No.1 Primate

My little monkey
Soon-to-be damn dirty ape
Taller than me now

Advertisements

I’d go home and jerk off but…

it's truly a lie - J.Homme
I’m as lame as the fabric in my 26yo college sweatshirt
I’m a giant drip
I have nothing to give
I don’t even know if I have enough words

Can’t finish a thought
Can barely maintain a fantasy
I get two days in and I’m disappointed

Masturbation is exercise for the terminally bored
Internet matchmaking has failed me
I don’t even think the girl in my pictures is paying attention and fell
asleep
oh my god
should I take up calligraphy?

im too tired for capitalization and punctuation
Fuck you, space bar.
I don’t even think I can drink anymore
It makes me think I should so that i won’t get a headache.
That’s no fun on a school night

So much time with my thumbs on flickering glass
Instead of saying something longer than a character count
I’m too tired
My job and the way to get to and from
Takes all my brains
I leave them spread out across a university campus
Higher learning for someone else, not me
I study spit trails on the sidewalk

Writing (or waiting, pick a letter) with one eye cracked open because consciousness is a luxury
Where are you superman?
someone?
A voice in my head just uttered
“I think youre a reasonable girl” and then something punitive
I forget that part
but it got in.
The voice inside that wont let you anything

time to charge the company battery
maybe try again to feel the longing on the way to dreamworld
rockstar boyfriends
go on tour and bring the kid
in my dreams, my flesh and blood is with me in a better life
that’s a good start
but maybe I need to be living the dream
instead of wishing for it to come via pillows and down
i wish i wish i wish
I deserved
i deserve?

someone else I know just said I’m my own person
tell her to go to sleep before she writes over all this
she’s no fan of doubt at this age
she’d like the steadiness of an easy commute and a good meal
I keep trying to make her
Me
Which one of us has the keys?

 

Speaking as a woman

selfimg
I’m not perfectly shaved
My “tummy” isn’t “cute” or “flat”
or perfect for that matter either
I don’t straighten my hair
it isn’t straight to begin with
I don’t tweeze or shape or color my brows
A story has begun on my body
Of course I have sexy panties and stockings
But the next one doesn’t get to see them
Until I am SURE

I won’t be wearing my Uggs with leggings
To go out and get him a Starbucks
I don’t eat chia seeds on my salad
I’m a bacon bits kind of girl
And I fucking LOVE bread and dessert

I like wearing boxer shorts to bed
And tank tops
And baggy sweats
And jeans are god’s gift to mankind
Tee shirts yes and silver and did someone say boots?
Doc Marten is a friend
Yes there are heels in the closet
And they get put on when I feel the inclination

My breasts are heavy and real
The center of my body made a baby years ago
And I’ll never be able to recover fully
Without a surgeon’s attention
But my son walks this earth, strong and sure
And my woman body was made to ensure just that
Not to serve as an anonymous object, to please some mindless stranger

Friends tell me I’m petite
But I stomp around my place on the phone
Like a fully-grown clydesdale
And these friends aren’t the fairweather kind
And all our selfies look different. Every time.

I’m open to hello and I’d rather smile than rest my “bitch face”
I laugh big and I shake your hand for real
I find understanding in the grasping and affirming feel
of another adult’s physical greeting
I learned and still believe
Those that can’t or don’t should never be suffered for more than acquaintance sake

I cry at puppy rescues and returning soldiers
and every time Samantha finally gets Jake
Or when four famous NYC friends raise a cosmopolitan toast as the camera pulls away

And when some old guitar or sax riff just digs in and won’t let go
I’ll sing and probably dance
Because my body tells me to
I’m a fan of serenades and impromptu shower solos

My body is sturdy
And being held and handled is required
But my active passivity is matched by my need and desire
I find myself craving men who are like bears
You’ll likely never meet a hungrier woman/girl/lady

Social media gets much of my love hate
But you won’t catch me changing profile photos every week
Or bragging about how strong I am when there’s nothing I truly suffer for
Or posting quote after quote about sweetness and kindness and light
While I won’t walk in the cities or look at real life

Politics and world affairs drive me insane
And I want to talk about them
Because I’ve read and I’ve listened and I’ve travelled enough to know we’re not alone
And as far as I can tell you’ll never catch me on the street confirming society’s belief in the average person’s stupidity
Unable to even give you the Vice President’s name

I know things, but I don’t understand which way to hang curtains
We don’t use placemats here
Napkin holders? Gravy boats? Doilies? Family china?
No thank you
The only “linens” I have are for washing, sleeping and wiping, and they don’t often match
Ask me about my small collection of beach towels and my favorite blanket
Because sand and sea are a necessity and I will get dirty or snow covered
(maybe not the snow so much)

I’m not a fantasy doll figure
With perfect skin
The only thing “delicate” and “slender” about me now are my hands
And maybe my nose
I’m still soft and I like to smell good
I wiggle my toes
I loved to be curled up in arms larger than mine
I want to feel protected
Ached for
WANTED

And I don’t expect my perfect man to be chiseled or ripped
I don’t fantasize about his tight ass
or delts or  wallet
or fancy car
or a giant desk in a big corner office
that he claims because he wins all day
Or his gym card
Or his body spray
Or a closet full of power ties
Or some male domination display in a grocery store line

I fantasize about a human man
With a soul and I don’t care if he has funny toenails
He might have hair on his chest but less on his head
Maybe he likes beer as much as I like bread
And he has a scent that lingers and makes me smile
Makes deep sounds when he’s close and needs to hold me
Who might sing along when the music’s loud in the car
A man with big arms to carry
A huge heart
Maybe his was broken too
And he’s careful and hopeful like me

I’d love for that man to love the human in me
to be who he is and see what I am
and want everything
With the nicks and the scratches
And the history
And I want to love and lust him back meaningfully
And share and work through all confusion we share
as members of the same species but the opposite sex

I’m not a hot young thing anymore
I never was, if I’m honest
In my thoughts I’m quietly seeking a legit partner
I’ve been through the pile you know
I’ve fished the sea
I don’t know if there’s even still one out there meant to get hooked
But I love “ocean” and “love” analogies
We all come from the water when all’s said and done
We all come from the slime and the salty

As I keep getting to know my own self
The one I hope to find will know all this
And we’ll walk together with dirty feet and happy eyes and hands
Because our insides will match
Despite how the world tells us our outsides are supposed to be

Cheers, In Ukranian

empty-glass

I used to be the siren
The one you stared at
Fuck the preening barbies with the shiny perfect porcelain smiles
I was the real deal
The wild child
I had something crazy or beautiful or exotic in my faraway eyes
You wanted in
You looked at me despite the classic American beauty to your left and right
They weren’t gonna get you off
Not like I was
Because I’m a legend in my own mind
And that’s what separates the women from the ponytail kind

But it’s what I dreamt
It’s what I envisioned
In dreamy boozy evenings
Sent home alone by couplings and departures to families
To my supermarket trips for bananas and sundries
Walking the shock white lit aisles
Suburban myth buying yogurt and cereals
Instead of disappearing into the mist
of orgies and some otherworldly abandons
Maybe sipping whiskey and smoking a lonely (likely stale) cigarette
Trying to write some kind of missive
Trying to touch something
Since no one else would/could

But now I’m softening my rage
Inhabiting this thing in my skin called middle age
Instead of making a late night drunken bacon egg and cheese
I’m a fucking gladiator
Eating some handfuls of popcorn
Drinking water and taking fiber instead of continuing the party
Maybe watch some DVRd TV or an old Tarantino movie
Poor bastard just wants to make good films and stand up once and awhile for something he believes in

We’re all just firing off all cylinders
Until they die off one by one
And sometimes they burn new
When we remember what it was like to
Preen and float and look in every mirror because we felt so fired up
On the fumes of attraction and promotion

But now I sit here with a bunch of ten bananas
And a soon to be bread pudding or stale challah
And my feet hurt from forgetting where I parked
Because filled with wine and whiskey I hurried
Wanting to be a part of the night again
Remembering I was once a wild child
And I wanted to stay her
And forget her
And be someone new in my iron age
You would suddenly look at in a whole new
and fucking mind-blowing way