreading through out my bones, and echo that's barely a whisper in the night. And I feel as if I should almost apologize, as if these feelings were something short of wrong now that they exist no longer.
But even in the deepest pockets of the night, the facts that once upon a time in college I loved you will not be erased. Nor do I want them to be, as if by doing so I could still move forward as a complete person. As if I could grow beyond anything I am now without this.
And I know I would have hurt you, without meaning to, on purpose when that would be the only way for you to care for me. And in the end I would have killed all the parts I love about you in an attempt to have that love returned.
And now that it's over, I can say, once upon a time in college I loved you. And am thankful that I did.
For by now I can barely remember the ache for you spreading through out my bones, and echo that's barely a whisper in the night. And I feel as if I should almost apologize, as if these feelings were something short of wrong now that they exist no longer.
But even in the deepest pockets of the night, the facts that once upon a time in college I loved you will not be erased. Nor do I want them to be, as if by doing so I could still move forward as a complete person. As if I could grow beyond anything I am now without this.
And I know I would have hurt you, without meaning to, on purpose when that would be the only way for you to care for me. And in the end I would have killed all the parts I love about you in an attempt to have that love returned.
And now that it's over, I can say, once upon a time in college I loved you. And am thankful that I did.
Friday, 16 August 2013
Today
Today
I was inaugurated
accepted
kidnapped
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was participating
helping
co-operating
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was laughing
smiling
talking
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was welcomed
questioned
appreciated
without warning
welcomed to the group
and nobody found it
strange.
I was inaugurated
accepted
kidnapped
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was participating
helping
co-operating
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was laughing
smiling
talking
without warning
and welcomed to the group
Today
I was welcomed
questioned
appreciated
without warning
welcomed to the group
and nobody found it
strange.
Monday, 12 August 2013
My Body is Ripe
This is Saturday morning before work. The growing pulse of the sun bleeding out from under the curtains, the curve of my body as I curl deeper into myself and the blankets surrounding me. My hand is curved around my breast, my fingers curled between my legs as I press my face deep into my pillow.
I am ready and waiting and only just beginning to understand the implications of it all.
1
My body does not seem to know if it wants to faint, throw up, or eat more. I’ll settle for the latter as I dig my fingers into the muffin, tearing the soft flesh of baked goods apart in some kind of empty satisfaction, chewing and swallowing with a deliberate purpose. I’ll keep eating until the pain goes away.
I will not talk about the pain, partially because I know I will embellish it. This is nothing until I have drawn the comparison of being hit by a bus, slowly having the insides of my body scrapped out inch by inch with a rusty spoon. Never mind the fact that I have never broken a bone and cannot remember the last time I threw up. Pain has little reference within words. It is in the open space between them, the screech of the brakes on the bus as the driver attempts to swerve at the last second, the bump on the handle of the spoon that digs into my knuckles as I grip it too tightly, in the clumps of blood slowly draining out from my body for the next five days that my discomfort is characterized. I stumble to the bathroom, wanting to curse but not to use the excuse of menstruation to become psycho, digging through the drawers to find the midol or ibeproufen, or anything that I can take in hope of pretending that the drugs will make it better. They generally don’t.
I will keep eating in an effort to staunch the pain with chocolate.
2
You ask me from across the table if I’d like to go home, your brow creased with empathetic concern. I smile weakly, the lights of the restaurant slightly too bright to allow me to conduct my thoughts in a timely manner. I’m fine, I tell you. We’ve already ordered our food and at this point it would be too much on a hassle to leave and have our meal refunded.
I still can’t quite manage to look you in the eyes when we’re alone, I’m still in the habit of observation as I rub my fingers along the edge of my jeans, glance up towards the counter to see if the server is on their way yet. It probably doesn’t help that I am acutely aware of how badly I want to kiss you.
You know nothing of this, not the ache in the pit of my stomach, the stretch of pain along the edge of my thighs as I shiver with the desire to collapse. I will not do so, for this would accentuate my feelings like a weakness, my need for you to touch me. This desire is worse on days like this, as the red of my body spills open, my skin crawling and the gradual relaxation of my muscles while I try to fall back into myself. I am acutely aware that I am empty and cannot hold back my desire for you to fill me. And I know you would not be able to handle the weight of this so I smile, laugh, pop pills in hope they will work or even offer an effect as a placebo.
For I will live through this, long enough to hate myself the next time both of these cycles start themselves over.
3
The blood on my thighs is sticky and matted within the hair between my legs. And every step I make leaves a red trail behind me as I stumble my way across the house to reach the bathroom in the early, early morning. I will have to remember to clean up when I make my way back, find a change of sheets, possibly a towel, anything.
I still watch the blood with fascination each time I remove the cup from my body and slowly pour it down the drain, so red it’s almost black against the white of the sink. For I have done this before, splattered it all across the walls of the shower, traced my name, drawn pictures, stared in contemplation before I licked my fingers clean.
This is mine, my body, my blood, the confusion and delight in the process when I can barely understand the basics of what is happening to me, whether I like it, would I change it, or even stop it if i was offered the chance to. Even though I have read the books my parents gave me, searched the internet in boredom and fear, I still carry an amount of awe each time this happens. For each time I am confronted with the fact that I’m alive, with each beat, pulse and twitch of my body, red blood a swirl down the drain as I wash my hands clean after replacing the cup inside of me.
I am almost sad by the time it is all over.
4
The calendar tells me I should be starting soon. Normally there are no warning signs, no cramps, no aches, nothing but the red dots on last month’s page in the calendar to inform me of the arrival.
This time I am still caught in the need to be fucked, my body opened along an axis in the dark that I do not understand. As if by the feel of some one’s hands along the side of my ribs, his lips against my neck, a bite along the length of my heart and his weight locking me against the bed I could attempt to fill myself with whatever I am missing.
Because the weight of this moment is still heavy, black beneath my covers at night, red along my thighs in the morning, breath heavy each time I fumble between my legs. I am open along a rift I do not understand, caught in cycles as I move in rings around my body. For there is nothing wrong about this, despite what we are told, and in the end I will commit many more sins than this before I die.
So each time the blood comes I stop questioning it all.
I am ready and waiting and only just beginning to understand the implications of it all.
1
My body does not seem to know if it wants to faint, throw up, or eat more. I’ll settle for the latter as I dig my fingers into the muffin, tearing the soft flesh of baked goods apart in some kind of empty satisfaction, chewing and swallowing with a deliberate purpose. I’ll keep eating until the pain goes away.
I will not talk about the pain, partially because I know I will embellish it. This is nothing until I have drawn the comparison of being hit by a bus, slowly having the insides of my body scrapped out inch by inch with a rusty spoon. Never mind the fact that I have never broken a bone and cannot remember the last time I threw up. Pain has little reference within words. It is in the open space between them, the screech of the brakes on the bus as the driver attempts to swerve at the last second, the bump on the handle of the spoon that digs into my knuckles as I grip it too tightly, in the clumps of blood slowly draining out from my body for the next five days that my discomfort is characterized. I stumble to the bathroom, wanting to curse but not to use the excuse of menstruation to become psycho, digging through the drawers to find the midol or ibeproufen, or anything that I can take in hope of pretending that the drugs will make it better. They generally don’t.
I will keep eating in an effort to staunch the pain with chocolate.
2
You ask me from across the table if I’d like to go home, your brow creased with empathetic concern. I smile weakly, the lights of the restaurant slightly too bright to allow me to conduct my thoughts in a timely manner. I’m fine, I tell you. We’ve already ordered our food and at this point it would be too much on a hassle to leave and have our meal refunded.
I still can’t quite manage to look you in the eyes when we’re alone, I’m still in the habit of observation as I rub my fingers along the edge of my jeans, glance up towards the counter to see if the server is on their way yet. It probably doesn’t help that I am acutely aware of how badly I want to kiss you.
You know nothing of this, not the ache in the pit of my stomach, the stretch of pain along the edge of my thighs as I shiver with the desire to collapse. I will not do so, for this would accentuate my feelings like a weakness, my need for you to touch me. This desire is worse on days like this, as the red of my body spills open, my skin crawling and the gradual relaxation of my muscles while I try to fall back into myself. I am acutely aware that I am empty and cannot hold back my desire for you to fill me. And I know you would not be able to handle the weight of this so I smile, laugh, pop pills in hope they will work or even offer an effect as a placebo.
For I will live through this, long enough to hate myself the next time both of these cycles start themselves over.
3
The blood on my thighs is sticky and matted within the hair between my legs. And every step I make leaves a red trail behind me as I stumble my way across the house to reach the bathroom in the early, early morning. I will have to remember to clean up when I make my way back, find a change of sheets, possibly a towel, anything.
I still watch the blood with fascination each time I remove the cup from my body and slowly pour it down the drain, so red it’s almost black against the white of the sink. For I have done this before, splattered it all across the walls of the shower, traced my name, drawn pictures, stared in contemplation before I licked my fingers clean.
This is mine, my body, my blood, the confusion and delight in the process when I can barely understand the basics of what is happening to me, whether I like it, would I change it, or even stop it if i was offered the chance to. Even though I have read the books my parents gave me, searched the internet in boredom and fear, I still carry an amount of awe each time this happens. For each time I am confronted with the fact that I’m alive, with each beat, pulse and twitch of my body, red blood a swirl down the drain as I wash my hands clean after replacing the cup inside of me.
I am almost sad by the time it is all over.
4
The calendar tells me I should be starting soon. Normally there are no warning signs, no cramps, no aches, nothing but the red dots on last month’s page in the calendar to inform me of the arrival.
This time I am still caught in the need to be fucked, my body opened along an axis in the dark that I do not understand. As if by the feel of some one’s hands along the side of my ribs, his lips against my neck, a bite along the length of my heart and his weight locking me against the bed I could attempt to fill myself with whatever I am missing.
Because the weight of this moment is still heavy, black beneath my covers at night, red along my thighs in the morning, breath heavy each time I fumble between my legs. I am open along a rift I do not understand, caught in cycles as I move in rings around my body. For there is nothing wrong about this, despite what we are told, and in the end I will commit many more sins than this before I die.
So each time the blood comes I stop questioning it all.
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