Joanna Klink, From Her Poetry Collection The Nightfields: Poems; "Almanac,"

Slendher

I graze upon you with invisible fingers

Memories of touch tug at me

Like puppet strings

Memories of you

Dwindle

My heart a needle

Thoughts a thread againat

A thymbel

I love you

But I am breathless

I want to eat you only with my lips

And maybe my mouth

You are small like me I think

A lot like me I think

I see you eldest

When I look in the mirror.

You are me

But beautiful and thin

I want to taste it

Sin

Borne in blood

Between us

I cannot speak it

I'd say I love you

But I am breathless

Poetry talk: Lesbian never born

I thought id speak about my poem "lesbian never born", or rather the feelings that inspired it. Theres a lot of markers for my transition into a woman but it really feels like it begins on July 2023 when I started hormone replacement therapy. Since then I've changed a lot physically, but mentally I still carry a burden of being a man for 23 years of my life, and the shame instilled in me for my s3xual cravings. Anyone who becomes fixated on p***ography can probably tell you that shame becomes a part of the desire, a part of how you identify yourself. For me that shame is the shame of "he", the shame men often carry. It conflicts with the "she" that i feel i am, and cuts me off from woman, hence the cut of "she" into "he" in the poem. The metaphor of sifting sand is in part my recent fascination of the beach and a memory I have of the beach at Cape Cod (although I remember those beaches being more rocky in reality). I wanted something to capture that ethereal feeling of softness that woman seem to hold to me, and sand felt appropriate. Wind I often use in tandem with love, love that is sometimes cold, sometimes cool. Love for me is tinged with nostalgia, as is wind blowing through branches and sakara flowers. Revolutionary Girl has been a strange fixation for my yearning to be on some level a lesbian, my thoughts are blurred and the words arent really there, which is why i identify so much with the AMV for the anime on Youtube with the song "Winner Takes it All". It is the centerpiece of my poem as nostalgia is a huge crux of who i am, my life is repetitive as is my poetry. Or perhaps history doesn't repeat itself, but rhyme.

Penisneud

"You were born broken."

"That is your birthright."

-Beatrice Horseman

I was born small, swollen, and suffocated

Ive grown ten times in size

But alls the same

That ends the same

I edge near suffocation

When my partner suffocates me

To take the edge off me

Squeze harder please, it feels better for me

I want desperatley to be grateful for my life

And not swell myself on food and folly

I want to be small, carried by you

Why am I so small if im so big?

You tell me you love me all the same

But I'd change it anyday, anyway I could

If I could I would carry a wood worth its name

Instead it is life that is hard

And longing...

I adopted this oc through an art trade a while ago. I forgot to show it off here. I dont have a name for her yet.

I wish I had gotten her name I feel bad to change her name if she already had one.

(I have no idea what the words say I dont speak Russian)

Chuckin Chicken

2, 3 chicken breasts in the air fryer

It aint enough for you

4 or 5 more

Your hunger I adorned

On my heart, cooking spicy like spicy love

With you

Turned hot when you suddenly said

I aint hungry

But I still got a soft spot

On my heart

For your dumbass bullshit, your games

Packing shit up

But it always ends the same

"Im tired of your bullshit"

He tellin me like I aint shit

Chuckin clothes in trash bags

My fucking trashbags

Clothes I folded so nicely

You folded so icey but you

Cant even drive yourself home

Got me droppin you off

With your clothes

In a car

That you cant even lock

You aint got nothing on lock

But my heart is unlocked for you

Terror.

Blur on a black screen not blank

As if electricity still itches

Under its glass skin

A glossy glimpse of my eyes

I long for a longer time

As I look into my own eyes

I see the wires

Vessels of blood and butchery

Bathing in that black

They anticipate a world beyond my own

When I let go of my life

Benadrilled

I looked for awnsers on the pyschonaut wiki for symptoms of recreational benadryl use

I have found the awnsers I wasn't seeking. Here in my tired eye I see the human condition, and it is unbearably lonely.

I skirted an empty void like a water bug on a puddle, to me this puddle was an entire ocean

In the Breaking Bad episode "Fly", sandwhiched somewhere almost exactly in the middle of the show, Jesse Pinkman drugs an increasingly volatile and unhinged Walter White to finish a drug cook he was otherwise interfering with.

Though Benadryl is most typically used as perscribed for sleep, it is becoming more widely known in modern times as an OTC recreational drug. Those who take large doses to try and achieve its hallucinegenic effects often have terrible trips, and people have been known to fatally overdose.

Ive personally have never experianced worse depressive episodes then I did hungover from Benadryl. My past abusing otc drugs is a fly in my sobriety from such substances. When I find myself in the clutches of addiction, everything was always contaminated. Nostalgia I think is a yearning for a percieved serenity that doesn't exist. A desire to escape ones own mind that outweighs the pains of drug abuse, a self harm in and of itself.

I never wanted to quit drugs more then when I was in the throws of drugs like DXM and Benadryl. I wallow in this feeling of death with the fear I've lived too long. My body is a rickety ladder on top of boxes on wheels.

I dream of an afterlife, hope as I do for a sign like water...on mars...

Un

Like my hearts beating there

I put my hands to my ears

In silent noise

The rumble of muscle

My eyes dialate

My mouth is dry

Like im going to die

I wait in anticipation of silence

To wash over a million hearbeats

I close my eyes

But fades of blue so faint, so fucking faint as nothing

Is still something

Im my meditation of death

Death illudes me

And i will never see her coming.

I bought a Print...of a Dragon Prince

Sunken like my vision dropping

In and out

Of a hallucination

Salvia high is on

Few moments and Im gone

Like im looking at your print.

Zerox of a Zerox

Im not convinced I know what it means

Shapes to be seen

In the dark

My thoughts quiet still subsist

I cant resist wanting to touch the paintings

At museums

In my mind i graze you just for a moment

On my lies

I savor you

Its always the last time this will work

Could be my last one

But that roles rehearsed

I cant resist, I cant cry

Im still standing here

Observing a print

Of a painting

Me: Its 2am I really should sleep

My brain: But what if you imagined Applejack as a trans fem ***** ***** with a huge ***** **** and a beard, ******* your ***** *******

(Have fun filling in the blanks)

None of us are free from sin.