full
i am full of good
food. someone has got
to stop me from
fine dining. i keep going
out for omakase. i keep risking
diarrhea for sea urchin. i don’t think
it’ll ever beat the first time
i had it and my head spun. a lot like sex
except really with the whole first time thing
closer to masturbating. except really
sex is far more expensive than what i’ve been spending
on dinner and masturbating
is free. i think if i just let myself
mess up the sheets or shoot
on the floor i would enjoy cumming
a whole lot more. versus the whole
low key edging thing i do where i try
to hold all my stuff inside my foreskin.
when i first discovered
masturbating, i would do it every night. now
not so much. i barely even enjoy getting off
with partners involved. i can’t stop blowing my
cash on some of the most expensive sushi money
can buy. my bathroom is not
connected to my room so lately
instead of letting it out
into the toilet i’ve been dripping my cum
into a sock. i once masturbated inside
a one-stall museum bathroom
when i got horny around lunchtime. i once got dinner
with a friend that cost $204
with the tip. i went to dinner alone again
tonight. i almost gave the waitress
my number.
birdpoem
i’ve said so many times how
i want to be a bird, but what i
really mean is that i want
to be free of my body. of the earth
which holds me down. to get away
from all this. my body is not who i am.
my name is not who i am. there are
no portals into my soul, but this
body is the only
tool with which i might
connect with others.
immaculate conception
i think the place i stopped for pizza and a mocktail before the movie actually served me a cocktail. i feel flushed and upset in my body. nic and i are going on a trip together next week and i can’t wait. nic sent me a poem during class today about wanting to be inside me with my legs wrapped around them. i think i’m going to ask them if they want to bring their strap to shenandoah, or at least over to my place friday night. when i sent alexis the vacation poem she said i should call it “nic and i plan a honeymoon.” last session my therapist told me if i want to be more present i need to attend to the parts that are pulling me away from the moment. right now, watching drive-away dolls at amc fashion district by myself, i think i want to be a little more sober. to be fertile enough for nic to knock me up.
puppy-girl
my tongue is inside nic’s asshole. they’re tugging at my hair, pushing my face into them a little. they’re telling me over and over again how much i’m theirs. when i got back to their apartment last night before our date they had just gotten out of the shower. i couldn’t stop following them around and they told me twice to sit down but i think it was obvious that they actually liked it. i’m such a puppy-girl, i said, standing behind them with my hands on their hips as they washed dishes from that morning. i love hearing nic tell me i’m theirs but eventually my jaw gets tired from eating them out and i ask them if they want to touch me. they do for a bit then make me beg to touch myself. i ask to hear all the ways i’m theirs and all the ways they want me as they rub their fingers against the sweet spot right above my asshole and i touch myself. they say i’m so theirs, i’m so theirs in bed, and i say promise? i’m all yours because you love me? and cum for them before they even have a chance to tell me.
tongue-in
sitting across from nic in sam class and can’t stop looking at them. also can’t make myself pay any attention to sam, or the elizabeth bishop poem we’re reading. nic is from new england, and i went to school in boston. the elizabeth bishop poem is “at the fishhouses,” and i grew up fishing with my grandfather, before my bio-mom ruined that relationship. i used to love catching silver salmon. learning to fillet them. i text nic a link to a quora question: “what should i stare at in the classroom so i’m not staring at anyone.” yesterday nic called me their gf after i came for them after i finished eating their ass. today they asked me not to do any PDA on campus and i still reflexively blew them a kiss. i had been thinking about telling them if we’re gfs i’d like to be a little less secret about it, but realized after i got a little upset that i’d only had the conversation in my head. nic came with me to print out my poems before class, and i also printed out the one where i describe putting my tongue inside of them, which they said should be the last one. i have it sitting in front of me in class.
porn
watching a little softcore porn
everywhere i go thanks to instagram.
watching a little body
contortionist in a catsuit
vid, or a little big bouncing
tits clip. they’re pretty much all
cis women, as far as i know. they pretty
much all have big tits and an onlyfans,
except for the contortionist who,
not unlike nic, has little
titties and an ass to die for. i find
myself watching instagram
softcore porn at the stoplight, at the movies,
at the fine dining establishment. as a child i was taught to hate
sex workers but now i sometimes subscribe
to an onlyfans or buy a one-off, not
because i love sex, but because i love
the idea of it. i love the flash of a little silver
butt plug between the stripper’s ass cheeks in this
custom vid. i actually think i might be
asexual but when i was still
in more denial about this i wanted
to hire a tgirl escort. to help me
sort through my problems. i have over 100
porn tabs open on my phone and they’re mostly cis
men being pegged by cis women.
after Civil War (2024)
back in the wrong auditorium at amc cherry hill 24. the small one, the one that shows normal movies slanted blue. my heart is a lens through which i see the world and right now everything looks like shit. everything looks like a war-torn american suburb. in a conflict there are so many deadly collisions. of fighter jet and fighter jet. of bullet and body. ours was almost one of them. but before our bones broke against each other, the places our bodies touched were sites of pleasure, of learning. we studied happiness, side by side, in your bed. we read together before we slept.
this poem is one of many answers to the question i ask myself: what if i hadn’t transitioned?
after Richard Russell *
i was meant to be born
with wings. soft feathers &
a sharp beak—i was meant to become beautiful
long ago.(†) twenty-nine
seems like a good time
to stop dreaming. i’m going to make it
happen now.(‡) it will be unclear if i thought in advance to fly
or if it just happened, but once i’m gone i will be called
highly aerial.(§) i will be depicted
without feet.(¶)
*in 2018 Richard Russell stole a passenger aircraft from the sea-tac airport, where he worked (1)
† as a ground service agent. Russell flew the plane around mt. rainier and to the olympic range (2)
‡ before heading back to puget sound. an investigation later determined his actions were not connected with any extremist or violent movements, but found no planning (3)
§ or singular motive. many were impressed with Russell’s ability to fly the plane—during his hour-plus long flight (4) he successfully performed
¶a barrel roll. swifts were long depicted without feet: a bird that almost never lands, (5) wikipedia calls them “highly aerial.” air traffic control repeatedly encouraged Russell to land the plane—he never did (6)
1 i first learned of Russell’s flight last night on instagram when a reel came up that played an audio recording of his communications with air traffic control
2 over footage of mountains out of an airplane window. “long live skyking,” read the caption. when i opened the wikipedia page, i wept
3 and played Mirah’s “person person” on spotify. Russell was barely older than me when he died. he, like me, grew up a boy in alaska wanting to join the military. i have long considered
4 flight to be a kind of transition,
5 and birds to be a kind of transfemme
6 imagery. when i read Russell’s story, i thought “that could have been me”
