We are one unbreakable soul; a Siamese-twin Phoenix’s soul, wings spread wide, soaring distances only read about in books and computer animated on the big screen. Multi-generation sized acceptance of lessons and love; learning and loss. Feathers extended full reach and set ablaze simply for light or for warmth or amusement of others, we’ve shared a skin and shed similar ash. I see you as a part of me and me as a part of you.
You and I, have traveled half our lives to this point, apart, yet together…escaping the binds of some massively tangly, twisted times. We’ve proven to be indestructibley abiding to the core of each other’s love; invincibly loyal to the marrow of each other’s truths, and miraculously resistant to the weathering of outsider letdown. The Siamese-twin-soul Phoenix, flying high above the bullshit.
We breathe rich unapologetic philosophies and values based in honest experience and ashy grains of heart that are the remainders lessons learned and humble reminders of things that burned inside us as we held them to the bitter sooty, charcoal deaths- guarding nests of hearts too big and precious for any one person, one body, one lifetime to ever be big enough to bear. We will burn away with all we love, because that is who we are. We have a need to protect that which we love from the greedy, haughty hands that reach with wild and bold pretentiousness; all reckless and tactless together in their arrogance as they destroy in blazes any beauty not their own.
You and I have come to shadow box in circles, behind each other’s backs. There is no separation that can exist between us, nothing to separate our souls. We fight the same fight. We love the same love. We heal the same wounds. We speak the same whispers of humble survival and invite strength into our bodies and existence with each and every exhale just to have the courage and capacity to inhale one more breath…over, and over, and over, and over, and over again…until we get from one heartbeat to the next, adding up to hours; and eventually, the days- cause sometimes, the flames and fire burn so hot, that this is the best commitment we can make. And for 30 years it’s carried us, one moment to the next, to the next, and to the next.
Heartbeat to heartbeat, we speak cosmic morse code promises. I promise to give my all to save what’s left from ash and regenerate in a light that shines lessons leading pathways brighter than any starlit sky; and ask the same of you. Birds can’t fly with a single wing; the same as I could never have walked this journey alone. Your mere acceptance is all the love I need to support my flight. And together we will keep going; and when we are alone in the physical sense, this poem will exist to as a reminder. We are part of each other, forever…something extremely rare and special; something so fucking beautiful, it can only exist in the ether…something no one else will never know.
And that is why I want you to know that I love the beauty you put inside of me; I hope you love the me inside of you as well…because the two of us, we’ll always be unbreakable; the Siamese-twin-soul Phoenix.
There is a light that emanates
from thoughts of you
which sends embers of
orgasm through my psyche.
Your smile touches me
deep down inside
and tickles the
clitoris folded between my legs of
inspiration on the left and
brutal truth on the right.
Climactic acknowledgement of
pushes up and brims out of my heart
with force unstoppable.
I am lit by your light.
I creep toward you, led by curious fingers,
Searching out smiles and raspberry touch.
My mouth envies yours,
And my lips long for a lesson.
If you have anything to offer,
If you have anything to need,
I can only smile and watch your beauty,
Words are too cheap to describe you.
Thoughts fly through my head,
Like a freeway with no speed limit.
If you ever get cold,
Let me cover you in my warmth.
If you ever search for safety,
Let my eyes be your home.
I find beauty in your words,
No paint and canvass could compare to you
I get lost in the fantasy of a single kiss,
I am found, melted in the fever of my want.
If there is anything worth holding,
Let it be my thoughts.
If there is anything worth saving,
Let it be my passion.
Comfort are the many clouds, pretending to be animals,
Harboring your voice.
Piercing is the desire for your raspberry touch,
And painful is the beating of a sullen heart that’s always craving more…
…for we are never satisfied.
For 30 years, I have fought you about as successfully as one side of Velcro can fight its other half. I scream with every pull as though it hurts to prove us apart, when maybe that’s not meant to be.
Each year I try to find the me that’s not you, and the you that’s not me; which has brought me here. You are now longer gone than you were in my life, and I am older than you were when you died…and still I can’t get the fucking Velcro apart!
The more I find, the more I learn, you were only trying to be the person I have unknowingly become –
The in your face decolonizing, educated, traveler; the queer poet, the mother who did the right thing, even though it was the hardest, the rough and tumble smart girl in the room. The one one who got out. The surprise.
It’s taken me 30 years of searching, 15 of interviews, buckets of tears, loads of sheets and laundry, binders and journals, crushed hearts hanging from the sleeves of every shirt I’ve ever worn, and a consciousness that has carried me through it all to survive without your body, only to realize I never should have tried to rip you apart from me to begin with.
Thank you for carrying me inside myself even when I didn’t know you were there. Thank you for being the spirit inside of me, guiding me, my choices, my travels, my poetry. Thank you.
And for every day you will never have, I will live the rest of mine for you, for me, for us…see the world for both of us, stitch the Velcro back together and never mind when someone asks, “How’s your mom?”
She’s here…inside me, locked deep inside my heart, living the life she always wanted, but could never give herself.
‘Round here, the girls writhe silent conversation with the dry-hump-grind of their gaze, like pulling a suicide bombers rip chord.
Generations of sorrow, swirl and stand erect in a vacuum of her counterfeit sophisticated beauty, like resurrection.
She was born before the bendable legs revolution, melted on her knees inside that Beat Up Barbie body, like plastic painted lies.
Filled with paper handshake promises from IOU goodbyes that threaten death, like stab wounds.
She sees the world through wishing well chasms, black from dirty pocket change regret, like darkness burned on secrets.
And she always betrays herself with that slow defeated flutter from three day thick mascara, like neon strip club arrows.
A broken-hearted history of solitude and abuse leak through Saran Wrap eyeliner, like reused condoms.
Still, she massages knotted tensions with feeble eyelash arms dressed in boxing gloves of waterproof sexual deviance, like comfort.
Her will is strong enough to move mountains with gravitational sex, helping her force to raise lust…only to let it fall, like apples.
Shifting glances elegantly with hand-me-down expertise, careful not to crack that $7.99 Maybelline masterpiece, like watching for a ghost.
She breathes childhood memories: inhaling Wonderbra miracles, and exhaling strokes of oral sex invitation, like panhandling pity.
Her self inflicted smile speaks of mutilated masochism, like a Halloween mask.
Above, sit eyelashes stinging of sadism…licking attentions, like the paper cut sting of a wet leather whip.
Yeah, the girls around here, they ITCH for affection; they wear their makeup like shadows and give a stare, like digging.
They reach and scream for love with twisted desperation…and blink…with eyes, like begging.
it was so sweet.
it was luscious.
it was a french kiss from the inside.
it was a car crash.
it was a return to me.
a finding of who i really am.
it was an inhale exhale intercourse that i could not get enough of, but paced myself anyway.
it was love.
it was everything i’d been missing and more.
it was milky, creamy and smooth.
i relished in it and tried not to feel guilty about just how happy it made me, really.
it was sexy.
it made me feel beautiful, beautiful for the first time in a very long time.
it made me feel graceful.
it made me feel better.
it was soft and almost fragile.
it was a plane crash with no survivors.
a culmination of everything that i thought died in me, resurrected like a phoenix from the ash.
it was a slow rise.
it was dense in its embrace, and carried me inside myself.
immediately it became my secret.
clean and crisp, folded up in my pocket.
each line telling truths.
like how this could be the beginning of the end of me.
and how i hope it’s not.
Lately, when we fuck, I bite through my lip until it feels like its going to bleed after every, “Baby….” I do this so you don’t catch me holding my breath anymore. I do it to stay present, keep the air moving through me, blowing the end of that sentence as far off a cliff as I possibly can. I look at you to make sure your eyes are still closed before I allow the tear to drop as those unspoken words crash on valleys of “better nots.”
“Baby, I love you.” It’s a sentence I won’t speak, a notion I will deny as long as I can to keep you touching me. Buddy Wakefield once said in a TEDxTalk that it takes a long time to make love to someone who hates themselves. But what is it called when you share an affinity for the love of self hatred? I don’t know the answer to that and I know we don’t have a lot of time together; so I wipe the sweat, tears and runny make-up from my face, muzzle my mind, unleash my monster, keep on fucking and wait for the next kiss I earn for keeping my mouth shut.
I close my eyes and let the beast take over, because that’s what you’re here for and I know it. I shut down my humanity and let our demons have their fun. Because we jumped into this, bent at the knees, backs braced for battle- whether you admit it or not. Fucking in quicksand, with our post-traumatic-trigger-happy demons playing chicken from their thrones on our backs. We were mirrors- of monsters that fucked themselves inside out with perverted lusts….tickling the g-spots of our damaged chasms.
For the first time, I met myself in that darkness. I searched my demon; let myself be searched, tied down in total trust and fucked from every orifice with twisted pleasure. I loved you pervertedly from the moment we met, like a long lost identical twin wanting to fuck them self in another person and having no qualms or shame about it. So, what can I say, but thank you? I can see all of me, through you; embrace all of me through you; love all of me through you….even if I can’t yet say it, at least I know. But you’re either in, or you’re out and that’s a lesson I won’t keep being taught again, and again, and again. I’m more creative with my self abuse than that.
For now, I’ll masturbate to fantasies of what it would be like to experience just once knowing love in a place unperverted by the bullshit that made us what we are; if our angels were never forced into demons by the necessity of childhood survival- where we don’t need the twisted sicknesses our fathers screwed into us to be turned on. I’ll touch myself softly this time, to thoughts of a place and time where our darkness is light and I don’t always have to earn each kiss; where validation comes in unsolicited words; where I’m not always next in line behind a curtain….where it doesn’t always have to hurt so fucking bad, just to make it feel good. A place where “I love you” doesn’t have to be choked down self aware held breaths whose exhales are diverted by the pain of bitten lips and “don’t look at me” trails of eyeliner, washed away in tears. A place where “I love you” is not a thought about statement at all, but something more natural- like breathing, something you can inhale as easily as you let it go.