Longer Around

I’m rounded and warm on the table
a solid bowl for you
in the wake of your flesh leak
I think mostly of your eyes
the outline of the space
between your give and my bite
or the shadow that follows the shape of you
when you’re facing me
now I am out and over with a spoon
ready to be slapped or served to you

I traveled through your clothing
digging through threads and fabrics
to try to taste your wound
thirsty and wide in your pocket
I dreamt about the space between skin and eyes
or the outline of the bones of you
you were the heavy wet part on me
you were the length of time around my body
you were dripping pointy pieces
you were hard to dry

I hear you closer now, solidly
more honestly now
you were ringing in my ear
now I’ve come back down
and here you are an ocean near me
you’re full and you’re the reprise
that I missed both times before
I am fuller too
in the wake of your other face
I am honest too

I wasn’t listening at first
but now I’m tied and knotted
solid around you
I’m not pained by what we both need to learn
I’m the longer version
moving in and out
with all of your fibers
ready to touch your center and wrap up in the length
then round out again for you

I’m not going to lie or make up a story
about what we both wish were different
I’ll be whatever I can be
if you are open for my give
I’ll be lined and separate
I’ll be full circle
if you want
I’ll be careful
I’ll be fluid
I’ll be chorus for you.

*I’m writing a love poem every Friday in February. This is the third one.

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Mirror Limit

Now it’s nearly Valentine’s Day
and I am painted red with your hands
and your splitting chest
soon you will be sliced open and closed back up
maybe you will not budge this time
stuck between my hair and your teeth
loaded like those words you bled
when I first ate your kiss closed

the weather was ripe for running into you this time
I dreamt you offered me a sweater
I dreamt you saw me wider than your jaws
and I fell into your ask
you would probably think my sleep senseless
you have much more to entangle between now and next streetlight
and that corner or your icicles

I wondered how much weight you could lift
or if you could lift me into the air
if your eyes would look different
if you had me up and around your waist
we were not that cold but you had your jacket
I thought about what you look like in glasses
my glass house and your melting lips
I remembered that you never asked

still, I wrote you down with my best hand
the same one that lied twice
after I realized you had dimples
after you’d stopped straightening your hair
it was then I started to see what you looked like
beige and brown colored turnover

and I’m not shy
you look like kiss full of my thighs
you look like beg and I kiss you open
you look like you could flip me over
dangle me red in your mouth
now it is a different ask on a different street
about five blocks away from your original face
this time, you bite and I taste you back open
this time, I say yes.


*I’m posting a poem every Friday in February. This is the second one. Click the link to listen to it.


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Bubble wrap

I could not taste you close, when you first fed
you were brown and beige colored memory
then nearly four years later, we met again
between Fort Greene stares
my rolled up hair
and my fingers numb
I was cold and waiting for you

you pulled my stomach warm for you
and we spread over empty cracks in sidewalk spots
climbing near each other with bated breath
the crowd around was blanket bubble
til the one with red eyes dropped and spit obscenities

I wanted to say I knew before (I always knew)
but we were holding more than distance missed
and that bag of molten memories
you were such a lovely frozen thing
it was almost like we never fed
or you were warm and heavy sex
and I was cold and dotted kiss

I read you down and out that night
and now we’re liquid street sign things
up outside of my own permission
I knew about the transition
on the highest height
before we met

I knew you like Brooklyn before the blankets dropped
I knew I would get stuck in you
before the house was built
or the backyard knew
but you were strong in what you thought you should do
and I couldn’t say “if it’s not too late, I want you too.”
I would rather remember the shape that ice cubes make
I would rather pine for you.

I’ll be posting a love or love-themed poem every Friday in February. This is new/unedited.

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As/Us Issue 5

It just occurred to me that I never posted this! Just in time for my birthday in December, my poem and the audio version of my poem, Firehouse, was published in As/Us! I’m honored to be featured alongside several amazing women of color and Indigenous women writers, as well as the winners of their Dear Native Youth poetry contest! The print version is available on Amazon:

Here is an excerpt:
Watching you with my lavender eyes
I always asked before I entered
you and I would meet at the center
and I’d inspect you with my looking glass
You can read/listen to it online here:



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What is white that fits in Black
and white halves and Black smash?
I bet his hands would hold the stretch
I bet my body would shake, if pressed
I was full of sex and honesty
full of him and probably
he was kissing me with his actually
I fell in casually when he touched my arm

first 33, then 34 like repeats and 3 years of waiting
vacant hands and open wrists
reaching out like pretty please and pretty dress
I would’ve fucked the sadness out of his mess
first number seven and then late on eleven
now we are separate corrections
individual constellations
as if I am to blame
as if I am all that’s left of the question
as if we aren’t the same

he with his pushing
me with my smooshing
I was ready and open
and crying when the cut drew
and it was deeper and louder
than most of my memories
or our separate parts
or our combined formative stuff
spilling closer and splitting both of us
I had no choice but to bleed him

now you can look straight through, it’s open and clean
I am in the back, hoping
eyes drowning in wine
drinking the soaked in
but you can’t come with actually
I sat there trying to deep throat probably
on top and inside of maybe
and I still couldn’t taste the honesty

I would like to go back to eleven
maybe I manifested the wrong seven
I begged for a solution
now in the aftermath, I am still learning
he left me red and wet
but in honesty, I’m mostly burning

after all of the panic, I went back for his eyes
like please blink me in or at least blur me out
I came late but it was too early
too much for 33 then 34 or 7 that turned into 11
I am no good at math or depth perception
but he was as wide as I was asking for
and I was ready to fuck the whole of him
wading at the shore near the rim of him
asking to love the parts that hurt up against his him

he asked about the thing I was looking for
and I said “deep deep love and childhood reimagined”
I said the last 3 years and my whole heart healed
or true raw with abandon
I said sex like long eye lashes
truth like our number 7
but I meant September
I meant the entire depth of him.

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Dear You (Who I Still Haven’t Met)

I want you to taste my raw with your rage
and fuck me out of my childhood pain
love me like the last three years
love me like still bodies after long talks
silence welcomed and arms dropped
fingers open and 34 years split through
all the ones before who couldn’t or wouldn’t hold all of me
will be charcoal covered in their own dishonesty
after we make the bluest love
fuck me purple with the truest love
bleed my name and I’ll cry out through my five year old self


with bloodied wrists and hands bent open
to receive the breakthrough of two collided
look what the Universe provided
I’m red and blue with your wet on my tongue
fuck me out of the lies covering my self-esteem
fuck me like I’m sorry
like I want you
like bury me in I love you
but always let me breathe
love me like the last three years
love me like my entirety
down and out through the underside of the bones on me


and we’ll breakthrough like red and blue
us too the purple pinnacle
love me like the healing kind
the split-through-knees-burning-begging-for-releasing- kind
love me like I deserve
like take my hands and I’ll hold your worth
and love it over and over until you know it too
I’ll love you like the truth has proved
like all 34 years
like hands full of your hair
and cut in half the lie that said you were ever hard to love
teach me everything about you
I’ll recite you like a bible
fuck me out of this depression
love me down to my sixth birthday
fuck me honest
love me like the last three years
love me like survival.
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Here are 8 People’s Stories About Coming Out to Their Grandparents (Slate article)

I almost forgot! I’m featured in this short, heartwarming piece about coming out to grandparents!


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