Like the Amazon River

I like my body

can I say that without sounding vain?

is that taboo?

or a temporary delusion?

sure my body's unruly

my ass jiggles when I brush my teeth and

my love handles belong on a Harley or

some other obnoxious, overcompensating motorbike that

a corpulent sixty-eight year old buys to stave off that inevitable mid-life crisis

my boobs refuse to be restrained, contained within

feminine

flimsy

filmy

lace bralettes

oh, and by the way

you know, just while we're on the subject

what the fuck is a bralette?

last time I checked, tits didn't come in a small, medium or large

my body and I don't always agree

sometimes I decide that I'm going to wear taupe tights from American Apparel

size medium/large and

my thighs assert their independence

they stage a revolution

a coup d’état

against the oppressors

when Karl said

"proletarians of the world, unite!"

he meant my thighs

but my body is strong

my hips are wide

my legs are long

my belly is round

my shoulders are broad

and damn if I don't look in the mirror and see an amazon queen

maybe I belong in the jungle

instead of trapped inside four, tiny walls

climbing trees, wrestling wild beasts, drinking rainwater

staring at the sky, falling asleep to the sound

of my beloved

río amazonas

Women

Ever since I’ve come out, both to myself and to others, I’ve noticed how beautiful women are. I guess that’s to be expected. I mean, the whole definition of being gay is being attracted to the same sex. But it’s more than that. It’s more than attraction. I don’t look at every girl I see and think, goddamn would I like to fuck you. Honestly, my brain doesn’t even stretch that far. If there’s a girl I’m attracted to, it’s more like, goddamn I would like to hold hands with you and maybe kiss you lightly on the mouth. Sex hasn’t entered my mind yet, just because it’s so  damn foreign. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a freshly out lesbian virgin at 20. Good ol’ guy-on-girl sex was daunting enough, but now I just can’t wrap my head around any kind of sex at all. But I digress.

                Women are beautiful. Again, it’s not like I’m lurking in bushes lusting after the females that walk past my house. What fascinates me about women is the diversity of their beauty. I sit in class (all women’s college, hurrah!) and I am astounded by the curves and hooks of noses, the pallor of skin, eyes and mouths and wrists and elbows. Yes, even elbows. How is it that we have so few standards of beauty in this society, when there are so many options to choose from?

                I want these women to know that they’re beautiful. It’s true that some do; they preen and pout and pass judgment on all who dare to gaze upon their form. I’m not worried about them.. It’s the ones that don’t know that worry me. And there are too many of them! Walking with their shoulders hunched, sucking in their bellies, chins tucked into scrawny or unruly chests as if they would curl into themselves and disappear. I want to go up to them and tell them every single thing that makes them beautiful. But I can’t, because a) that would be creepy and b) ok, so there’s just one, that would be creepy.

                Instead, I smile. I smile and try to convey my chaste (remember, this is not attraction, this is different—think  of the courtly love of the Romanticism, appreciative, rather than investigatory) admiration. I try to comfort with smiles, and laughter and telepathic thoughts.

                I don’t know if I’m successful. God knows there are still more than enough girls with poor self-esteem. We hear about them every day. But what I do know is this: sometimes, they smile back. And it's enough.

Chill

chill

really?

do we need a fucking translator now?

totally chill, even

wow. Just wow

you don't say chill. You people don't say it.

I taught you that word, you crazy hooker!

I taught you that word when you REJECTED ME.

do you remember?

I was drunk.

there were people there, why oh why didn’t I wait until we were alone

now I’ll have to see them

and I’ll know and they’ll know

and shit

ANYWAY

you said

"thanks, but I don't want to be in a relationship right now."

as if I'd know what that meant.

as if I wouldn't read a million things into it.

I can't turn my feelings off like a light switch.

my emotional stratosphere is a dimmer

and right now I'm basking in some sort of mood lighting where we're either going to fuck

or commit murder and I’m still deciding

I said, “hey, you know, whatever. It’s chill.”

like you weren’t the first girl I’ve ever been remotely attracted to

like you weren’t the first girl I’ve ever asked out

the first person I’ve ever asked out

but whatever

It’s chill

I’m from the west coast

we don’t get upset

we ride the wave out like the straggly-haired surfers in California

Isn’t that how you think of me?

but I’m from Seattle, remember?

we’re flannel and Jimi Hendrix and coffee shops and grunge and green

green trees

you guys might have the fall with your

reds and oranges

but we’ve got the green, and it’s like the motherfucking meadow in twilight

only better

and less of a cultural cliché

I’m not from California, baby.

If you’re going to stereotype me, could you at least get it right?

but hey, it’s chill

I just chill

but jesus you were adorable.

you smiled, repeated it after me

so pleased with yourself

baby’s first west coast slang

“chill.”

testing it out on your tongue

It’s fun to say, isn’t it?

gotta lick your top teeth for it to come out juuuust right.

all the while my brain was screaming run for it you dumb drunken bitch, this is called rejection, we RUN FROM THIS

but something else, maybe my heart, maybe the vodka and ginger beer I was drinking

because you were drinking it

but I felt like a proud papa, helping you take your first steps

Into an exciting trans-coastal world

you want me to teach you some more?

reject me again

and we’ll see where things go

because I wouldn’t mind being rejected by you

just to see your face light up like that again