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This dress

With its candy skulls,

Yellow marigolds,

And bleeding red hearts,

Is my arnor.

I want you

Looking at me,

Glowing,

and taking up space.

My dress,

Will make room for me.

It will announce my arrival

With fanfare fit for a queen.

#notalldogs

Imagine a world very similar to ours, in which dog ownership is a stronger part of the national culture. Almost every family has a dog and there are dog parks in every neighborhood. Dog culture is so ingrained that dogs are allowed to roam off leash and everyone trains their dogs to come when they are called. Nearly all the dogs are mellow and well behaved, but some dogs are not. A small percentage of dogs bite, but society doesn’t like to talk about it.

So now imagine that in this same world one out of every three women you knew had been bitten by a dog or would likely be bitten by a dog in their lifetime. Maybe your best friend has been bitten and two of your friends from college. You remind yourself, its still just a few dogs causing almost all the problems. In addition an unknown portion of men have also been bitten, but most men won’t talk about it so its hard to know how many men. Dog biting is not only not part of the national dialog around dogs, those who do try to talk about are often dismissed as being hysterical, holding an unfair opinion about dogs, or as having enticed a dog to bite them by mistreating the dog or dressing up like a rib eye steak.

Although you have never been bitten yourself a few dogs have growled and snapped at you, while you walk down the street. Then a friend’s dog, which you thought you knew well, starting acting strangely to you and nearly bit you. In fact, you think that dog would have bitten you, if your friend hadn’t been there to stop it. Later, you found out it was because the dog was on medication and “he just wasn’t himself” that day. However, it doesn’t matter, because you were almost bitten and now you are a little more timid around your friend’s dog.  You never allow yourself to be alone with it.

If you lived in this world, how would you behave towards dogs? How would you feel if while walking to your car at night you were approached by a dog you didn’t know? Or on your morning run, a dog started chasing you for just a few blocks? Would you start carrying pepper spray? Would you change the side of the street you were walking on if you saw a small pack of dogs walking towards you? Would you stop wearing leather or anything that remotely smelled of meat?

You know its not all dogs, but how could you ever tell which dog was safe and which dog was a potential threat?

Wouldn’t you want to start to talk about it? Wouldn’t you start trying to change the culture to reduce dog bites?   

you are waiting for me to leave you

leaving is a heavy weight

a millstone of doubt

around the neck

there is no training

no P90X

for those with the strength  to walk away

one cannot prepare to carry it

only to put it down

Clive Owen

I want to fuck Clive Owen

bent over a desk 

skirt torn

panties down

or

up down upon the floor

laid out,

pinned down

groaning in pleasure

but the odds of this happening

are infinitesimal

I mean, how would I ever get to meet Clive Owen?

And who's to say he'd want to fuck me?

not that I am not imminently fuckable

its just that..

I've a better chance of winning the lotto.

I've a better chance of getting you to love me. 

Baby Doll

I can't be your baby doll

waiting on the shelf

in suspended animation

collecting dust

my dress fraying at the edges

as the glue fades 

and my lashes fall down 

When you aren't looking

I'll climb down

risking my fragile limbs 

to jump off the shelf
my porcelain shell
will  shatter whole on the floor

then
like some mythical stuffed rabbit
I shall love myself

into the arms of life
find my legs
and walk out of your playroom for good. 

Chaste to be Chased?

I recently read an article on "Why You Should Always Have Sex On The First Date." The author, who goes by the name "Trophy Wife" espouses the idea that women should "F*ck being coy – go out and get laid." As an ethical slut, I see nothing wrong with women having sex on the first date. I have fucked a handful of men on the first date and gotten naked with far more than that. I think it generally holds true that if man is truly interested in you it won't matter when you have sex. 

However, I have found it true that the more chaste I am, the more chased I become. Men tend to chase what they can't easily acquire. As one lover once told me, "nobody really values the things they get for free, I mean if I offered a nice leather jacket for free, wouldn't you wonder what is wrong with it?" Now before we castrate my ex for comparing a woman to a leather jacket or equating a sexually open woman with a defective object, let's just take a moment and think about where statements like this come from. 

It is easier for women to get laid than it is for men. Just take this article for example, where a both a man and woman asked a hundred people of the opposite gender to have sex. The woman faired considerably better than the man. The truth is that if a woman wants to have sex, she generally doesn't have to work to hard to get it. Provided that the woman is reasonably attractive, confident, and willing to broaden her horizons, she can generally find a man who would not just be willing, but eager to have sex with her. 

This lack of equality in potential sexual availability not only makes men jealous, it robs them of a context for understanding how to relate to sexually available women. There they are, cursed with testosterone driven higher sex drive but constrained by women's general hesitancy to have sex. What's worse is that when a woman is open to a more relaxed approach to sex, the man has no idea how to handle it. Without a proper schema for these situations, they default to the prevailing societal narrative.

This narrative still espouses the idea that men should chase women and that a woman should "hold out" before she "gives it up." So statements like those made my erstwhile lover, aren't meant to be explicitly misogynistic. It's just that they betray the underlying misogyny of this kind of "advice." Since any woman that isn't following these guidelines and is giving her "cookie" up to easily, must be suffering from low self esteem or must in some other way be "broken." Because any woman that is serious about "catching" a good man, will know that she has to withhold sex to maintain her power. This is a form of slut shaming that is pervasive in advice books, most of which are written for women.

So while I agree with the “Trophy Wife” that women should have sex on the first date. I think what’s really needed is not a call for women to have sex, but call for men to respect women regardless of when that woman chooses to share a sexual experience with them.  So written below is the article I would have liked to have seen.

Men, "why you should keep seeing the woman you had sex with on a first date."

You've already seen her naked and you liked what you saw. Let's face it gentlemen, chances are you didn't run screaming from the room when she took her top off. If you liked what you saw, why not stick around a see a little more. 

No more first time jitters. We all know the first time with a partner is a little bit awkward, but heightened sexual tension usually allows to overlook the awkwardness. Lust goggles, are very forgiving. So the first time might actually be smoother and the second time won't be the first. Thus, no first time jitters. 

She chose to share a sexual experience with you. Nobody gave up anything, nothing was lost. Assuming you both did it right, everyone should have come away feeling like they won a prize at the carnival. 

Chances are she won't use sex as a weapon. A woman who has sex on the first date is unlikely to see sex as the source of her power. Therefore, she will probably still fuck you even when you forget to take the trash out or leave the toilet seat up. 

Yes, if she had sex with you on the first date, chances are she has done it before. And the concern there is what exactly? If you want to feel special go visit your mother or earn this woman's love. 

Realize that just because you two had sex on the first date doesn't mean that you will have sex on every date thereafter. No she's not playing games, it means she wants to get to know you and not just use you for your body. This is a good thing.Remember, she's just not obligated to fuck you every time she sees you. 

You know a woman's worth is in no way tied to her number of sexual partners. You respect women as equals. So call her up, send her a text, ask her out and let her know that a second date doesn't come with any expectations. 

* note, I know that some people choose to wait until marriage to have sex. That's lovely for them, but for pretty much all the reasons listed by "Trophy Wife" I will continue to have sex with men before marriage.  

Confessions of a woman who falls

My favorite song about falling in love "I've just seen a face"  by the Beatles.  Now I say this fully understanding that nobody really has one favorite love song, and no Beatles fan ever really has one favorite Beatles song. Heck, even as I write this there are little devils on my shoulder all clamoring to mention how much other songs mean to me. And it's true, there are many other songs that I love. But "I've just seen a face" is the best song about falling in love.

 Falling in love isn't the same as being in love. When we are falling in love everything feels possible, when we are in love we know that everything may not be possible but it doesn't matter because we will always have a place to feel safe. Paul McCartney wrote, "I've just seen a face" and its filled with the endless optimism that characterize his happier songs. McCartney was not my favorite Beatle, though he wrote almost all my favorite Beatles songs.

 Nobody does falling in love quite like McCartney in this song. Right from the beginning of the song you know he's in love. He's seen a face and he's always going to remember when and where he was. And with one lyric he's captured something universal, eternal, and ephemeral. I can remember those first moments when I knew I was falling in love.

 In the fourth grade, playing Atari with Danny in his room or playing G.I. JOE on his front yard. I didn't think I could be happier and I just knew I was falling in love. Of course, I was nine and I didn't know shit. By Jr. High I thought I was all grown up and falling in love with Jon as he played Bach on his guitar. In high school I could have listened to Roby's stories everyday and I was pretty sure my admiration of his talent was the same as love. When it turned out I was wrong, well I was sure I'd gotten it right when I met Devon with his linen shirts and his stoic sensibilities. He was reliable, sensible and just silly enough to make me laugh.

 I fell in love with Devon so quickly that I can remember exactly what we were both wearing the night we met. Once we married, I felt my love for solidify like concrete around my feet. Although I was stable I was also suffocating in that relationship. And while the reasons we separated are complex, the love I felt for him remains. He's still a great friend.

Post separation, I was a woman on her own for the first time in over ten years.  Falling for my next lover was like jumping of a cliff into the sea, it was fun, dangerous, and it hurt. When I finally started dating "Sunshine", a friend who I'd met in the last years of my marriage, I thought I'd finally met someone with whom I could enjoy the kind of friendship I shared with my ex-husband but combined with the passion I'd felt for my more recent ex.  Perhaps I tried to get to close to the sun and like Icarus I had to fall back to earth. Because for a variety of reasons just saying that I was wrong about him, is a huge understatement.

Falling in love after my marriage has been different. I  feel a lot more like the girl in Lennon's song "Happiness is a warm gun", lost in carnival like atmosphere where I've become acquainted with the kind of people who wear mirrors on their boots. Everywhere that seems safe isn't.  I need love now in a way I never did before, I need to feel safe again.  I've had love and safety and I want it back. I suppose this makes me needy.

I want to be loved the way McCartney loves the face of the woman he's just met. I want someone to fall in love with me so quickly and so passionately that I am the one who gets to be reasonable. I never get to be reasonable. I fall in love too easily to be reasonable. About 10 months ago, I started dating man. For the longest time I didn't  know if I was in love with him, but I could always remember the shirt he was wearing the day we met.

This man I and I broke up about a month ago and I realize that its not the falling that will kill me, its the sudden stop at earth. McCartney's mysterious woman catches him so that even as he falls she is always calling him back. But that's why "I've Just Seen a Face" is the perfect song about falling in love; because its also a nearly perfect song about being in love. In real life, sometimes falling leads to being caught and other times it leads to a hitting the ground. Alone.



"I've Just Seen A Face"

I've just seen a face
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just meet
She's just the girl for me
And want all the world to see
We've met, mmm-mmm-mmm-m'mmm-mmm

Had it been another day
I might have looked the other way
And I'd have never been aware
But as it is I'll dream of her
Tonight, di-di-di-di'n'di

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again

I have never known
The like of this, I've been alone
And I have missed things
And kept out of sight
But other girls were never quite
Like this, da-da-n'da-da'n'da

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again

I've just seen a face
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just meet
She's just the girl for me
And want all the world to see
We've met, mmm-mmm-mmm-da-da-da

Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again
Falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again
Oh, falling, yes I am falling
And she keeps calling
Me back again

Breaking up and breaking dawn

walking out
the grey light of morning

my footsteps echo in the alcove
and I know you are back there
warm in your bed

its cold on the other side of your door

the shining sun
must be lost behind the clouds
as rain falls down my cheeks

I want to run back inside
and borrow an umbrella

Grief

I am a white-hot ball of anger

I am a cold blue pool of despair

I am the cool green grass of acceptance

I am the long orange sunset of denial

I am the woman bargaining for love in your arms.

Pass me the bread

“What do you want to eat?” it’s a common question, but for me these are six of the scariest words in the English language. I have Interstitial Cystitis (IC), a chronic bladder disease where the symptoms are most similar to a urinary tract infection that never goes away. IC is a disease best controlled by extensive diet modifications. Because of my illness, I haven’t eaten citrus fruit in over three years. Imagine that, three years without an orange. I can’t have coffee, tea, chocolate, or alcohol. My salads are dressing free and I avoid sauces and spices with almost religious fervor. I spent the first year of my illness living on a diet of toast, as I slowly learned which foods were safe and which foods would land in me in the doctor’s office. So when my boyfriend asks me where I want to eat or what food I am in the mood for, I am often struck dumb with terror and paralyzed with shame. I know IC isn’t my fault and that I haven’t done anything wrong. But I feel bad that he is limited to the diners, burger joints, and pho restaurants where I feel safe. “Oh, god,” I think to myself, “nobody else should have to live a life this devoid of flavor”

Its not just dating that is difficult with the IC diet; it is every social occasion. American’s love food, we celebrate with food, we mourn with food, and we bond over a cup of coffee or drinks at the bar. At a recent party with friends, the dining room table was filled with chocolate swirl cheesecake, a collection of meaty sauce laden sandwiches, pigs in a blanket, and French bread with cheese. As I nibbled my dry bread and cheese, I tried to look at the bright side. At least I wouldn’t gain any weight from the cheesecake. I am very good at looking at the bright side. Because I don’t drink I am always the designated driver, which often means I am the only one who can remember everything that happened in an evening. Still, despite my attempts to see the silver lining I usually feel like I am standing under a perpetual rain cloud. It sucks to be the only girl at the bar nursing a glass of cold water, while friends toast with champagne cocktails or do shots of tequila. Bartender’s give me dirty looks for wasting their time and waitresses sigh dramatically when I pepper them with questions about what ingredients go into their food. A simple occasion like a family dinner or a potluck, is a minefield that must be negotiated with the delicacy of a bomb diffuser. I am always faced with the same choice: over share and explain my disease or try and obfuscate my reasons under a blanket of polite excuses. It’s usually better just to eat first and decline everything but the safest foods. I’ve toyed with Nan in Indian restaurants,  moved plain white rice and broccoli around my plate in late night Chinese diners, and watched other’s eat countless homemade recipes while I nibble the bread.

 I was raised to eat the food people gave me. When I was eight my lunch box had a sticker that said, “Food is Good.” All food, any food, when you are hungry is good, its not the time to be picky. These days I am hungry all the time. But it’s not food I am hungry for, but flavor. Its not that I don’t eat enough, I do. I eat oatmeal, salmon salads, pho, burgers, and French toast. But my life lacks flavor and more importantly it lacks freedom. So what do I what do I want to eat? I want to eat everything. Now, please pass me the bread.

Independence Day

the independence documents came today
they arrived a bit early
one day before the 4th of july
nearly nine years
since we joked
about loosing our independence
joining our lives together
our love
our heart
our life
together eternally

only eternity isn't as forever as it used to be
its an ephemeral love bubble
bound to pop
its fleeting fireworks
determined to explode
its the moment when I believed
and its this moment too

Not there

its not there you know
i've looked and looked
under couch cushions and inside books
but its not there

i've listened to your stories
looked deep into your eyes
but it's not there

i'm playing scrabble with too many letters
and the pieces do not fit
i can rearrange them a million ways
but its not there

putting together furniture without instructions
never comes out right
and i'm going back to the store
because i've got a screw loose
but its not there

you're tying me up
or tying me down
and my imagination is running wild
but its not there

want

its late at night
eyes heavy with smokey intoxication
i can feel my desire
rising between my legs
shooting up towards my core
raining back down
sliding onto my thighs

Suspcicions

an odd mixture of hubris and fear
lingers around my thoughts late at night
when I suspect everyone of secrets
where my own lack of discretion
is just enough rope
to tie me up in knots

and I fear that he has lost interest

his caution stirring only apprehension

dampening lust and dimming hopes

and I fear that my ex-husband is reading my poetry
secretly viewing my desires,
coveting my disappointments and disaffection
searching for clues to scandal

and I fear that she will never speak to me again

her anger and resentment builds a wall

of deeply entrenched bravado

it competes with the righteous indignation 

in my own heart

facebook

at night the profiles become like channels
that conservative cousin who's rants both infuriate and amuse
your long lost childhood friend and her happy family
best friends and bright acquaintances
all flip past in quick succession
their lives devoured in snippets

loyal ties are but gossamer threads
cut quickly at the first sign of true emotion
conversations swim in the shallow water
where the strong tides of opinion
lap listlessly on the shore

this false connection is all static
inept rage unable to connect
trading punches  and jabbing with sharp elbows
marshaling armies of likes
a meadow of thumbflowers on the fields of mars

HB

lost in magazines
and television shows
adrift amidst distractions

but a distant satellite
to some long lost southern son
some skinny dark woman from your past
frankincense and mir
scent old albums where I search for your face

snooping through things
like a girl lost in her mother's closet
a deck of cards, a pale blue comb,
stories about you are just an affectation of affection
something one says to keep from saying nothing at all.

Gambling

Two gamblers
their eyes slits across cards
played close to the vest.

soft green velvet
muffles the clink of coins
with shaky hands
the gamblers ante up.

the swoosh of crisp paper
dealer takes two
and doles out none,

and now the war
it escalates
rivers of tension rise
far above the levy gates

flooding out reason
with emotion
blinding everyone
to bigger bets and
bleeding losses.

two pair of dark eyes
lay down all they have
a full house
the flush of hearts
despair

I am not

the girl 

you take home

to meet your mother

or your friends.

I am the girl you take to bed.

press release news

lately I have become afraid of the right

as it yowls and screams

about indoctrination in our schools

baying at the moon

about the plight of our education

crying wolf whilst whistling

the benefits of homeschooling.

rolling down a road

towards incestuous order

deaf, blind, and dumb

slaves to their freedom

consuming happiness in lunch boxes

dieting on Desperate House Wives of Reality TV

doting on children 

devouring adults in prisons not factories

lately I have become afraid that the right

will destroy my country

believing press release news stories

those poor Kuwaiti babies

I can still remember their screams

dragging us to war 

in a sea of books without pages

each one a symbol of independence

unaware that fourth graders don’t write in crayon

eating everything its given

asking always for more

glorifying busy but glamorizing health

inhaling all the oxygen

on spaceship earth.

 inspired by:

 http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2013/04/12/dad-furious-after-finding-this-crayon-written-paper-in-florida-4th-graders-backpack-i-am-willing-to-give-up-some-of-my-constitutional-rights/

Sub Drop (Journal Entry)

So the other night something kinda odd happened to me.  I was making out with a very nice man, who was not being very nice to me in a very good way. Needless to say I was having a good time. I like this man, heck why else would I have been there in the first place if I didn't like him. When suddenly my emotions just dropped and I was flooded with insecurities. Now, I may not be the most experienced submissive but this isn't my first rodeo either. I am still trying to figure it all out.  Why did my emotions just drop like that? I mean I am not new to sub drop, it happens. But its never happened while making out with a guy.