Braided Essay- Consumption

My roommate is sitting in front of me, self-detonating. I don’t know what I can offer, if anything- I’ve been great at tearing things down, not building them back up. => It’s easier for me to break down. As in, I break down myself. I break down words into easier-to-consume syllables. I break down cars,…

Courting in the Medium of Dance

Modesto, California has three gay bars. The Tiki Lounge, The Brave Bull, and Climax. My parents had their first date at The Tiki- before it became a gay bar in the 90s. It was one of the first bathrooms I graffiti’d a haiku into the plastic divider of a stall. It was a haven to…

Image of a Mirror (“Final” Edit)

“But where am I in the stories I tell?” – Dorothy Allison, “2 or 3 Things I Know For Sure” I washed my body, polished it til it shone on all things that were not housed inside of it. I became a mirror; reflected what I saw and called it my own image. Part 1:…

Image of a Mirror (First Draft)

I washed my body, polished it til it shone on all things that were not housed inside it. I became a mirror; reflected what I saw and called it my own image. Part 1: Blood I was told how much I looked like my mother. I was told how my sister looked and acted nothing…

On Remembering

I do not try to remember. I’ve always liked keeping my memory soft. Hazey. Indistinguishable. Makes it easier to exist. Remembering simply leads to more hurt than necessary. Remembering simply leads to a past that no longer exists. Leaves me seeing a future that could have been, but died long before I realized I could…

My Mother’s Hands

Her hands are not unlike mine. We share the same nailbeds, which is to say, we both have claws. But I’ve never seen her grow them out. Perhaps, she too, notices how brittle they get when we let them grow, how easy it becomes for them to break. More often than not, our nails are…