Tell me a secret.

You say you don’t have them, I say, I have many.

Tell me a secret.

I want you to study the curiviture of my hips like the earths surface, detecting incongruencies. There is light in your eyes and darkness in your soul and I want both. You have haunted my dreams since the day we met and before that, even. I have memorized your scent, without ever needing to utilize my body.  I am primordially hungry for you. I have never wanted so badly to see someone else get free.

Tell me a secret.

I am afraid but I move forward anyway. I am afraid of authority figures, being held hostage and being too feral. I am afraid of mind control, and superficiality, more so than death or disease. I am not afraid of losing you, but of watching you held captive in my peripheral. I am afraid jealousy and loneliness drove me mad, and I am more afraid of getting stuck. I say five times a month I will leave him, and I don’t, and I end up hating him for not having the courage to ruin us vigorously, with blind fury. Instead his sorrow sinks into my unknempt bed like an anchor, weighing me down into heavy dimensions, blurring my trajectory. I wake up early, even if I stay up late, because I don't like to betray the sun. I prance around him, cleaning, in every possible way- collecting his scattered parts, while static reigns overhead. Sometimes I fear he can feel you hissing out of me. Like a dandelion wish. A prayer on my lips, a whispered avalanche. 

Tell me a secret.

I want to be celibate again, and pure, like a cup of crystalline water. I want to be a modern martyr, and follow fault-lines, anointing them with table condiments. I wish I could get paid to do this.  I want to do a geomancy on every corner of the earth, til it is holy. I want this, and I could do it. I could do it, because now I know how holy feels.

Tell me a secret.

I spend half the day worrying that my great great grandmother had sex with a neplihim ginger giant, and the other half the day wondering if I am from Jesus’ bloodline. I have memories of other dimensions I can’t articulate, and some days I feel like I belong in a museum. Other days, a zoo. I am an oddity, my blood is as clear as finely spun gold, and I have repented for all my families sins. I am also clumsy and volatile, abnormal. Haphazardly non linear.