Let the smoke sting your eyes
Let his hands bruise your body
Let the devil drag his claws
down your back
Leave the cut uncovered
Watch the ebb and flow
of your heartbeat given form
Your ruby red insides rejoice:
You are real. You are real. You are real.
JM 2016
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A Mystery Gift - ILOVEDOODLE Art Print - WE AND THE COLOR
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One morning
she woke
wiped the sleep
from her eyes
and yawned
so wide
she swallowed
the sky
the moon
and stars
your mother
and mine
the Cosmos
brewing in her belly
and in the depths
You
and You
&
I
and I
thus
We
hung suspended
in the mess
clinging tight
to a tender heart
JM 2016
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You run your fingers down my back,
translating my skin from brail.
As you read it aloud, the words
“I love you”tumble from my mouth.
I catch them in my hand,
let them drip from my fingertips
and onto your chest.
When you offer them back to me,
I hear the sound of my seams splitting,
A satisfying rip
A sigh of relief
I’m released from the effort of holding my pieces together.
I pick one up and tuck it in a pocket
for you to find on your south bound flight:
A question mark
to hang from my name,
a drop of honey
left on your tongue.
JM 2016
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As I pluck books I left on a shelf
in the living room that used to be mine,
my heart takes off running without me
I rush to find the bathroom floor
that cradled me through the summer
Everything is different
and the floors are dirty
but the pulse of my temple against the tile
is familiar enough
the angle of the mirror the same
I photograph my reflection
so I might examine it later,
measuring months bythe curve of my cheek
the curl of my hair
the soft green shapes of
the south on my hips
Gravity shifts beneath me
shaking a plum from my branches
sweet flesh bruised blue at the stone
my lips left on a tissue
in the waste basket I close the door behind me
count my steps on the pavement
the rhythm reminding
my heart to beat
my lungs to fill and empty
with ruinous love for the city
I left behind
Beverley Rd 4:05am
JM
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Jane curls her fingers through his hair and makes a fist. A sharp intake of breath, then a low rumble as if he were hungry and she were soft, sweet, delicious. God, isn’t she just?
He rolls her onto her back as she wraps her legs around him and tightens. She rests her forehead in the curve of his neck, fills her mouth with his flesh, and bites; only once, just hard enough for him to know she means it.
She says she comes from the cosmos and she’ll take him if he’d like, for a price.
“I want your sweat, your drool, your cum” she tells him, pinning his hands above his head.
“I want you to tell me what you want to do to me so I can tell you that you can’t.”
“I want to sink my teeth into you like the meat of a nectarine and let you drip from my chin.”
and she will, she will, she will.
Jane and the Nectarine, JM 2016
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Naomi Okubo
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I stumble upon your handwriting
on the first page of a book
I haven't read since the summer
we spent on the grass
memorizing the arc and
stretch of each sprinkler
Legs tangled like the
ivy scaling our walls,
we chew on the word
love
until it loses flavor
I read the words you wrote about me
before you'd dug your hands through
my refuse strewn insides
before you wrapped me in the folds
of your life
and think how different your account
of me must be now
No one seems to know what to call us
They stare, spinning their own truths:
Lovers
Sisters
Same
I don't know what to call you
but I know you rise in my heart
like a mountain
your roots reaching down into my stomach
the bedrock I never knew was there
I know you see yourself in me
some alternate form bounced
off a funhouse mirror
all the parts that hurt
the abuse and the want and the fear
the unhappiness that comes crushing down
heavy heel on an anthill
to cave us in
You hate when people
hold us up to the light,
two faces on a silver coin,
and call us same
missing the subtle difference in hue
a piece chipped from one of our cheeks
On the days you won't look at me
I regret implanting myself in your life
This place, our work, our home
and here I am
sadder and stranger and straighter
than you recall
asking you over and over to affirm
that You are, I am, We are
OK
I lie here fearing you wake up and
wish I was back in New York
that I wasn't here to count
you breaths or the color of your hair
On the days you won't talk to me
I hear every hateful thing I've even
thought of myself in your silence
my crumbling self worth
my constant need for reassurance
my narcissism and glut
but some days we break the surface
watching each other's heads
bob above the waves
and smile
Some days we sing songs to the wind
screaming a frantic off pitch ode
to Virginia: the root of it all.
JM 2016
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by bloodykirka.
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For the first time in three years
I am awake inside my own head
The landscape ripe and red
as my pussy
I hold you inside of me with urgency
pressing your want
against the walls of my being
Stretching
digging for:
What's lost
What's left
The Wreckage
Wet by rain
and runoff from the James
sprouts to life
beneath spring sun
The Wreckage, JM 2016
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Experimental photography and illustration work
Photo by Adolfo Félix on Behance
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Paper Bird
Six brown napkins sit crumpled in my bag
A last vestige of the last meal we shared
I take them out every morning
determined to throw them away
But I can’t
So I smooth them out
Stack them up
Fold one into a limp paper crane
And rest it on my dresser
I stare my flaccid creation in the eye
And meditate on the cost of the words
I wield in self-preservation
Only to find myself afterward
A sad and crumpled paper bird
Waiting to be thrown away
JM 2015
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Jasmine Deporta- Sofa Safari
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In which I explain my queerness to my mother:
I. 'You know I hate that word'
I know she does.
Picture: early 60s suburbia
neighborhood kids bounce rocks off her brother
QUEERQUEERQUEER
The poison fills her mouth
But she can’t spit it out
Just shuffles Patton leather shoes
head hanging in shame
II. 'So you think you like girls now?'
She lays the phrase down gently
only the corner of her mouth betraying her cool
her word choice says everything:
THINK
Says my thoughts are not truth
NOW
Says this isn't forever
III. 'I was hoping for little Jillians'
Science is an amazing thing
I am more likely to give you grandchildren
Than my straight married sister
you promise to love my children anyway
IV. 'But you always liked boys'
Based on preschool boyfriends and Disney dreams
But she forgets
Finding us beneath a pile of blankets
'Just playing explorers'
She forgets
The locked bedroom door
'Just playing house'
'Just playing doctor'
JUSTPLAYINGJUSTPLAYINGJUSTPLAYING
V. 'Now that you play for the other team...'
Because bisexuality couldn't exist
Because queer is only a stone for throwing
I have to wear your absolutes
VI. 'Have you decided one way or the other yet?'
Three years and two sexual assaults later
I've stopped dating men entirely
Occasionally, I will close my eyes, bend over
and fuck one to prove I still can
That if I chose to
I could close my eyes, marry one
and live the life you wanted
You clutch these pearls to your chest
like it will make them real
VII. 'I’m sorry'
I wake to find her on the edge of my bed
Dawn filtering through the blinds
Still stung by a fight we had the night before
I keep my eyes shut tight
And hear her whisper the words she can never manage
When I’m looking her in the eye
VIII. 'Well, do queer people understand the straight experience?'
The last in a series of questions she asks
When I tell her about my queer poetry class
I say I write queer poems and
I want queer people to read them
To find community in their understanding
In our shared experience
I sigh
Everyone understands the story we've been fed from birth
Let me explain heteronormativity again
IX. 'She seems good for you'
She swallows hard before saying this
As if accepting my black, bow tied lady friend
Makes her neither racist nor homophobic
X. 'I’m ashamed of how I reacted.'
Sitting on the edge of my bed
She wakes me this time
A soft hand on my forehead
Her therapist says
this hate will drown her
ASHAMEDASHAMEDASHAMED
The poison fills my mouth
But I can’t spit it out
So instead
I take her hand
And kick hard for the surface
JM 2015
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