Depression Guilt  (a rondel poem)

I don’t know how to stop bleeding.
I wish I could be someone whole:
patch the ragged tears in my soul,
and find the peace I’ve been needing.

You try to help, your eyes pleading.
You did not cause this pain, I know
it hurts you, to see me bleeding.
Maybe you need someone who’s whole.

My own doubts I just keep feeding.
My pain — on you it takes a toll!
I wish I could get in control.
Guiltily, I keep repeating,
“I’m sorry, I can’t stop bleeding.”



Rondel – Poem consists of 13 lines in 3 stanzas. Rhyme scheme: ABba/abAB/abbaA (uppercase letters are refrains) Usually 8 syllables per line.



She Makes It Right


There’s something calming about ironing my Wolf’s dress shirt, and pressing the pleats into her kilt. One night, I was able to surprise her, by blacking and polishing her boots. I found in that process something ritualistic, methodical and centering. I ask her, sometimes, to let me do these things, just so I can let the world go, and pull my scattered thoughts into a quiet, orderly place. These are acts of service that do so very much for my spirit, my body and my mind. It’s hard to describe. Somehow they make things right in my head.

It hasn’t been that long ago, I was dealing with some major life stresses, and she kidnapped me on a Saturday morning. She took me hiking, and though I wasn’t sure I could manage the rocky and hilly terrain, the goal was so tempting, I had to try. We made our way to a fallen tree, lakeside, and she sat me down in a comfortable fork with my back against the bark. She had me put headphones on, close my eyes, and breathe. Restricting outside sensory input, she stepped away and watched over me, while I sat in silence, and allowed my over-thinking brain to let go. The sun warmed my skin, the wind and the water sounds were faint in the background, and she was there, protecting and caring for me. It was a simple and phenomenal feeling. She made it right.

This weekend, we had a long talk about what we were doing in our relationship with the D/s dynamic energy, and how that works in tandem with my other relationships. It was a heavy conversation about the hurts of my past, and my defensive way of restricting D/s dynamics across my polyamorous relationships. In the past, I’d been so hurt by Shepherd’s abandonment, that I’d effectively talked myself out of the need for a 24-7 dominant. I’d convinced myself that I was better suited to a design where I pieced together the dynamics I needed or wanted across my very egalitarian polyamorous relationships.

I could count on Traveler for minimal structure, for the push, the keeping me honest and the mind-fuck. I could get a different sort of emotional support and creative push from my Star-Stuff Rocket Man, along with the occasional play that would give me a taste of the pain I missed so desperately. I’d been talking with The Professor for some time, about D/s play, and looking forward to exploring with him — and had even broached the subject with my Dragon — but the truth was in every case that I was still maintaining control. I was meting it out as I saw fit, trusting each to a degree, but not completely — not like I’d done before, with Shepherd. I couldn’t imagine risking that deeply ever again, and that says a lot for me, because I am the girl who takes risks for love.

When I struggle with being too much human, too much emotion, too much stress, she quiets me — gives me a strength to push against, and shuts out the world. I’ve been calling her my Wolf, and “Sir”, for months now. The truth is that I knew she was going to take that role in my world, from sometime between that first five hour conversation, and the night when we slipped out of potluck discussion for a smoke break and I asked her if we could talk about something. I was anxious, and vibrating with so much resonance, that I knew every person in my home could feel it, and it must be painted all over my face. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was just as keyed up and nervous as I, hyper-aware of every move I made and as cognizant of where I was physically, in relation to her as I was, her to me.

What I am learning, is that she does have the capacity for my fullness. She is wired to be the kind of dominant I need, and can offer me the time and energy that will allow me to let go completely. She has from the start been committed to making room for my other relationships and the different D/s energies they have. I’ve known in my body and spirit for months — that if anyone was going to be a full time dominant to me, she was fully capable, and she was the right one. My brain is only recently catching up.

Every few days, she does something new that amazes me, reminds me why she fills that role in my life. Saturday night, I asked her to make all the choices about where we went, what we did, what we ate — to keep me close, restrict my movements, my focus, remind me that with her, I could let go.  As we were getting ready to go out, she pulled her boots from the closet, and asked me to put them on her, and lace them up. It was the first time I’d done so, since I’d blacked and polished them for her. As I was lacing them up, she pointed out the over-under pattern I had used — the one I always use with my own boots — and I realized that I hadn’t told her. I didn’t check the laces before I removed them. I had no idea how they’d been laced before I went to work on them.

She told me then that the way I’d done them was not the way they’d been. But that the way I’d done them was the way I would do them going forward. It was now the right way. When I protested, asking her to show me the way she preferred, she made it clear that rather than correct me after I put so much effort and love into making her boots look amazing, she did the thing that was most right in her eyes. She made the way I laced her boots the correct way, and informed me that to do it differently in the future would bring consequences.

She quieted me. She made it right – and that is amazing.

Vulnerable Human


But I’m only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I’m only human
And I crash and I break down
Your words in my head, knives in my heart
You build me up and then I fall apart
‘Cause I’m only human


-Christina Perri, Human


I define vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. To be human is to be in vulnerability.


You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.


Vulnerability is the glue that holds relationships together. It’s the magic sauce.


-Brené Brown, PHD, LMSW


I am deeply, madly in love with a strong, smart, generous and breathtaking woman. Her wife is a courageous, giving, welcoming, fun and beautiful soul. She is my dear friend. Like many in my circle of polyamorous life partners, and dearly loved metamours, the three of us are learning every day to communicate well, to make room, to celebrate each other and to pour out generous amounts of trust and love as we enjoy the ecstasy and wonder that is this web of support, value and gratitude we are building for ourselves and each other. In the four months since we began, things have been absolutely, incredibly amazing.

We all work really hard to make space for each other, to flex and bend, to support and share, and to communicate, to talk honestly, to trust. We do a damn fine job, I don’t mind saying. We push ourselves, look for opportunities to grow. We are courageous and vulnerable. We’re purposeful about being good at this life, because we love each other, we honor each other, and we want to do right by those who we are so lucky to love.

I love those connections where I can let down my guard, silence my inner-critic, and be genuine. I’m welcomed with open arms. I don’t have to know all of the answers; I can struggle and laugh at myself, and know that my partners and metamours will meet me with love, and celebrate me in all my messy, morning breath, grouchy, Tuesday morning glory! I am deeply moved and fed by the willingness of lovers and their partners to be real with me, to let down their guard, put on their pajamas (or be naked), laugh about their mistakes and share their fears. It’s the very soul of this life I’m living, and I am so grateful to be met with such beauty, courage and strength.

Still, some days, the hurt comes. And that sucks.

Some days, no matter how good our intentions, no matter how carefully we choose to live, no matter how real and honest and open-hearted we are… we fail. We find ourselves in the middle of a tangled and hurtful miscommunication.  We misunderstand, we stumble, we inadvertently bruise someone else’s heart. I inadvertently bruise someone else’s heart. I did it this week, and that sucks.

No, I wasn’t alone, there were things I could have done and things others could have done to prevent the painful situation that arose — if we’d only seen it coming — but that’s not the point. The point is, I am human, and my partners and metamours are human. No matter how well we do this polyamorous life — no matter how carefully we choose our actions, our reactions, we will spill our messy, difficult-to-swallow humanness all over those we love. It just happens.

That’s a tough pill for me to swallow today.

I am only human, and it breaks my heart to know my choices, no matter how pure my intent, caused others pain. I have cried today. I have apologized, I have spoken words of understanding and love, and meant every one… and today still sucks. Because I don’t want this kind of thing to happen, especially because I messed up.

Thankfully, I’m in this with adults — strong, generous, loving humans — who join me in gathering up the pieces, and healing the hurts. We will get through this. We will learn something about ourselves and each other. We will grow. Tomorrow will be easier, better, than today, and we will celebrate. We will face the days ahead with courage, and vulnerability. We will love, and there will be joy again. In fact, there’s a tiny bit of joy even today, knowing that we are gonna be just fine.

We’re gonna let vulnerability be our magic sauce!




Fall Recall – Third of Three Flashbacks

This weekend I celebrated my birthday, and it was filled with amazing experiences with incredible loves… and no writing whatsoever. So, this week, I’m revisiting some early posts, and sharing them again. I hope you enjoy this one!


I’m no Goddess

Disclaimer: This post is intimate, and somewhat graphic, discussing a new lover,
and the manner of our love-making. If that might offend you or make you 
uncomfortable, skip this one. I'll never know, and I'll still love you if you do!

I am nearly fifty, and I finally love the skin I’m in, middle-aged, scarred, buxom, zaftig, curvy, delicious, sexy… this is my body. Like many humans, there are parts that amaze me, and parts that I’m not the most happy with. This body has served me well, and I’ve not always treated it nicely.

body 2
This isn’t me, but isn’t she lovely?

And still, these incredible parts…

I have a pretty face, thick, long hair, big green eyes, full lips, freckles, a smile that catches attention. I have full, middle-aged breasts, that are giving in to gravity. They fed children more than twenty years ago, along with the wide hips that bore them, carried them, nudged them along, the legs that gave them, a comfy lap for cuddling, and the rounded shoulders that supported their sleepy heads, and absorbed their tears. Today those hips, legs, shoulders, breasts, eyes, lips and smile can seduce a man, and drive him wild.

Not me either, but yowza!

I also have those parts I find less sexy, feet that carry the weight of me through each day, from the moment I get out of bed in the morning, until I slip back between the sheets at night, and well, they’re feet. I have a belly, too — round and jiggly, scarred with stretch marks, it is a reminder not only of motherhood, but of many decisions to indulge, and not nearly as many to do crunches. I don’t regret those choices, all the time, but I do see the results, and I’m not sure that belly is my sexiest part.

Not me. But I feel this way sometimes!

Today though, my mind is slowly changing… I have a new lover, and he is… hungry. He is primal, yet gentle. His kisses make me weak in the knees. He calls me “baby-girl” and growls at me. He caresses and leaves bruises, and our lovemaking is breathless, intense, filled with exclamations of surprise and repeated requests to “do that again.” He makes me feel beautiful, powerful, weak and hungry too.

foot kiss
My feet aren’t nearly this young, but I try to keep them soft and pretty.

And he kisses me… everywhere… even those not-so-sexy-to-me parts. He moans in pleasure, whispers desire, he pulls me to him in the middle of the night just to feel my skin against his. He touches me, to satisfy his hunger and mine. He worships my toes, the balls of my feet, and he kisses my round, worn belly, over and again, like I’m some ancient fertility goddess.

Fuck, maybe I am.

Love and Lovers, Sex and Bisexuality

“I want a life of a million lovers. I want to love you.”

“When I see you we will embrace and hold a hug long enough to glimpse some insight from each other’s heartbeat.”

“When we walk down the street we shall link arms, pause frequently, and turn our toes and noses towards the other to speak directly without modesty.”

“I do not think that our connection is somehow weakened because we do not share our bodies with each other.”

“For love is love is love is love, and that is what I want.”

“I only want us to fall in love.”

~Can We Be Lovers & Not Have Sex? on Elephant Journal by Brentan Schellenbach


“A bi person has the capacity for romantic and/or sexual attraction to more than one gender.  For most people, that simply means that you can be attracted to both men and women.”

“As a bi person, you do not have to feel the same kind or intensity of attraction to all genders.”

“Understanding and acknowledging your own sexuality is a personal process and is about living with integrity and being true to yourself.”

“A sexual identity is about who you want to romance. Romance does not equal sex. Romance is who you want to hear laugh, who you want to give valentines to and breakfast in bed and comfort when they’re crying.”

I have been falling in love with boys since I was six years old. I know well how to do this. I know what excites me, what intrigues me, what attracts me to men. I know how to flirt with men, how to use my mind and my body to turn them on. I know what works, what gets their attention, what keeps it. I celebrate that power, and try to use it wisely. I am confident in my sexuality when it comes to members of the opposite sex. I’m a sometimes messy, jealous and difficult human. I’m also a sexy, attractive, loving, passionate woman, who builds relationships with men that are fucking amazing. (It helps that I choose some pretty kick-ass men.)

I began to be curious about romantic relationships with women, about fifteen years ago, in my early thirties. Today, you see a lot of media about being bi, and there’s a very strong message about bisexuality not equaling confusion. I agree, people should not be asked to “pick a team”, that’s just silly. But when you set that argument aside, I can say that yes, I am bisexual and I am confused.

I think often about romantic and sexual interactions with women, and I long for that tenderness, that affection and softness, for that sisterhood and connection that don’t come from the men in my life. I have entertained sexual fantasies, and learned to build strong, enduring friendships with just a handful of women. I have even attempted romantic relationships with women in the past.

The most significant attempt was when I fell deeply and vulnerably in love with a woman, about three years ago. It was an awkward situation, as we three, she, our shared male partner and power-dynamic-dominant, and I formed a polyamorous triad, that was terribly imbalanced. There was a great deal of jealousy and comparison… we both had intense relationships with him and our romance with each other was hampered by miscommunication, unmet expectations and insecurity on the part of all three involved.

I can say now that whatever her faults or mistakes, (or mine, or his, for that matter) though my heart was smitten, and I very much adored her, loved kissing her, holding her hand, cuddling and sleeping in her arms — sexually, I always felt like an awkward virgin. I think she interpreted this as rejection, and it became one of several eventually insurmountable issues that led her to calling it quits.

Today, I still long for that feminine heart-closeness, that easy affection. But when I think of trying again to build a relationship with a woman, my head spins and I panic. I still feel like an awkward, nearly fifty year old virgin. Maybe I always will. Though I am at ease with some simple things, like the romantic side of female to female connection, when my mind shifts toward the sexual, or the energy from a female love interest shifts toward the physical, I shut down. I feel the weight of expectations I might not be able to fulfill. I doubt myself.

Maybe I am never going to be fully comfortable being sexual with a woman. Maybe I’m just going to need some time to heal, and a safe place to explore without feeling like I’m a disappointment. Maybe my relationships with women are never going to be as intense as my relationships with men. I can guarantee that they will be different, because both my heart response, and my physical attraction are different, in so many ways. Am I just inexperienced? Am I bisexual in a romantic sense only? I don’t know. I do know that I find myself falling in love with the heart of another girl. I am both captivated, and afraid of disappointing her. This is hard, and I’m a lot more confused and insecure than I’d like to be.

To Tie the Moon (a chance operation poem)


Women who tied
the moon, wrap it’s heart
strings, lows.
We dance, have
you again.

You rare body, to father,
belongs — but sorrow
on a shawl. Keep you
to you now.
It is a book of poems,
worked from your stay.

You loved man — absinthe,
poison and god.
Sweeten you — to
have your heart
to yourself like a diary.

Like ocean.


POETIC FORM: A Chance Operation Poem





To earn the “Spaced Out” badge, start with two dice and your source text. You’ll want to work with a smaller section of the text for this one. For each line in the text, roll the dice. Erase or remove the word in that line that corresponds with the number that comes up (i.e., if you roll an eight, erase the eighth word in that line). Continue to work through the text, re-rolling the dice for each line, until you’ve reached the end of your source text solution. Repeat this process, rolling the dice and removing additional words from each line, until you arrive at your poem. Experiment with space, illustration or other visual presentation to engage with the relative silence created. Post your poem to the site, accompanied by a source text citation.

PoMoSco (Poetry Month Scouts)
Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month Project

– April 2015 – 213 poets joined together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
– Prompts are divided into five categories – remixing, erasure, out and about, conceptual and chance operation.
– Each category offers six distinct badges to be earned.
– Poets choose their own source text.
– For more information, check out

A dear friend and fabulous poet, Von Thompson,  is a participant. When she told me about the challenge, I decided to play along at home.




Daughter (a chance operation poem)


My compassionate daughter:
while tonight we feel this pain,
we touch today in affection.
We feel wanted, in pragmatism.

My empath daughter:
In partnerships, remove even this.
Be this affection, However we feel.
Today, we wanted them, too.
Tonight, even we feel lives.


POETIC FORM: A Chance Operation Poem




To earn the “Roll the Dice” badge, start with multiple dice and your source text. You can use regular six-sided dice, or ones with more sides ( Assign each line on your source text page a number — you can work consecutively (first line = 1, second line = 2), in reverse order (last line = 1, etc) or in any order you choose. Roll the dice — whatever line corresponds to the number that came up gets added to your word bank. Continue rolling the dice until you have a big enough word bank to craft a poem. For an extra challenge, retain the full original lines in your finished piece. Post your completed poem to the site, accompanied by your source text citation.

PoMoSco (Poetry Month Scouts)
Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month Project

– April 2015 – 213 poets joined together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
– Prompts are divided into five categories – remixing, erasure, out and about, conceptual and chance operation.
– Each category offers six distinct badges to be earned.
– Poets choose their own source text.
– For more information, check out

A dear friend and fabulous poet, Von Thompson, is a participant. When she told me about the challenge, I decided to play along at home.



How to Love and Empath by Rebecca Lammersen on Elephant Journal


my, even, I, to, or, today, this, pain, daughter, compassionate, we, however, remove, touch, them, while, and, feel, pragmatism, too, tonight, in, wanted, empath, partnerships, feels, I, be, affection, if, lives

Time Out (a conceptual poem)

cornertime (2)


if our lives have been a whirlwind
if we had the best of intentions
if our heads and hearts did finally match up
if we were finally in a place
(where we didn’t need to convince ourselves)
if we were able to just let go
if our decisions make sense or not
if we all simply received a time out

now it’s crucial for us to sit
now take a deep breath
now about time-lines or about keeping pace
now we are making the right choice
now exactly what we want and need
now is the time when it all comes together


POETIC FORM: A Conceptual Poem





To earn the “X:Y” badge, choose a syntactical relationship between words within a given text — look for patterns in how words are joined by punctuation or conjunctions, or how sentences are structured. Examples of syntactical relationships: “wine and cheese,” “man and wife,” “fear and loathing”, “this or that,” “him or me,” “wine or beer”, “The stove was hot.” “The room was silent.” “The table was dusty.”
“the wind blowing,” “the birds chirping,” “the mower whirring”, Choose a syntactical pattern, and go through your source text, making a list of all phrases and fragments that fit the pattern. Create a poem from your list. Example: Seth Abramson’s “Wii” (BOAAT): Post your poem on the site, along with a citation of your source text.


PoMoSco (Poetry Month Scouts)
Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month Project

– April 2015 – 213 poets joined together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
– Prompts are divided into five categories – remixing, erasure, out and about, conceptual and chance operation.
– Each category offers six distinct badges to be earned.
– Poets choose their own source text.
– For more information, check out

A dear friend and fabulous poet, Von Thompson, is a participant. When she told me about the challenge, I decided to play along at home.



Confessions Without Faces (a conceptual poem)



I feel conflicted about the
name of my adult life so far.
No one but me knows… I can’t
bring myself to get out of my head.

Would you like to discuss grief?
It’s like trying to eat a sour rock
to alleviate inner pain. Almost
every day, around people, I hide.

Always, I am wearing my secret —
poetry dripping from my tongue,
making people want to kiss me.
like a peach from the fridge.

All the time knowing — time
must come first — at the moment,
you are able to see my body,
to drink of its passion.

I struggle with this wish — to feel
and not feel — old but comfortable,
a yellow t-shirt in a paper bag,
in a mental hospital, reading, reading.

There was all that time, it was most
important to be shown that you matter.
And I think about doing it again —
instead of being what you want.

Gray shades of writing, and wearing
a blue sweatshirt, you are gorgeous.
I tell you, I think about it every night,
the first time I tasted you.

Not forbidden for me, but not good
for me –I’m not sorry, I’m grateful
for the way you stay with me,
forever in the best odds and ends.


POETIC FORM: A Conceptual Poem




To earn the “Survey Says!” badge, create a questionnaire about a given topic that contains between 5-10 free response questions. Ask your family members, friends, or even complete strangers to complete the survey. Use their responses to compose a poem, and post it on the site. In your citation, list the questions you asked in your questionnaire.


PoMoSco (Poetry Month Scouts)
Found Poetry Review’s 2015 National Poetry Month Project

– April 2015 – 213 poets joined together as a troop to earn digital merit badges for completing experimental and found poetry prompts.
– Prompts are divided into five categories – remixing, erasure, out and about, conceptual and chance operation.
– Each category offers six distinct badges to be earned.
– Poets choose their own source text.
– For more information, check out

A dear friend and fabulous poet, Von Thompson,  is a participant. When she told me about the challenge, I decided to play along at home.



Word List:
2 50 a able about absolutely accidentally actually Adidas adult again all alleviate almost also always am an and another Arby’s are around art as ask assortment at ate baby back bacon bag band batch be beans being belly berry best better birthday black blouse blue body books boring both bought bread bring Bronte brothers brown brussel-sprouts burger but by can’t care cargo carrots cat cats cheese chips cider clothes color come comfortable companies company conflicted consists contains cookie cookies coping could crafting crush cuddle currently curtains cut cut-off cutter cutting damn dark date dates day definitely discuss dish disliked do doing don’t Dr Pepper drink dripping easily eat eggplant eggs ends equally etc. ever every express falling fan far favorite feel felt fiancé filter first flip-flops food for forbidden forever fresh fridge friend friendship from frozen fruit fruits get gluten-free go good goopy gorgeous got grabbed grateful gravy gray grey grief gross had hair haircut happily hard hardest have he head hearts hehe help helping her hide highly him hospital house household how hugs hummus husband I I’m Ian if important in inner insecure instead instead into into is it it’s its jamma jean jeans just keeps Kei’s kid kiss know knowing knows last life like list loaf love lunch mac majority makes making married maternity matter may maybe me me meats Memmi men’s mental Mercedes Mexico middle milk mini mix moment more most motorcycle much muffin must my myself n name navy Nazi Nazis need new New Mexico newer night night-gown no not nothing now oatmeal odds of ok old on one only or or originally other our out overly-sweet overnight pad pain paint paints pair pans panties pants paper parm Parmesan partners parts passion peach people Pepper perhaps person picking pictures pilot pink pinstripe plus poetry politely polka-dot postcard price Prilosec primal punisher put question ranch reading really regular rest restaurant right ripen rock rollers roommate running sandwich say scotch Seamus secret see set severely sex shades shirt shopping shorts should shown since sisters slacks sleeve slew so soap social socks someone something somewhat sorry sour space Spam spanking specific spent started stay still store stress struggle style stylized sweat sweatshirt sweetener sweeter swimsuit t t-shirt t-shirt tank Taos taste tasted Te teenager tell Tess texture Thai that the them then there they thing things think this three-quarter time to together tongue too top tortillas trying turquoise undercooked unexpectedly up used usual vegetables veggies vintage vodka Von vw waffles want was water way we wearing weird well were wet what what’s whether whiskey white whole why will wish with work worker worth would writing yellow yogurt you your
1. What was the last thing you ate and disliked?
2. What is the one question you wish someone would ask you right now?
3.  What are you wearing?
4. Tell me a secret?
5. What’s on your shopping list?




The weight
of your gaze
in a dark room.
The flicker
of a single
sacred flame in
consecrated space.
Your breaths.
The clink of a collar
at my throat.
Your touch.
Your touch.
Your touch.
Energy and light
spilling from my core.
Your hand reaching
for mine. Surrender.
Blinking up at you
through silent tears.
Shifting. Change.
Instructions and
your voice in
a quiet mind.
The sound
of the wind.
The sting
of leather.
Gasps and shudders.
Music that made
laughter bubble.
Strength. Trust.
Sobs. Flight.
Sweat. Water.
Blanket. You.
Wonders whispered.
Your touch.
Your touch.