I have words and they need to come out they need to pour out of me like a boldly fluid because that is how I feel better, that is how I connect, that is how I get any of this to mean anything at all.

And it doesn’t matter if they’re perfect. Or if it feels like I’m saying something that has been said before. Because I am the filter that makes it different.

If we are all just God’s perspective split into billions of tiny shimmering glass shards then I need to let all of you know how sharp mine is, where it’s pointy or thin or soft, how light reflects through it. Yours is different, yours might not look like mine. But we are all seeing this life, full to the point of bursting, with this inescapable light. I’ll tell you about mine and I want to see yours.

have you tried these new drugs called text and sadness?

Your messages made me unbelievably high. Words and pictures, a deluge, a rush. I became crazed. Twitched. Thought about you constantly. All fucking day. And it was a manic day.

Which is funny. Because just a day earlier, you were the reason I felt like I’d been stabbed through the heart with a fountain pen. My image of you in my heart got punctured and bled endless dark, goopy ink. God it hurt so much. It broke through my ribs and reached my skin. A blue stain at first at the center of my chest. Then a puddle, then streaming down my whole body like tears.

I got high off that too.

Went on a long walk to listen to moody songs and cry. The pain became so heady that I closed my eyes and felt like I was spinning backwards. At some points I actually laughed. Perhaps I have hurt so many times before that now I can appreciate the sensation for the trip that it is. Dizzying, tenderizing, not unlike pleasure.

But then maybe I’m a masochist.

the good feeling

Soft was silently sobbing against him. 

The emotions rumbling up and out of you. 

Burying your face into his chest as your body spasmed, 

felt hard things, 

became lighter. 

Arms around you, arms letting you. 

A voice murmuring “I know, baby… I know.”

Soft is learning to not be afraid of quiet. 

Or dark. 

Or alone.

Let long-held pain bloom into pleasure

Like a bruise appearing. 

Something under the surface has opened and released.

Let your loneliness unfurl into another person’s eyes.

Let your dark river of tears spill into someone else’s mouth.

It can all come out and be seen.

It is all okay and safe and loved.

you tell yourself these stories and so often they aren’t true

When I was 21 I had sex with someone for the first time

He is fucking someone

He is totally fucking fucking someone

There was a lot wrong with him but he was sensitive. When he wasn’t on drugs. But I mean, he was on them all the time. He was sweet when he was high. Sometimes.

I am walking on a path in the dark clear

Mountains ahead with piercing light from their windows

I feel a knife in my gut that maybe I have put there

Maybe it’s the truth and maybe it will turn into the truth

He was high when he took my virginity.

Didn’t know I’d been one until it was all done.

Insisted he would have fucked me anyway.

He’s not a bad person. I think we did love each other for a bit. But he did end up breaking my heart. And then it all ended up just… fading away.

It is barely 7 pm but I know he is with someone

In wild passionate throes with someone

Growling tearing biting at someone

The pain radiates, why is it there

Maybe he’s not here but it’s not like he’s going anywhere

Valentine’s Day is not my favorite holiday.

This year I made it extra complicated by breaking up with someone just before it happened. Someone who I did love and who did hurt me. Someone who left me on a train so she could go to a queer orgy.

That pain was too much and I needed to leave. But all that matters to her is that I’m the one who left. Now she sends me wall-sized messages about how I’m abandoning her. How I say I care about her but I don’t really. After the last giant message I didn’t read, she texted “happy Valentine’s Day.”

He is totally fucking someone he is wildly in love with and that’s why he’s not texting me back.

I wrote all of the above in a park on Valentine’s Day. I then got kicked out of that park because it was closing. That was probably for the best but at the time it felt very jarring. I walked home, trying not to cry all the way there, and then watched a depressing movie. I guess I needed to put salt into my own wounds. Sometimes that happens.

Currently I am not sad like that. These depressed phases do not appear to be permanent but they do appear.

I should have just watched a cute movie that night. But I felt guilty for hurting someone I loved, for not following through with the Valentine’s Day she had wanted. But I was in that relationship too. I didn’t want to hurt her but I was hurting too much to stay in it.

My heart is a soft sweet thing. It hopes and it pines. It is not a cold blunt object, despite what she says. But she needs to believe it is, needs to paint me as the villain in order for her to heal. I just need to accept that. But I don’t need to read her messages anymore. I am not a ghost. It’s just done now. And that’s okay.

so you’ve decided to break your own heart

I had so much anger. I’m sure it’s still there. But today it’s been overwhelmed. Flooded by tears, tears, tears.

The initial adrenaline from breaking up with her is slowing down, I guess. Now the grief and processing are coming to the surface. I thought she was going to come to my house and murder me, but instead she sent me a video of lions cuddling. And that cracked my heart open, turns out.

All of the stuff that drove me crazy is still there, and I don’t think she is capable of working with me to move into something sustainable. Even though I know she would want to.

All that chaos is still there but I’m also realizing that I loved her (still do) and really fucking miss her.

Been practicing intermittent sobbing all day.

You can care very deeply about a person and also realize that being with them cannot possibly work. Not the way things currently are. But the love is there. Of course it is.

The angry fire, which had been going for so long, isn’t currently burning. Now there are just tears; raining, diffusing, silencing. The other feelings are checking to see if the coast is clear and slowly coming out. They have a lot to say. And they don’t mind the rain.

awake in the deep of january

It’s winter how are you?

When I was fresh out of college, my work supervisor invited me to a BDSM/sex party. Under the pretenses that there would be free booze. There didn’t need to be pretenses.

Long story short, it was a wild and formative time. For starters I fell in infatuation with a pro-Domme there. Then I moved away. Changed cities. Went into my 30’s.

This weekend, my girlfriend and I are going back to that city. She wants us to update our FetLife profiles because that’s apparently where all the socializing will be happening. Just hearing the name of that website makes my stomach twist. Creepy headless men and dick pics taken in dark rooms. It’s like Grindr but more… violent?

Maybe it’s been wildly made-over since the last time I was there. Maybe not. Maybe that dominatrix will be at this event. Maybe she won’t. Maybe I will get over myself and feel wildly sexy + confident the whole time. Maybe I will.

clear on the other end

There has been so much chaos. As I’d the universe were training me to know how it felt in my body. Raw, jarring, constant. Impossible to settle.

But even this feeling is part of a cycle. Clear is on the other end. Clear, too, is constantly watching me. Even when I’m destabilized, it sits there quietly within reach, if I’d only just reach. Quiet little promise.

turns out the sun still exists

I’m sitting in the sun, home in the quiet, two days before Thanksgiving. A cat is sleeping next to my feet. When things are calm I don’t always write, favoring instead to just burst it all out when I’m in pain. So it looks like most of my posts have tear stains on them. 

But I mean… sadness is okay.

Calm is okay too. And so is space. Rest. Work is calming down and it feels really good to be able to go slower. The sky getting dark at 4:30 is of course a big invitation for that too. I’ve pushed against the dark and the cold of this time of year. But then again I used to only see the sun during my morning commute. No wonder the heavies would hit. 

It’s hard. I do feel like the summer was shorter than ever. And yet somehow so much more oppressive. There are still ways to find light and warm now. We all just dread. We’ve all been through a lot and we dread. But you don’t have to. 

I’m trying to meditate more. Things have felt really chaotic and I’m trying to find space. That can be physical or emotional. And I definitely need both. Sitting and being quiet for a little while seems so silly and simple but god does it help. Or maybe the sunlight does too. Or maybe it’s just everything, a lump of tiny decisions you make that pile up into a feeling. Good or calm or exhausted. 

A squirrel just jumped onto a bird feeder. I thought I’d have more to say. But stillness helps too I guess.

[image found here:]

*long exhale*

The eclipses were last weekend. I think. They could have been 12 years ago or yesterday. But they happened and they wrecked havoc on my sun and rising.

“Huh, that looks dramatic.” I said to myself as I looked at the sky. “Wonder what it’ll mean.”

First and seventh houses. Identity and relationships.

Here’s what it meant for me: absolute chaos.

Crying in a bedroom at my girlfriend’s party. Meeting my girlfriend’s lover at said party, and nearly killing her because she said something bitchy. But I chose hiding over yelling. Meanwhile she offered my girlfriend drugs and tried to get her alone. Molly and poppers (“oh but sorry, I only have enough for you and me”).

“What did she think I was going to do?” K asked later. “Peg her in front of everyone?”

“She wanted to loosen you up,” I said, “Get you feeling all dreamy and touchy-feely. And then have you fuck her I guess.”

“This isn’t worth it. Not if it’s going to make you feel like this.”

I didn’t come out of the bedroom for the rest of the night. K checked on me constantly. People (apparently) made jokes that we were fucking. Which is funny because in reality I was just sobbing. She’d leave and I’d imagine them cuddling and then I’d just try to make myself go to sleep.

They were not cuddling. Her lover’s weed stunk up the entire apartment, but my girlfriend does not do drugs.

Why do I keep dumping salt into this bad feeling. Even right now, more than a week later, my stomach hurts remembering this. I just looked up her lover on Instagram. Private. I’m not sure that’s even what I should call her anymore — my girlfriend wants to stop it if it hurts me this much. What is this masochistic urge to make myself feel invisible. Why do I keep making myself feel like I could throw up.

After the party, the lover slept on the couch, because she does not live in this city. K wanted to take everyone to brunch. I wanted to never see her lover’s face again.

While we were discussing plans, the front door opened and closed. K frowned and went to see what was happening. The lover was trying to Irish Exit. She’d hit it off with someone else at the party, but now was second-guessing something she’d said, afraid she’d come off as predatory. She wasn’t expecting K to pop out and come after her, and when she got cornered, she actually teared up a little.

While all this was happening, I sulked in the dark, stomach on fire from imagining them kissing.

“Were you guys cuddling?” I whispered when she came back.

“No. She left.”

If I had stayed at that party, I would probably be the reason she was crying. This did not make me feel better. But I’m glad I didn’t actually snap at her.

The eclipse madness didn’t stop there. A Lyft driver screamed at us. No one could figure out where to go for brunch so we walked way too far, carrying too much, on empty stomachs. Her friend started crying from a starvation delirium.

“I am drenched in other people’s tears this weekend.” K said.

So yeah. There was a lot to unpack. And I’m still unpacking. Hope it wasn’t this dramatic for you.


I wrote a very horned-up post last night. But underneath that energy was a wild undercurrent of anxiety.

Last night was so weird. I don’t even have appropriate astrology to pin it on.

K was on a date-type thing with someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. In my gut I knew it was going to be weird, that she was going to feel weird (spoiler: she did). She’s super intense with her attention so I also knew she probably wasn’t going to text like she usually does.

Logically, I knew all that. But then it was midnight and I hadn’t heard anything from her. So all my insides lit up like they were on fire. Sleep kind of became impossible.

I read some erotica because I thought it would distract me. All it did was make me feel even more on-fire. Of course.

So I texted a sometimes-lover to tell him about it. He responded by insisting that he come over—NOW. Yes, I’d stoked his fire by talking about princesses turning into slave girls. But the sudden intensity of his blaze still startled me.

He did not come over. It was midnight and I needed sleep or else I’d be worthless.

But K never texted so I did not sleep well, which meant I was still worthless.

Eventually, of course, I did hear from her. She feels terrible and wants to come over, cuddle, care, all of those things she is so good at doing. But I am feeling a little crunchy. It will all be okay, but I need a minute to catch my breath, regain my footing.

Also I don’t really want her to see me cry and I will probably do that if I see her.

Good lord, humans are so complicated. But also extremely simple and primal and beautiful. Now off I go to wrap my big raw nerve of a body back up in a blanket.