The only thing that’s changed

November 14th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

I am still in love with you. The only thing that has changed is that we are not together.


I have to write about you first.

November 11th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

Tomorrow will be two weeks since you ended things. You ended things poorly. At least, that’s not how I would have done it. It was the first time I’ve ever seen you cry. You lay with me for a while and when you left I screamed “no” over and over and over again, so loud I thought my throat would tear open. I cried for days. But that’s how everyone does it, right? We all say: “I cried for days.” By the fourth day I was hiking alone, astonished, repeating: “I have the remarkable capacity to heal.” It’s true. I can heal, I am strong. I have a community that loves me in ways I could never love myself. And yet, I feel lost, I feel empty. I try to make conversation and my lips have only your name.

At first, I thought that I would never be able to trust anyone again. That might still be true. And still, I find myself cultivating trust for you. I do trust that you did what is in your best interest. Things are different with this heartbreak. For one, I still love myself. I feel proud of almost all of my actions. I’m being transparent about how much this hurts. And you are not a villain. All of those talks we had, us and our community, about queer break ups, they set a precedent. I did not ask anyone to hate you or reject you.

One week to the day and I still thought we might get back together. I met you at your place and immediately you said that we were broken up, you needed to be clear about that. That’s when I cried again. I gave you a letter I had written, a letter that I had to go to fedex to print. It outlined the ways we could be together, to heal together, to set boundaries together. I thought we were still in this together. Perhaps in a way we are.

My phone feels empty without you. My email feels empty without you. My mind does not feel equipped to understand how to go from constant communication to nothing. No good morning text, no goodnight moon. I don’t know what you ate today or who you saw or what work you didn’t accomplish or what amazing ways you stood up for yourself and others. You were the person I trusted beyond all others, in ways I never thought possible. I opened up more and more of myself. And still. I know that I was enough. But I still wasn’t enough.

That day, one week later, we lay together, I felt your hand run along my back. My ribs craved you, my mouth craved you, my cunt craved you. I felt you crave me in a way that I had almost forgotten. I remember a few weeks after we had gotten together, you didn’t seem excited to be with me. I told you this and you said that hurt to hear. I was enough and I wasn’t, even then. I know what it’s like to feel bottomless, to fill and fill and fill and still be empty. How long have you been this way?

You had me on my back, naked, except for my boots. You said: if you ever feel like you’re not sexy, remember this moment. That night when you hugged me goodbye, we were all glittered and masked. You said you love me, I said I love you.

How long until we stop being in love? Maybe you’re there already. This breaks my heart, all over again. You are like water through my fingers. The moment I fill up on you is when I start losing you.

Two weeks to the day. Every memory I have brings me to you. You are etched into every road, every building, every corner of my house. The only way I know how to forget you is to retrace every step without you, over and over, until you are a faint line. You are not a ghost, you can’t be forgotten. I am retracing and you are tracing all new lines. It’s just that they are being carved without me.

I think back to those days when we kissed and the whole world was still ours to build. Two weeks ago.

Those days—two weeks ago.


November 11th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

I am discovering days where we where we

Where we kissed and still had the whole world to build.

gender thoughts

July 27th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink


i feel sad re: gender today. i am reading the fire been here by venus di’khadijah selenite. she writes powerfully and beautiful and honestly. it is making me think a lot about recently coming out as agender to a few close friends and my mom.

i feel sad re: my gender, that it took me so long to realize that it wasn’t the gender assigned to me. i feel sad that i can’t be seen in the way i am. i also feel angry that most people will assume i am a woman. i want to do drastic things to confuse people, to give them reason to doubt their assumptions.

i also feel sad that i am likely returning this same harm to the people around me because gender assumptions happen instantaneously. it is unfair of me to assume anyone’s gender and yet my mind also tells me when i am safe and when i am not. i am not safe around many cismen. so i am caught in that.

when i first discovered that i am agender, i was so excited and relieved. and i still feel that excitement and relief. but i also feel sad today. i feel sad that it took me this long to figure it out and i am also realizing that this identity requires a lot of fight to claim space. meanwhile my sabotage-brain tells me that i am being dramatic, this isn’t a real thing, you don’t have any right to this space.

that’s it for now.



i write and i write and i write and this is barely what i am trying to say

July 23rd, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink


i am trying to say that we did nothing to deserve what we have.

i am trying to say that there is nothing to protect except fear.

i am trying to say that this is ending very badly.



and the moon is you

May 29th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

to hide and reveal, to cover the moon with
a dime. to tuck, and conceal.

think: ragdoll
think: flesh and clothes
red nails and testosterone

you’re the ghost of a dream
more moon than a set sun

and soon: bound, twisting
in satellite.

zoom out: a steady glow
beat to a summer’s night.


this is how

May 1st, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

there are bones in the back of your car,

rattling as you shift gears, turning out of our driveway.

linger on, says the stereo, says

the window down, says the

bright pike ahead of us. linger on.


this is how I met you


for weeks we unpack ourselves

under waterfalls or on our way to them

this is where I’m from you tell me

pointing to your grandmother

to the tulip poplar

to the tattooed armadillo


this is how I know you


in the winter you bring everything green

inside, spilling it across the floor. limbs &

twigs & flowers boughed across your

lap, nesting & weaving. you look

up at me smiling.


this is how I remember you


and that day in the kitchen, the

window cracked open, water boiling.

you came home different, emerging from

a night of ugly truths & hard lines, where you

refused to do anyone else’s emotional labor,

refused to be called back to sleep.

from now on you said. from now on.


this is how I met the fire in you

(this is how I met the fire in me)


from now on, you say, your boot pushing

the shovel into the soil. you’re bringing all of the

green outside, eager & abundant, the honeysuckle

thick as rain. you cultivate the small & sweet, the

beautiful, the resilient:





this is how you come alive.


Helen means light

February 5th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

I can hear you from the window
of my blue room
you’re walking up the hill, singing to yourself,
an unexpected voice, a lantern,
deep & strong & unafraid
your voice is a thread

the blue I find in your life always comes as a surprise
I am always looking for blue & there you
have it, the sudden appearance of the sea
drawn through a forest, a surprise blue which
is of course the best kind of blue

and of course the card I drew for you this morning isn’t
the epilogue, though it is the stillness of hope, the star that follows
the tower, they are two sides of the same card, hope & its
partnership to destruction, a forest burned to the
ground so new life may grow so that you may emerge
hovering above a still-beating body of water in the moonlight
so that a person may break open & pour out
cool water from the wound

I know what it’s like to be spun around what
its like to be told the ground beneath your
feet is actually the sky & you are falling & have
been falling for longer than you thought. I know what
it’s like to get lost in your own mind, to emerge
stumbling forward. I know what it’s like
to walk up the hill, my own voice ahead of me,
a rope pulling me forward, up the hill where the
lights in the house are on & your voices are ropes too
hoisting me up & your voices are ropes too
that form a net when I fall, I know what
its like to walk up the hill when
the stars are out & the moon is behind a cloud,
when the lights are on & I surprise myself
by singing: I know what it’s like to be led home.



l i a r

January 27th, 2017 § 0 comments § permalink

every night I dream more
horses die slaughtered
on a borderless hillside
and every morning I wake up
screaming liar I get my friends
my family screaming liar on camera
I invite them to scream liar I
wrench it from them with the lies
they know they’ve been sold by the
adults in the the room those liars
and they are children screaming liar so
hard they cry and gasp for air and the
video plays like this horses dead on
the hillside the camera pans and there is
no end to the pan to the circle of broken
bodies there is no end to the scream
liar never ends you never hear the
final note it is one voice eclipsing
truth eclipsing lies eclipsing truth
if you just believed me how much
would it hurt you how much would
it really hurt you I’m still not sure
what more you could possibly want
liar will you burn the horses liar will
you eat them liar or let them rot liar
or tell everyone they are not horses
but criminals who chose their fate
liar who asked for something akin
to a life and found your lies beneath
their feet lies like the tunnels in the ground
like the earthquake like the severed spine
a life like a phantom limb its feel its shape
so real and still invisible no way to prove that
it’s part of you will always be part of you
if you cut off the dead their absence is part
of you this land will always feel will always
feel them gone the scariest thing about you liar
you’ll never be full which is to say any
truth that threatens your lie becomes a gnawing
hunger and you can’t you won’t eat our dead
so yes that’s the camera panning trying
to show just how many horses died and how their
beautiful broken bodies once ran free in a
dream always in a dream in an unfinished dream


did you miss it?

December 2nd, 2016 § 0 comments § permalink

by Alexandra Axel

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