detoxicunts:

Can you tell that I’m well learned
on humanistic (and lonesome) capacity?
Can you taste salt water on your lips or feel
calloused fingertips on your back?
Can forgiveness come to me in waves of
sandy foam and cold, high tides?
Can you keep rhythm when gasping 
down cerebral confliction and turbulence?
Because I can’t seem to internalize your god,
and I’ve washed my neck with the sea.
A clean conscious was all that kept me running,
and I’ve been waiting a while to make you sing.

(haha)

writingsforwinter:

I fall in love with men unexpectedly, like an earthquake

that hasn’t shown up on the radar, or a tsunami

or some other kind of sudden crisis. I meet them in bars,

at house parties, at neighborhood potlucks

on blocks filled with cicadas making love so loudly

that even the kids playing basketball in the park

can’t drown them out. In college, picking up men

wasn’t a luxury; it was a career. My roommates

measured their own self-worth in the number

of notches cut into their dorm room bedposts.

Tonight, though, I return again to my ex-boyfriend

of over a year. It’s late, dark, the streetlights

form golden circles on his jeans when I kiss him.

Our fingers tangle like kite strings.

There’s something about coming back

to your first lover after having so many others,

like visiting home for the first time since childhood,

or Rip Van Winkle waking up

after twenty years of sleep.