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.

warning: this gets kind of horny

I’m feeling stuff so I’m going to write about it.

First things first, I have a girlfriend: K. I don’t know why that word feels scary to write when it’s true. She is the coolest person ever. A sensitive and curious artist. Extremely hot. Fun. Communicative. Adjectives. I feel incredibly lucky, and that scares me, so I try not to think about it like that. More on that later, I’m sure.

We are kind of open. We’ve gone to queer sex parties; I watched her zap a line full of curious people one-by-one with an electric wand (it was awesome). I told her that sometimes I hook up with men and she was okay with it, “as long as you don’t feel used afterwards.”

I also told her that deep down I’m really submissive. She got me a little leather collar that is on its way soon (taking a while to be constructed). Huff. She is the best.

Relationships and commitment scare me but I’m also just feeling flooded with how much I like her.

She’s mentioned wanting to try out being a professional Domme. That it would be really fun and fulfilling to help people actualize their fantasies. People are beautiful and complicated.

One of her friends is a trans woman with a fantasy about being pregnant. She is currently having dinner at K’s house. It’s a friend hangout but also kind of a date. K has played along with this woman’s fantasies before, telling her things like how she wants to impregnate her and take care of her, that kind of thing. They are going to make soup tonight. K’s focus can be really intense and I know this is why she hasn’t texted me.

I feel okay about her doing this with this person, but I’m finding that the not-hearing-from-her thing is not fun. But I’m dancing around my apartment doing chores and trying to keep occupied in the meantime.

…this includes reading a super-horny book by Anne Rice and texting men. [covers face with hand]

There are three men that I talk to, and lately I’ve felt weird about seeing them so I’m basically acting like a cock-tease at this point. But then I had a breakthrough fantasy today: that when I’m with them and making them feel good, K is in the background whispering approvingly in my ear. Or she’s trained me so well that somehow pleasing men is still coming back around to pleasing her. Or… something. *fans self* Is it hot in here?!

I don’t really know anyone who won’t think I’m a complete slut weirdo if I tell them all this, so I’m writing it down here. Thank you for joining me while I make sense of my own brain.

write where it hurts

I read a playwright’s bio because I want a reference for my own. Hers is a page long, spectacular. Award winning. Artistic residency. Mine is a paragraph.

At my most masochistic, I scroll through a theater’s “Past Playwright Fellows” section to see if any of them have blonde hair. They don’t.

Obviously that doesn’t matter. Everything relies on the writing. Regardless of what’s happening or how you feel. Did you write it down? It is a muscle and a meditation practice. It is blissful catharsis and maddening frustration. And you show up for it, always. Look at whatever is felt and write it out.

After work, he comes over and reminds me of my masochism in other ways. It looks scary but is consensual. Pain on my terms.

Then he let me in on darkness from his past. Traumas that bubbled up when he saw a play. Memories that he can only start to process now. None of my words felt helpful so I just listened and wrapped myself tighter around him. Closeness.

Do I write a play about the healing power of getting my hair pulled? Do I want to turn a spotlight on something so raw?

He went home and I fell asleep at 9:30. Woke up feeling clear.

Then this morning my ex revealed that he is also polyamorous. This wasn’t a surprise but it did set off a lot of sparks in my brain. Questions. Curiosity. Anxiety (because of course).

When we were together, I was so scared and jealous at the end. I shoved all of it away because my heart was bruised. I was scared of that pain.

But why did I act like that? If we are the same, then why couldn’t I have let him do what I also wanted to do? Why did it take pandemic loneliness for me to lean into this?

He asked me if I was dating multiple people. I really did not want to know if he was. The old fear bubbles right back up. Dating people does not mean you are not available. But tell that to my primal abandonment terror.

And anyway this ex is now in a completely different state so what’s the point, what are you even feeling?

It’s mostly just the ego not wanting to be hurt again. Especially not by this person who has accidentally hurt it so many times already.

Oops sorry I didn’t know how to communicate and neither did you so we left marks and scars on each other’s hearts.

I grow and make choices. And I still get hurt and skitter off like a frightened animal at times. I guess none of this was meant to make those feelings go away. But at least we’re still in each other’s lives, even after all of that.

it’ll feel so good when you jump in

Veil thins and teal dye tempts.

Remind the world that you’re a mermaid.


The tease of dreaminess. 

Lose yourself but be careful.


On dates with her, adventure tends to bubble.

The coffeeshop is closed but we sneak in anyway.

There’s an event.

They give us free drinks

As if we signed up for any of this.


Or we’re in a bar that doubles as an old-world wax museum.

She takes pictures of me but the backgrounds are grotesque.

The bartender apologizes for something and she compliments his apron.

He blurts out that we’re both sexy.

I laugh but mostly I just feel dizzy.


I get anxious over lonely nightmares and dreams coming true.

I’m not always sure what my dreams even are.


A tidal wave of iridescent bliss hits my imagination

And I worry that I’ll miss it

Or not take correct advantage of it.


The mermaid sees the wave and dives into it.

Without fear, without thought

Just warm water and sunlight

Moving her body as it was always meant to move

Pleasure without overthink.


If you let yourself get swept up

You will not drown

As long as you remember to breathe.

like when I think about you

I came out of a room and I wanted love.

I didn’t want to be owned.

And I didn’t want to be lonely.

I still don’t.

For months, lonely sat on my chest and almost smothered me.

I have tried to quiet it by meeting people and bringing them into my bed

But when they leave (sometimes while they are still here) the loneliness twists at my side.

These days, lonely mostly sits in a corner in my room. It isn’t trying to kill me anymore. Now it can actually feel sweet. Sometimes.

I try to keep it warm and care for it.

where my thoughts go

Spending time with you makes me want to dream and listen to sad music afterwards. Take long walks, stare out the window, burrow into the inner world, where everything feels sweeter and easier to sit with. In that inner world I can remember your hair falling into your eyes. How you look when you’re asleep. The tiny starburst that went off in my heart when you said you’d been thinking about me.

I was in a car, going to dinner. We drove by your neighborhood and I whispered your name.

Hours later, you were slipping a finger into my shirt and pulling me closer. You were standing over me and kissing me with your hands on my face. I was sitting, arching my back, my mouth reaching hungrily for yours. Mind just crying please, yes please, I can’t believe this fantasy is real.

Maybe if I lie still in that inner world, I could write something that would connect with and move you. You who are so public. You who the world is trying to move. You who have built such a shiny persona to mask the deeply quiet well in your heart. You who will not actually read this.

secretly soft heart

When I texted you last night, I wasn’t thinking I was going to see you. But it would be a lie to say I hadn’t missed you.

I walked into my apartment after dinner with a friend, just as you were asking me to come over and have a drink. I ordinarily would not be so impulsive. But it was you.

Next thing I know, I’m in your apartment again and you are making me a cocktail with a clever name. You are deeply shy, and I think that’s beautiful. Sometimes you stared off and got quiet. Your eyes looked like they were a thousand miles from here. A lot of heavy had happened for you recently.

You also love to buzz about and describe things, pull out bottles with elegant shapes and difficult-to-pronounce names. While you were explaining one of them, you poured a little onto your palm and held it in front of me.

“Am I… smelling this?”

“No,” you said, “you’re licking it.”

And I sure did.

I told you later that when you did that, it turned me on so much that I would have let you throw me onto your kitchen counter and fuck me while I licked your fingers.

Instead we fucked in your bed, for four hours. And then you let me sleep over. You slept with your arms wrapped around me. I barely slept.

Which might have something to do with why I’m so tired now that I could cry.

Today marks the first time I slept with two different people in 24 hours. It’s also a day where someone else dumped me and made me feel like shit, even though I wasn’t even that interested.

So, you know. This whole thing is a lot. I don’t really know what I’m doing. You put your heart and body out there wanting to connect with people. And you do, and it feels wonderful. And you don’t, and it breaks your secretly soft heart.

when cooking dinner sparks ptsd

I once had a boyfriend who made me feel weird in the kitchen.

We didn’t have a lot of money but we pretended we were fancy. So we went to the expensive grocery store every night and spent too much on a dinner we would make from scratch. All of this sounds like “what you do” when you’re dating someone. How romantic. But it was really stressful. The crowds were too much. The lines were too much. The bill was too much.

Then we’d get home (to his house, where I basically lived after two weeks of dating) and he would be too much. Ordering me around. Snapping at me. Getting quiet and intense for no real reason. I have a clear memory of crushing garlic with a knife and trying not to cry. In the moment I wouldn’t have even been able to tell you why. But it was all his little comments, all the little ways he made me feel like I was doing something wrong. The ways he made me feel small, gross, unworthy. “That’s not how we do that.”

Once, I so badly wanted to be a good girlfriend that I did what I genuinely thought would be a nice gesture: cleaning his cast-iron skillet with soap and water. That is definitely not how we do that. But he ended up being an emotional abuser, so I regret nothing.


Cut to today. I’ve just started seeing a man who wants to come over to my apartment and cook together. He wants to go to that exact same grocery store and pick out something nice for dinner. Now I can afford to buy things there, but I warned him that I am not fancy. That I might not have things that he thinks I should have. He said that all he wants is to spend time with me.

This is sweet. But the old scars from the old relationship are still there. That relationship was 5 years ago, and I have worked as hard as I could to heal those scars. But this still feels like a huge test. Now excuse me while I scrub everything down and try to hide the gross parts of myself.

at the end of whatever I was doing with you

I am new to polyamory.

At first I liked the idea of having a boundless amount of love in your life. I liked the emphasis of communicating all your feelings, even the hard ones. To be honest I am really lonely and still recovering from months of extreme isolation in NYC. I want to have a big endless pile of love and connection.

A few months ago I began sleeping with a poly married man who was “very experienced.” We would have dinner every so often and then sex. The conversations were funny and fascinating. The sex was pretty good. Things progressed like this for months and felt fine.

Then he and his wife had a sex party. And at that party, I had a panic attack and had to leave. I didn’t have any sex and I couldn’t stop crying in the car, in my apartment, in my bed.

I have been trying to figure out what made me freak out at that party. But it is so obvious. I watched another woman touch the man I was dating.

Earlier she was bubbling over about how much she wanted to be friends with me. She told me she wasn’t really at this sex party to do anything. She also vented at length about another man she was dating. Then she touched my partner’s chest and I wanted to vomit.

Cut to an hour later, she and my partner are fucking and I am crying in that car.

What followed was a lot of talking. About me and my feelings. Not him, or what he was doing. Because at the time I thought I was having irrational emotions. He and I would talk through all my jealousy and I would feel better until we got off the phone. Minutes later, I would be sad again.

Then I had dinner with his wife. She blurted out that he was now regularly seeing the woman from the party (who at that point was following me on Instagram and looking at everything I posted).

He hadn’t told me that he’d started seeing her. He hadn’t mentioned that she’d come over, watch Sex and the City, and fuck him. He didn’t feel like he needed to.

I wanted to throw up again.

But I still thought that reaction was because I was crazy. I didn’t know that I don’t have to do things if they don’t feel good. Even if those things involve dating an “experienced” polyamorous person.

I’ve been out of the city now for weeks. He has called once or twice. I’ve never really felt great after either time.

And then, yesterday. I learned the uniquely foot-on-stomach horror of seeing that the two of them are now following each other on Instagram. I yelled “I can’t do this anymore” at my own phone and unfollowed both of them.

And then I went a step further and told him I’d done that. Like an insane high schooler.

“Freak outs happen. Sorry you’re having a tough time.”

Now I have the luxury of some hindsight. None of the other people I’m dating have ever made me feel like this. They don’t expect all their partners to be at a party together and hang out.

If I hadn’t gone to that party, I wouldn’t have cared about this woman’s existence. But I did, and now every time I learn about something she did with my (….I guess *our* at this point.. gross) partner, it makes me feel that much more rejected, invisible, insecure.

And it doesn’t have to feel like that. Even if it’s polyamory.

So have a great time, you two. I’m fucking done.

Anybody know a good therapist?