write now

 

Watermelon and pilea, fraternal twins 

A blue pot and a dark red one 

Reminder to ground 

 

Buzzed head dyke -- I kinda see it -- 

Granting myself permission 

 

Queerness is sacrosanct 

I am coming out at the worst possible time

 

The pink daisies persist 

Twenty days older 

 

On the morning of our wedding, 

 it's bittersweet. I'm proud of myself for getting here 

 

What if I made a mistake. What if I bite off my own fingers.  

We bought out all the sunflowers at central market. 

 

 

Remember that you need time to rest 

which is probably for the better

 

 

 

I cannot bring myself to kill the carpenter ant as it traverses the beige rug

 

It is not because the rug is beige and a smashed ant might discolor it. It is not because I am unaware of the potential damage to the wooden structure of my home should more carpenter ants move into it—though, in truth, my knowledge is secondhand and not necessarily accurate. It is not because I am squeamish (though I am, sometimes, that). It is because the ant is alive. Who am I to end a life?