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I am water.

How to explain the female orgasm.

It’s just water.

Chase the water. 

And fear not when the water chases you.


When I orgasm I talk to God.

Last night She told me I am water.

And I am Her.

And She is me.


Sexuality is not to be treated lightly.


Sex is prayer.

And the orgasm is alms.

It’s funny how my God and your God believe two different things.

Because I am Her.

And She is me.

And last night She told me I am water.

Dear Igloo.

When you melt, there is no assurance you will be. Anything.

Part of you will freeze again.

More of you will float the world.

Some of you will blow through people laying claim.

And the smallest part yet will 


in another 

what you have 


in them. 


If you’ve been lucky to ignite anything. 


When you meet your melter it will be far easier to say no. 

To write it off and tell it to go. 


You have nothing to teach me. 


Her Igloo.

Femininity isn’t for me. I don’t fawn.

I feel most alive when I’m rocked and rolled.


I count the rolls with which I can fake it.

Snare sounds different when it’s held so close.


Ripped t-shirts and mosh pits in igloos with ice cold beer are the things that make me.

Chromosomes are the things that stop.


But I dived into the pink for a split second of memory.

It felt good. It felt light. I was cold.


When I walk in, I am cool girl aesthetic. I coined the name for myself. I claimed it. 

Head down. Chin up. Eyes squinting just enough to let them know I know it. Already.


I live to show them that I’m okay. I get off on convincing them that I’m better.

I strive to supply them with ammunition that says I’ve survived.

Something. They don’t need to know what.


Because to be cool is magnetic.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that.

To look like you already 

figured it out 

is just as good as 

the real thing.


Your idol is a human. 

Let that sink in.  

Oprah takes shits. 

The pope snores in his sleep. 

Obama has lost his cool. 


Your emblem of perfection isn’t perfect at all. 

Only the idea of them is. 

Their brand is perfect. 

It has been crafted. 

And if you only consume their brand — 

well, they will remain perfection for you. 


And if that’s what you want, more power to you. 

Idols are important 

for certain moments

in our lives.


But beyond the brand

lies a human

who breathes

and sleeps

and hates

and makes mistakes

and probably cried this morning

while you were crying too. 

While you looked at their picture

to make you feel better 

about you. 


What if I begged you,

What if I held on to the cream inside you

And told you that these legs can surround you.

Like two giant sub-woofer machines

Breaking up the molecules that created you

That forced you to roll out the bed on Christmas morning

That forced me to run after you.

Down the street to the church that made you.


Sit down in the pew and pray right next to you.


Tears never taste like cherries until you lose the pits.


I know the world tastes like shit.


But I would like to stick out my tongue for you.

Taste test the world before you have to.

Because I want to.


Help me!

This has never happened before!

All of a sudden my feet don’t touch the floor!

All of a sudden my body declared war!

All of a sudden I’m a different person than I was before!


Help me!

Help me!

Help me!

I don’t know how to be water!

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