reading Audre Lorde’s Zami: a new spelling of my name, thinking about my mother, my gender identity, our lives and experiences and identities and claims and denials. passing, not passing–gender and race.

trying to recover from getting doored going downhill on my bike. sprains, strains, and bruises, but no head wounds or fractures or lacerations. canceling and no-showing a lot as a result.

settling into the new job, grease creased around my nails for the season.

curling up into the arms of my sweet, striking sparks off of one another’s bodies in dark or light. multiplying kisses and kindnesses.

feeling isolated because of [reasons].

filling up my fountain pen with purple ink over and over and feeling satisfied, even if most of what i write is just journal entries on the day-to-day of wrenching and emoting.

trying to envision the future and coming up blank beyond limping through the next few months.



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