Why are we like this? — “What’s something bad about your childhood that made you a better person?” We are strolling along a murky, sluggish river as my friend shares this question, which comes from his therapist. He can see the skeptical, sidelong look in my eyes. I’ve had enough of toxic positivity. …

Is there a quiz that tells you if you’re queer enough to come out? — Sexuality is a spectrum. Gender is a spectrum. My brain knows these things. But as soon as I even start to think about discussing my sexuality with another queer-identified person, I am bowled over by a wave of anxiety. A tsunami of trepidation. I’m generally a confident person so I…

In.ter.X.ting: Hybrid poetry — “I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.” — Roland Barthes, Le Plaisir Du Texte shrewd Eros that outrageous flirt floods my screen with flashbang sentences & suspect vows of vulpine flesh each persuasive Pavlovian ping pong penetrates with a throbbing thought — a gorgeous galloping, our…

Hybrid Prose Poem: Getting unblocked — “I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps.” — Adrienne Rich, “Diving into the Wreck” Crumpled a hood, folded in on itself metal/rumpled/wrinkled wrecked. How To Climb Out of This Crenulated Car — an optimist might call this dead-end devastation braille and touch its lines tenderly, scan its ridges for lessons not…

Is anyone ever ready? — “Sex started to hurt,” my friend confesses in an anguished voice. “I worried that was it for us. I’m only 63. Would ever have sex again? Had my body just given up down there?” We’re in the kitchen, talking in that conspiratorial way women do when they don’t want men…

Time to spice up your sex life? — The first time I sexted was awkward AF. What do you even say? How do you not sound cheesy or desperate or weird? I’m pretty sure the first time for everyone is awkward. Henry Miller loved sex workers, but his sexting? Amateurish. F Scott Fitzgerald’s sexts were as clumsy as…

A journey through femininity and back — There’s a photo of me at two years old. I’m covered from toes to nose in vibrant pink lip gloss. I’m grinning and nearly glowing, like the inside of an oyster shell. Like the inner lips of my labia. This feature feels cosmetic yet will define me in nearly every…