said the needle

"Sorry I interrupted your quest for hay."

the golden rule

It is impossible to violate another person without also violating yourself.

I tend to lose dart games to men who sexually harass me. Though I am reputed to be a dart-playing-hard-ass who doesn't take any shit, I know it's because I'm afraid of them. 

yes-women

Some guys in Los Angles tell me I think too much. This is usually one of three types of men; 1) those who are surprised, then intimidated that I think at all; 2) those who do not want me to think because it interferes with their plans; and 3) those who wish I were more agreeable (like women are supposed to be) and less questioning because they are not so interested in being understood as they are absorbing some female's time and attention. 

body

all
the guys
at the bar
tell me I look
younger
than I
am.
I suppose
I should be
thankful
they
seem
to like
this body
bag.

Amendment to the Prostitution

What I mean to say is that, in my view, sex and the process which results in sex (whether it be for recreation, for love, or procreation) should never be dehumanizing. And if it is, something has gone not just a little, but terribly wrong - for everyone.

alpha FAIL

A guy who needs to make other guys look bad in order to impress a girl or who thinks trying to make a girl feel stupid is going to raise the likelihood of him getting laid is a common, over-inflated, blowhard who needs lessons in self-respect. A woman who beds this kind of man is either actually stupid, comprehensively naive, or desperately attached to the act of sex as a means for personal validation. I don't know which is worse.

objectification

You used to actually
care for me or at least
I thought you did.

Now you only call
when you need to
take a shit... and 

I know you don't
want to have to
hear about it.

Well, I'm sorry
but you can't flush
this one down or

simply close the lid -
because I'm a person
not a toilet.

the "ex"

I met someone tonight who thought she knew me. She didn't. She thought she knew you too. I can't be sure, but I seriously doubt it. My love for you wasn't casual - like most things.

a question whose answer, given by me, always sounds wrong

I'm afraid of being judged. Someone might think I am playing the victim. Someone might think I think I've gone through some sort of hardship to get here - that I don't realize what others have suffered. That I'm not truly thankful.

I'm afraid of giving other women reasons to dislike me. They always seem to. Women tend to police other women. I learned early the worst thing you could do in a group of women is be unapologetically yourself. Women are supposed to be modest. 

God forbid you think yourself worthy of love or admiration. God forbid you admit, publicly, that you have ability or intelligence. God forbid you point out your struggles without preface. 

she-wolf

One of these days I'll meet a little piggy whose house I can't blow down.

the truth

the girl in that room never stopped undressing

men are dogs

People are boring.

Men especially. 

You think you can 

Make me happy? 

Go ahead. 

Grow a tail and 

Wag it for me.

And don't worry,

I'm used to picking 

Up your shit.

You think I'm angry?

Fine then, go lie in it.

vignettes

I

A woman sits at a wobbly table in an urban cafe. The top of it is covered with post cards from foreign countries. She's waiting for someone. A man on a bicycle rides past wearing a woman's straw hat. It has a large plastic daisy on it which makes her think of Sundays in East Atlanta; black ladies climbing out of shiny Cadillacs on their way to church, everything matching - purple with purple, pink with pink, heels, belts, purses.

She is joined by a quiet companion. Will he remark on his bloody mary, her mimosa? Keys are exchanged. The scene ends simply. Everything left unsaid passes between them in silence, spilling out from their eyes. No one notices. A man at the table beside theirs continues to work on his crossword. Sips his coffee. It's only a moment. She pays the bill, gets up and walks out. There is no bell on the door to mark her exit.

II

Years earlier the same woman, a girl then with shorter hair, undresses hesitantly in an all-but-bare room. There's a mattress on the floor and a man on it in fetal position, wailing. She doesn't know why. Somewhere in her child-head she imagines her sacrifice can relieve his pain. She exists in a world of raw potential - vague notions and possibilities, magic and love. She still believes she can change things; she just doesn't know how.

be a man

Instead of being a woman men want, I'm going to be the man I want.

Drunks on the peninsula

All think that they're the Mayor.

Baja, Cabo Cantina, The Whaler,

Hinano, Mercedes, The Terrace -

What a menace. Be thankful if

You're not one of them;

These guys are a dime a dozen.

birdhouses

The electrical wires in this city crackle. The way a microphone might or speakers in a car which are blown out. I haven’t been here so long yet that I don’t pause to look up. I wait for them to fall on my head. Like twigs I expect them to snap. I’ve already been brought to trial. I sent a head-shot and a photo in my bathing suit ahead of me. It was enough. 

Everyone wants to know how I am. Only I can see the lines in my knuckles. Like dried earth. Andy Goldsworthy's garden of red leaves slide down my legs a cunt of thorns.

All girls draw their bodies as trees. And get tattoos of roses. There’s a birdhouse in the back yard I left unfilled. There is nothing here to eat.

children 1

if I give them what they want, they promise to forgive me. that's how much I mean to them. paper boats floating. then tipped over. each with its own little captain. and if I cry it makes them feel better. it makes their hope more buoyant. softens the blow. I resist placing my happiness in the hands of others. this makes me "selfish." my boat is supposed to be surrendered completely. without them even asking.

force

tonight I am a prisoner in this house. paper mache breasts exposed. 
exonerate my true body under the light, words betray us. not birth-
mark fingerprints on a mirror or extra glasses emptied then edited
out or swallowed down it wasn't my real heart that stopped beating
but another. layers of glue and smeared headlines. a woman kid-
napped. taken into custody gunned down choking. on silence

all women

maybe the last time you saw that friend was on a tuesday.

today is wednesday and I have sparkles on my hands from playing with children. clay too. we made coil bowls. one for the office.

you and you and you. wouldn't play well together. in a room. my head.

but good news. i've met a few brave ones lately. sorry, they were all women.