SSDGM

I still have insomnia.  It's that magical time of year in Austin where everything is covered with a thick green blanket of oak pollen, so I lie awake and cough and sniffle and think about what could have been and what shouldn't have and what will be.

The world is a goddamn mess right now.  Everything is terrible.  I try to not let myself spend too much time on Twitter because the world is depressing.  It's very clear to me how exhausted everyone is of fighting for every single inch of progress.  We're so tired that we're handing the fight over to children.

So I've been trying my darnedest to enjoy the little things.  Watching a lot of Jeopardy, because it reminds me of the intelligence still left in humanity.  I've been watching a lot of makeup tutorials on YouTube to remind myself of the beauty.  Listening to a lot of murder podcasts, well, because I like murder podcasts.  Not everything has to have a deeper meaning.  Sometimes you just play Skyrim because smithing a hundred iron daggers is satisfying.

This next piece is about a boy.  Yes, there is a boy.  It's complicated, but so is life.  I told him I was a broken person, and he said he wanted to fill up all of the cracks with gold.  I've never written anything nice about a boy before, so I'm not sure this is any good.  The only critique I got was that it was degrading to call myself a hot piece of ass, but I left it in because I think I wanted that part to be a little crude.  Also: because I'm a goddamn hot piece of ass.

Burning Houses

I love him.
I love the serpentine way he slithers when he's moving closer to me.
I love the shock and terror and awe and pain and moonstruck look in his eyes.
I love the way his body fits next to mine, inside of mine, on top of mine.
I love the wit. The way he makes me laugh until my ribs burst open spilling my crimson juices onto the carpet. The way he anticipates my overthinking nature and slides a cooling balm onto all my fears. The knife point intellect, the razor’s edge that cuts into my skin.
I love the gentle. His soft fingertips lingering at my hairline, the patient kisses in the dark. He wraps me up and protects me from the world and introduces me to the world and embraces the world and shows me off to the world like the hot piece of ass I am.
I love the calm. Long slow days of open windows and stolen stares because glances aren't enough.
I love the storm before the calm. Hot and wet and fast and hard and complicated and twisted and perfect.
I love him because he is perfect.
I love him because he is not perfect.
I love him because he makes me perfect.