joyless.
I don’t dance anymore.
the men, they ripped the heart right out of me
over many nights on many dance floors,
with every unwanted kiss and wandering hand
with sweaty paws and damp nuzzles on my neck
they slowly pulled my bloody beating
heart right out of my chest
I have watched them take advantage,
these men who barely know how to dance
these men who learned just enough to
boost their own ego by being able to
touch and control a woman’s body
these men who’ve been dancing only
a fraction of the time that I have
just long enough to persuade innocent girls
who have newly discovered the allure of this ethereal craft
and women who want more, want more
want to look good and
talented on the dance floor
- he's learned just enough, or more likely hasn't learned
anything at all and is simply gifted
with the audacity men are so blessed to be
naturally endowed with -
in any case he's able to convince her that he holds the secret
if only she would come over to his house and pay him money
- her money, which is still about 83 cents to his dollar -
so he can touch her out of the sight of others
and I watch the men in charge of these scenes
who have voluntarily taken on the safety of a community
where women are disproportionately preyed on
and women get to choose the
possibility of new trauma vs.
the possibility of new joy
every time they accept a dance with a man
- these men in charge they watch and they do nothing
they watch and apparently are unable to learn
they watch and they don’t see what I see
- or more likely just can’t be bothered -
so I tell them.
and the man who kissed me
three times on the neck without consent and made
unforgivably crude comments in my ear all while
touching my body
on the dance floor where I am supposed to experience joy
that man is still welcomed with open arms
in the rooms where I no longer show my face because
I tell the men in charge and they do nothing
and the women, I tell them too and they shrug
and keep going to those dance floors because
it didn’t happen to them
so I guess it doesn’t matter
and they keep giving money
and friendship and dances to these men
who refuse to keep us safe
and all my friends say:
“I’m sorry, I have to go.
My mental health, you know.”
and every time another friend says that,
all I hear them saying is
my mental health doesn’t matter.
they must not have heard the anguish in my voice
every time I ever confessed that
dance is the only place in my life
where I experience joy.
and they don’t seem to care that I deserve
to experience joy, too.
that I no longer have access to this medicine.
and everyone talks about supporting the "community"
but I stand now on the outside
watching the people I thought were my community
and instead of
solidarity and mutual aid and
community support
- instead of everyone standing up and
demanding better remedies
better leadership
better standards -
my friends they leave me behind,
unsupported.
and they keep going back to drink from a poisoned well.
and I watch and I am distraught
for not having any water to drink at all
but I know that dying of thirst is better than
paying a miser's fee to drink from the well he poisoned himself.
and the men they plan more dances
and I am absent from them all.
everyone says they miss me and
everyone says they want to dance with me
and I stare blankly back at them because
I watched them trade me for the predators they chose to keep.
I watched them make that choice
over and again .
and everyone wants to dance with me
but no one is doing anything it would take
for me to dance again.
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where the heart is.
you remind me what it's like to be
young and full of love and
overflowing with
boundless life force, wielding
vortices of creative energy -
simply by virtue of
making choices and chasing a dream.
you remind me what I love
and what matters most to me -
you remind me what feels like home.
you awakened me
- I didn't realize I was even sleeping
all this time?
three years stuck in a
mucky muddy gridlock, bound and
gagged by rotting cords,
fighting to get free for so long, a deer
snared in a trap - exhausted
I have just been
laying here,
half-conscious and
frozen in panic -
and I don't mean that I needed to be saved
but you did come upon me there
and though you found me
broken and
thrashing and
bleeding out -
you loved me anyway.
and you stayed by my side.
and somehow that was enough.
your love is a salve
a mystery to me
of the oldest kind
and you didn't save me but
you did stop the bleeding so that I could
breathe deep in your shelter and
find my way out.
thank you for waking me up and thank you
for waking up to me.
your love has brought me
home to myself.
your love has set me free.
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tidal force.
winging away from you once again I am
leaving you again, again, again.
and another new year yawns and
stretches out before me,
it is wide and winding and
covered in question marks and
marked by Tulsi Holy Basil,
Awakening.
Look at her: Waking up!
I miss you already.
I miss you in all the spaces where I want
to be building together.
and I am home and I miss you
on my couch and I miss you
in my kitchen and I miss you
kissing me naked and ravenous in the hallway
where we can't keep our hands off
each other as we tumble between
the bathroom
and the bed.
I miss you and
you are also with me.
it's always that way with you -
a problem is never a problem, in your presence
a conflict beheld by another
under your gaze dissipates
into the flow of the river
the laws of gravity are obeyed always
in your
sweet water arms,
the path of least resistance
- not a defeat, only
true and right and
patience and
love.
I miss you and
what could we have to worry about?
after all we are but
earthly bodies of water ruled
gently by the moon herself -
I know this to be true because the moon,
she brought us to each other
slowly and deliberately and over many,
many miles
and at just the right time
and who am I to question
the divine timing
of the moon?
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star body.
I loved you before I ever met you and
when I met you I knew you
instantly.
perhaps our particles are
from the same star
and the moment you spoke
words in my direction -
my star body memory
recognized
your star body energy
so that we both looked a little
closer and saw there
something deep and
familiar and
fated
in the Channel of Unavoidable Predestiny running
right through both our hearts.
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birthright.
I am made of Alabama red clay
and thick cicada nights
I am made of the sweat beading on your brow
and the steady pulsing of contra dance floors
of heavy thunderstorms rolling
through the hills and lush underbrush
and towering trees of the
Deep South.
I am made of Montana big sky
and thick-coated treks through settled snow
of cross country bike rides
and air so crisp it might pierce your lungs
lake water colder than you ever dreamed
and an unbroken nature like you've never seen.
But more than that I am made of
ancient stardust - the untamed and
tangled deep wildness
of the unfathomable forests of Appalachia.
seventeen years I spent exchanging
molecules with the rhododendrons,
magnolia and dogwood, ferns and mosses
of western North Carolina.
crickets and marigolds and
scuppernongs paint my heart;
honeysuckle and virginia creeper wrap my spine;
mountain brooks and old time music and
tree frogs tap out the rhythm of the blood
running through my veins.
and when I walk the streets of Asheville, North Carolina
the fae there know me
& they call my name.
I am a daughter of the Appalachian mountains.
and neither you
nor him
nor my mother
can ever take that away from me.
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on the one.
i am illusory.
my whole life i have haunted one
place or another
learning
watching
holding my boundaries
taking care of myself
standing strong
always peripheral
never integrated
the challenge of this lifetime for me is
one
(independence).
that will never change.
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up.
i press my feet slowly and carefully into
the moss and the soft
damp ground i am
treading so nimbly like a nymph navigating
the steep slope of the land above the
shores of lake superior
over boulders and under fallen trees
weaving in and around among the
thimbleberries and royal ferns deep here
in the woods of wild upper michigan
a few paces ahead of you i pause under
low hemlock boughs and turn to face you with a
quiet smile on my lips inviting you to step
closer into me with only mischief and desire in my cheeks
we kiss there in the deep green of the woods
hair wet and wild in all directions
and i feel our roots shooting into the
ground below and touching there intertwining
just under the surface
i breathe soft and deeply
a sigh of earth magicks
floating on the cool vapors of our dip in
icy bright fresh waters
i am grounded
i am grateful
i am gloriously warm just to be here with you.
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one minute to go.
I meant to say: when I left you at the airport
that morning I was scared I would
never see you again.
I meant to say: thank you for moving towards me instead.
I meant to say: thank you for standing in this lightning bolt with me
and holding my hand as we have felt it
relished in it
both
electrified.
I meant to say: thank you for bringing yourself to this
moment with such deep care and
presence and
gentle intention.
I meant to say: thank you for being willing to
question your own bounds and
for playing with me here
on the edges.
I meant to say: gaia herself runs in the
veins of the body of this relationship.
I meant to say:
I see you.
honey sweet and fiery scorpio, I meant to say:
I could worship you.
precious tender water scorpio, I meant to say:
I could love you with everything I have.
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i. the magician.
delusional and drunk on foggy neptune transits
you were here for a moment - just one moment, maybe three
I could barely look you in the eye
the lightning there so present, so blinding, so fiery and earnest
and now
you’re gone..
so sticky hot and sweet like honey
surely you were just a dream but
I have barely dared to
dream of you.
the very instant I looked up and saw you
the very moment words moved from one of us to the other
I knew then already that this was actually
something
I knew then already that this could be
everything.
just three nights gaia granted us
a tiny window
a glimpse
a vision
a vignette.
and just like a perfect dream I never dared to dream,
already you are fading away
far too good to be actually true
far too good to be actually real
far too good for me to acually keep.
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0. the fool
it’s meant to be the year of the fool but
am i fool enough to do exactly this?
to plunge headfirst into the deep end of
this deeply glittering pool with
all manner of skeletons and
unknown ugly demons lurking behind corners and
just under the surface?
the cards have said it is so but
i consider how little space there is for me here
i enter this home that’s held so many loves before me and
fold myself patiently into your couch
i am never asked really how i’m doing and
immediately become a container for
each and every thought and story that
passes through your head and out of your lips
without a single filter.
there are already 5 lifetimes here,
and 2 families.
i want to be known
and yes you have capacity
i see it in all you have done with your life
but do you have capacity to know
me?
i am 3 lifetimes and 5 oceans deep.
and i want my love to see and know it all.
and yes you are alive -
so deeply alive in all the ways i dream
the love that’s made for me will be
- but can you be alive with me?
on the very first day of this bright new year
i awoke in a pool of newfound lifeblood,
an utter fountain of forbidden hopes and dreams -
all in your name, swirling above my head and
curling tendrils through my fixed water heart and
i received the news:
open to what you have never known
be willing to make mistakes and
keep your heart open
- with dandelion and monarch butterfly and
your absolute fixed air scent written all up and fucking down
and backwards
- all over it.
and yes i desire to trust the wisdom of the fool but
there is scarcely room for all that i am
in your embrace
and no - i may not be fool
enough to do
exactly
this.
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deep waters.
have you ever danced
with a scorpio, my dear?
I see it in your eyes and
I can hear it in your voice
I feel it in your body,
the way it trembles under mine...
before you take another step, you should really know -
every word I say: an oath
every kiss I give: like breathing
every touch: like lightning
I am deep waters dancing under
the gentle touch of your winds
you play soft and sweet across my surface
come -
lay out your limbs in my deep waters.
I long to whip your winds into a
frenzy like you’ve never known
a whirlwind of careful chemistry,
thrown like caution off the cliff.
I set out to unwind your aquarian riddles and
run down the grooves of your well worn
patterns and paths
I see you so clearly
laid out in front of me...
laid out beneath me...
and I am deepened with a hunger I have
hardly known before.
have you ever danced
with a scorpio, my love?
truly you must watch your step, and
truly you must watch your touch
before you even remember to look up
you will find yourself at my mercy
plunged deep into depths
that do not wish to
give you back.
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age of aquarius.
I’ve been receiving visions of you
can you even believe?
since long before you touched me with that
wild pulsing electricity
since long before you asked me
for that witching hour kiss...
I’ve been receiving visions of you
am I truly mad?
sent to me, I see us deep in the forest -
a goddess and her dryad.
dipping gleefully at bright blue springs
playing like pixies
darting between the weeds...
I have received visions of you!
I can scarce believe it’s true
heads thrown back and shining
sitting at a hilltop fire,
under a blazing flower moon...
years on i have walked certain sacred quiet paths
and while many have approached
their energy is out of place and out of line
awkward in the spaces i call most mine
secret tender spots i hide
in the deepest depths of my own heart
years on not one i’ve met
has been a near match to play the part
and yet
before you ever winked at me so quietly on the couch or
touched me with such careful intention
before i ever shared my names with you or
gave into this smoldering tension
gaia herself sent me visions of you
- you by my side -
in places i never imagined i would
ever bring a single soul.
and while we sit now in separate homes
leading fully separate lives
swirling in the same magic whirlwind spell
of the first week of the new year -
i can’t help but hope
- gaia please tell me true -
these newfound dreams
these visions of you
come true.
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highest desire.
I leave the dance party I am
floating from the wine and good dances
and dear friends
through the perfectly breezy warm april air
crickets and katydids buzz all around me
fuzzy spring foliage wraps street lamps
above me in gorgeous earthly halos
I am reminded that some things never
change
I am reminded this is my highest desire
my happiest place
if I could write the story of my life it would
be this
floating through the night after hours of dancing
over and over and over again
until I am laid softly in the ground.
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not a love story.
I don’t sleep.
I don’t dream.
somehow you got into my air supply
gemini high in the worst way and I
can’t seem to flush you out
you run through my veins all day and
you run through my blood all night
I lay in bed for hours and hours but
I’m never sleeping
I only think of you.
I lay awake all night willing myself to sleep
and I remember the life I imagined for myself.
I wouldn’t have written this story.
I wouldn’t have written you.
I think of all that I have loved about you
the way my whole body warms when I feel you invite me in
and I realize I have imagined you to be
so much more than you are
no you never gave me anything good
from the day that I met you
I’ve been waiting for you to catch up
we made a soul contract and we
promised to meet each other here but
you weren’t ready
I did all the work to be ready to meet you here and you,
you did none of it.
I feel it in my bones
that you have disappointed me
over and over
across the universe and countless dimensions;
I am always waiting to see you and I am
always waiting for you and you,
you never think of me at all.
my friends have been trying to tell me that
you’re no friend to me
and it took me a moment to accept that you
had given up on the idea of wanting me and it
took me a minute to see you for all that you are.
and you stand there now in all your betrayal and
trying to hide that bloody knife behind your back and
wow you must think I’m really stupid
because you stabbed me in the chest
and the blood spattered all in my face
I’m staring at you, bleeding out, and still
you’ve got that dumb look on your face like,
how could I be mad at you and
you dont think you did anything wrong at all.
and I see you now for the coward that you are.
all you do is hide.
all you do is let me down.
this isn’t fun anymore, if it ever was,
and I would never choose this for myself.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I’m gone.
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shut the door.
we are standing just inches from each other
our bare feet going bright red and numb
in the shallows of this January creek water
when I tell you, I think it’s harder for me than it is for you.
what I really mean is:
a scorpio, I sit here soaking in my own blood,
drawn of my own volition to share how much I care with
you, a gemini, instantly swept away on the next whim of wind,
not giving one glance back at me
sitting in my pool of grief
immense love pouring from my wrists
with nowhere to go.
3 times now I swallow and digest these
violent shards of broken heart glass
edges sharper and contents more fatal
each time than the last.
what hurts the most is knowing of
the pieces of you that I will never see.
pieces of you
that you don’t want to give me.
the pieces that you offered up and shared
freely with another,
and the same pieces you let wither
and die with that love.
truth is, I would rather grieve this that will never be,
glass shredding my insides to ribbons,
alone, and forever,
than suffer your incapacity
over & over & over again.
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all caution, no wind.
what is it that you’re doing
spending all that time alone
are you healing, are you thinking?
are you making lists of what you want?
or just preserving empty space?
floating through the air and passing time
constructing walls around your empty castle
way up there in your gemini sky.
your love is warm in my lungs like a shot of tequila
(the promise of a night that could go anywhere)
a secret wink across the room through
an impossible crowd
your love is the noise of a bustling city street
the easy and persistent ruckus floats on the air
and in through my open window
finds me where I’m sleeping and wakes me up to reckless joy
a bright, open, sunny day
boundless adventures ahead and
lots to laugh about.
my love is soft as a springtime rain in texas
falling on bright green tips of juniper needles
my love is enduring as the beams of a full flower moon
clear and blue as a hidden spring in the hill country
deep enough for you to set your things aside
lay out your limbs and float in it.
come skinnydip in my deep waters.
our love is the color of a SZA album
rolling in with big feelings and scary gusts;
cloudy, sad, and hopeful.
aleady heavy and full of heartbreak.
but there’s something about the
way you make me feel
some way you say my name that
matters more than
any way
or anyone
who ever spoke it before.
you say my name and I float away on up
to the heavens on your winds
wishing never to come down or ever touch the ground again...
what is it that you’re doing
with all this time alone?
trying to catch my eye or stumble on my path
when you know that I am elsewhere and out of reach
what is it that you think I’m doing?
what stories have you told yourself to fuel your furious construction
and fortify those walls you seem to hold so dear?
our love is exhausting, mismatched, and desperately unlikely.
our love is a hopeless mess of magnets and desire.
my heart breaks into
five
million
pieces
when I learn that we
made a soul contract.
in another place,
at another time.
we promised to meet each other
here.
I showed up ready to love you
and you showed up afraid.
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honeyjar.
I finally opened the honey jar I use
to collect the moments that make me happy
every year
the pile of joyful notes was small and
all but 3 moments that I deemed worthy of the jar
in the last 365 days centered all around
time I spent with people I dated.
I set aside last year’s small pile of moments,
leaving the honey jar empty and open for a new year
I draw a hot bath and pour in oil of Happiness.
Soaking in my New Year Joy Bath
I am sitting with the realization that
even after all my time alone
and even after all my healing
even after all my growth
once again I don’t seem to
know how to access deep resounding sacred joy
all on my own.
I drain the bath.
Before I fold myself into bed
I tuck a brand new memory in the honey jar
- my first note of the new year -
the moment you told me you love me
not on a full week ago.
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