A hotel room is liminal,

The space between places

Like the sky that a plane traverses

A hall full of life’s doorways, all closed

That open to unknown parts of ourselves

Hidden across the paths we must travel

Snow, sky, and ghosts of lingering emotion

A room where I hear a chorus of human voices

So easily drown out an orchestra of instruments

With a view of that black swelling abyss, the water

That calls out with the promise of eternity

A door to downtown Los Angeles: 5 AM

Covered entirely with a hazy serenity

Quiet and eerie, painted in morning light

With strange, watercolor brushstrokes

Colors like flowers on a grave

The wonder of intentional impermanence

I went with them carried in my arms

As an offering, and an admission

To that same ghost of emotion

A pilgrim, I sought wisdom

Because I had none within myself then

Only handfuls of stars and memories

They are the reminder that life

Exists for a moment between death

The wisdom lies not in their death

But in the beauty of how they lived

He loved me back then and let me know

I didn't love him

He accepted that, and he moved on

I learned to care for him and I grew to know him

I'm not sure if he knows how much I care

I've accepted that, because I can't tell him that

I think I love him, maybe a best friend, it could be more

I can't tell him, because I already rejected him

I can't tell him, because we couldn't date

I can't tell him, because I think's he's moved on

I'll learn to accept that, and move on too

He told me he liked me

About a year ago

I rejected him then, for personal reasons

(my sexuality, not feeling ready to date, and the biggest one, my parents)

we're still friends

I kinda like him

If he asked me out again I'm not sure if I would say yes, but I would tell him how i feel

but it wouldn't be fair to him

(my sexuality, even if he says he's fine with it. one day he may not be)(I'm going to college over 2 hours away. he's staying here.)(my PARENTS)(do i like him romantically? Or is this my platonic feelings just consuming and confusing me)

I don't think he'll do it again, despite what (at least 2) of our mutual friends seem to think

Because he comes to me whenever he's interested in girls, or thinking about asking them out

It makes me feel weird, but I'm not sure how

("I'm going to ask out our mutual friend" she rejected him. he asked me not to tell anyone and I didn't)("why do I keep asking out lesbians and how do I avoid that?" i asked if he counted me as a lesbian, under a lgbtq umbrella term. he did not and i sent him an article about 'how to spot a lesbian') (just yesterday he texted me "a girl i asked out rejected me but we stayed friends. we have no more classes together but she asked if I want to hang out Saturday, what does that mean?" i told him she probably just misses hanging out with him as a friend because not everything has to be romantic.)

why do you always come to me with this stuff?

I know you're not trying to hurt me, but this feels like your leaving out pins and I'm willing sticking them into my hand

how am I like his cat? He holds out his hand so he can pet me, but doesn't know how I'll react.

He holds a string in front of me and i just bat that shit, even knowing that he's holding and moving the stick.

i give him treats, and hope he'll appreciate them, just by giving me his attention

I want love, but don't know how much i can get, and if I can return it to him like a human, or like a cat who wants to be seen,

I'm thinking you were probably hoping for some little and giantess stories, but I actually make this fetish content and get paid really well for it, so I got excited to just talk about it! Sorry in advance if this is not meeting the challenge in the way you were hoping.

It's not a personal fetish, but it is a very interesting one to me. Any fantasy type of fetish is really intriguing in my opinion because of the implication of escapism entering into any fetish or kink.

In my experience with being a SW content creator, a large majority of folks' kinks stem from some sort of trauma (big or small), sometimes without them even realizing it. I think that opens a very wide conversation window that needs more exploration outside of academic circles if we want to create a more open and comforting environment for our intimate partners. Sex and erotica is such a taboo topic that many of us aren't even comfortable actually discussing it with our life partners, and sometimes exploring these fetishes and kinks is the most healthy way for someone to work through traumas and not act on intrusive thoughts.

You think the world is after your guts, but your entrails do not get to lap at my feet with your feats of victimization.

Your defamation disgusts me- and this is why those who love you are plastic. Faces frozen in time, a grimace permanently engraved onto their perfect little faces. They could not even shed a crystallized tear should you die, you absolute fool, when I have cried for your memory countlessly.

It's fine. Go be fine with them.

I will scratch out your name in my story, dilute the swoops in your name for ink blotches. You do not have the guts- not to be individualized, not to create your own narrative. You are a parasite, suckling onto the nearest warm vein in hopes it will thaw out your pathetic little heart. But you will always remain as you were born- cruel and easy to mold into the shape those who beat you around wish you to be.

Those you defame me for do not love you- you are nothing but a pawn, they your idols. You seek acceptance when you are as displaced as I, as if I do not share the ink of your exact pain. As if I were not the hero in your pathetic, morphed pages. But I realize with disgust, how true those were that hate me were.

They did not pretend to like me. You pretended to.

She took his future

But she left both of their sons

Betraying her vows

Sons with health issues

Sons who needed both parents

Now only had one

She could go away

But her child support stays

The house does also

But she fought in court

Bankrupted father and sons

Left them penniless

Mother's betrayal

Father's revenge for his sons

Mother will give more

Each boy lacked a lung,

Each boy lacked a new kidney

He made sure she gave

Her liver to first

Bone marrow to the second

Discard the dead heart

Juries understand

But, prosecutors never!

At least his sons will

In Kumamoto the bus rattled down

the street but I got off and turned back there

in the cold dark, ducked under a noren

and entered a dim room with tables where

noone sat; a young woman in brief clothes

emerged from the back of the room and came

up to me to peer in my face for clues

as though reading a street sign; with her arm

and head she motioned down the dingy aisle.

She sat next to me decanting whisky

from a round bottle along with her smiles,

her left hand stationed there on her slim thigh.

I caught her suggestion but then eschewed

a putative room behind a curtain

and so I got away only a few

drinks poorer; in the dark I wandered then.

Last night I remembered how her song had once tugged at my soul.

I whispered her name softly I wondered if she heard me at all?

I remembered the caress of the sea breeze, as it felt that summer night.

I remembered the glow of moonlight as it reflected off the calm sea.

I remembered the sounds of the waves rushing in, the smell of the salt refreshing me.

It was like awakening in a lover's dream, no fears to face, only the sea.

In so many dreams I remember that night, tho' none ever as beautiful or as serene.

I remembered her legend, cursed to lure men out to sea.

Allowing them to drown in a sea born of their own misery.

I was told that her beauty could make me weep, her song would steal my soul.

Never was I told of the secret she keeps, the story behind it all.

I heard her singing far from shore her song touched my heart, I wanted more.

Into the waves I went in search of this dream, this so called siren of the sea.

Her song was so beautiful I had started to cry,

and, although I could hear the melody, well, the words were lost to me.

I saw her singing in the distance, was she a dream or a memory?

I only knew I wanted to embrace her, seduce her, the same way her song had done to me.

At once and without any warning I started to hear something far beyond her melody.

I stopped and listened with my heart to something my ears refused to hear.

I listened carefully to every word, words that only my heart could have heard.

Swimming slowly to her I said only two words "I understand" was all she heard.

She looked down at me sadly, I was touched down to my soul.

I still wanted to touch her, love her, but the truth was still to be told.

Her song was her history, forever young, forever old, often whispered but never told.

"I was once the daughter of Lord Neptune..."she said softly, a tear in her eye.

"I was both unkind and cold all,  I believed I was above them.

I thought only about my beauty never the truth behind it all.

You see I had used my charms  to destroy even the most noble, of all.

I discarded men at my pleasure there was always another I could hold.

Then came the day I awaken Zeus's displeasure..." She didn't have to say another word but something within me had drawn her close,

perhaps it was the loneliness we both had known.

Her face was flushed with a sadness I could really understand.

You see I known it too well, it once had taken me by hand.

Almost like whisper, she spoke "He cursed me to spend all of eternity at sea

to lure not only the foolish but the proud to their misery.

Until the day someone would care for me and not for the beauty they could see."

I knew then the moment was passing, we had come full circle at last.

For what ever had first drew me to her was now a part of the past.

My eyes were never so open, nor my mind ever so clear.

For I saw her stripped of her beauty and vanity, I saw only a reflection of myself.

Someone who was just perhaps as lost and alone and, again, I said "I understand."

There was no doubt in my mind we may have been lovers if only the faiths were more kind. Her eyes twinkled, her skin glistened, as her body began to glow

and then I saw her fade, her smile was the last thing I saw, her voice echoed in my mind.

I had not only set her free from her curse but I began to find a new way of life.

Never again would my heart believe only in what my eyes perceived,

I owed that much to the siren of the sea.

i heard we should stop writing our dreams

but i dream we’re all safe wrapped in arms

all safe behind plastic curtain

all mint condition

i dreamt the way a nose crinkles

the way the night was always shorter

when

you looked from the angle of the day

we say the word snug in a whisper

i become tachycardia

watch the oxygen leak

your eyes glint white in moonlight

i dreamt the taste of your teeth

dreamt your mouth tripping over

the word goodnight to settle on

goddamn we’re running out of time

i dreamt the exit with a sigh

woke to sunday on high

woke to midnight at the table outside

dreamt the way your tongue slipped in and out

of hazy goodbyes

*excerpt from my forthcoming book lamb/&/slaughter (Fifth Wheel Press 2024)

Hope in a hopeless world.

I run my three primary fingers along the prominent tendons in my hand, and revel in the strength of them. Strong muscles, soft skin- warm with life and real as the anguish I feel clanging in my skull like metal scraping across enamel.

I let the winter chill filter into my window, and welcome it warmly until I am numb. It is human. I feel the petals of the garden beneath my fingertips, and watch them come away stained and scarred from thorns and protective edges. Walls, windows, windowsills.

God gave me these hands and I chose to bathe them in agony. Empathy is a torture method best used against oneself: just add one cup hope and three quarters sharp desire and let it fester until you are apathetic and bored with it.

I bleed red, and if you truly took a good look at what I am composed of it is the toxic mixture of seeing the best in smoke and mirrors and shattering till the burn hurts my lungs. But here is a fun idea- pretend I am alien and inhumane to blunt your own sharp edges. After all, you cannot maim what has never felt.