Portal to My Insides | Egg Freezing

This portal is a site of resistance and potential. This portal is a place we don’t normally get access to. As we speak my follicles are inflating, injections every night for two weeks preparing my eggs to be extracted and frozen for a future time, to grow into little creepy crawler critters. Who will have so much to teach me, and I them, including but not limited to, the alphabet:

A is for agency, abortion, accessible at any time, any reason always 

B is for brovaries building babies, for breaking the broca gene curse, for believing patients, for the blessing of butt sex

C is for c section circumcision cut cut cut crease, for my cycle which, surprise, came 5 days early 

D is for dick energy: silicone or flesh, its all real to me

E is for estrogen as it enters me, tradesies?

F is for follicles flexin’, for fertility clinic misgenders me every time I enter, take my blood and my dignity, for freezing time, for future, the one we want to see 

G is for gonads go Knicks go nuts go get some, genepool predisposed to gay anxiety 

H is for HOLE, Holy Hole, is for held hostage by your anatomy, heart disease and hypochondria,

I is for intravenous anesthesia so you won’t feel them extracting, is for IUD and irony, is for injections 3 times for 2 weeks nightly 

J is just the tip, subcutaneously 

K is for Kel Kel the baby boy who never got to

L is for let them be, is for lymph nodes and libido, lovers who hold you while you inject 

M is for miracle, masturbation and make believe, is for menstruation, once a month when your dick gets cut off, bloody mess kept in a box, returned in 3-5 business days

N is for not never but not right now

O is for out of pocket, makes you wanna stockpile black market hormones and hoard them for pals as party favors 

P is for pleasure in pheromones, is for pregnant daddy, the me I see so clearly, reminder that I’m doing this to be what I needed, is for polycule parenting experiment, we’ll see!

Q is for queer community

R is for all the reparenting we do collectively,

S is for seeking sperm donor! is for selfish? To bring children into a world of school shootings  

T is for t4t4t4t baby, trade titties for testicles Mx. lady, for take it away, for trust in your team and the timing, for tasty testosterone, tattoos pointing toward t-Dicks 

U is for ultrasound, spread legs it’s gonna be cold and invasive 

V is for virility 

W is for wide, this portal to my insides

X is for examine, express and expel the energy of anyone who’s ever crossed my boundaries 

Y is for you are doing your best with what you’ve been dealt 

Z is for zygotes of the zodiac, is for zombie apocalypse— or the unpredictability of tomorrow. flinging your faith at the unknown and bravely building bridges for the next generations (XYZ back to ABC) anyway.

Pause

is the inhale before you pick up the phone, 

sip your tea so slowly it grows cold,

grind spices by hand ‘til you’re sore, 

it’s the scenic route that google maps doesn’t know. 

when the leaves give their green to the trees and let go,

soften into soil to compost

or crunch under your gleeful boot, 

notice every fiber in your foot

that collaborates with bone and skin and memory. 

lighten your load with levity.

after the fight when you turn towards each other,

embrace long enough to rest cheek on shoulder.

a gap tooth smile, a peephole to your soul,

remember, in the quiet, that each of us is whole.

Ruminate

mmmoooo you know how I know time is imaginary? 

if you swallow a sand timer, do you need to check your apple watch? 

if you swallow a sand dollar, do you need to tap, insert, or swipe?  

if a cow swallows grass, how many stomachs does it greet? 

4 stomachs of fertilizer but I’m supposed to “trust my gut”?

what if 

rumination 

means trapped in a room 

of my imaginations 

an eternal Rube Goldberg

machine of mental agitation 

gears without grease just 

rise and grind 

but Marsha said, 

pay it no mind

pay it no mind 

purgatory where you’re perpetually 

waiting for the text | waiting for the text | 

when’s the last time I checked

close the app just to open it back 

what’d they mean by that? 

missed my stop crap 

have you named

the earworm gnawing at your wax?  

it tells you to play it cool because someone 

you’re cooler than is ignoring you?

you know the vibe 

dissect their every sentence

reread it in different accents

run it through google translate 

respond by hot air balloon

react with hot flashes of existential dread,

overdose of am-I-doing-enough? 

still awake, still awaiting, 

if I stay still long enough 

the thought will pass me

think I’m sleeping and 

possess another defenseless host

I count sheep, the sheep count pennies, 

the sheep, shortchanged by inflation, strike

so we, the sheep and me, count blessings 

lose count and lose direction, find it again

realize our bodies were already moving that way.

remember that time you swallowed a compass?

thought it might give you sense of direction. 

North, East, South, West

one for every stomach. 

swallow cud and call it

somatic wisdom or haptic know-how 

know why, no where, 

know who, who

mooooooooooooooooooooo 

Good Mourning!

Good Mourning! 

I grieve in threes

Part 1

Listen obsessively to the same song on repeat

While making the arrangements

For people I’ve loved that turned to other forms, butterflies and ladybugs: winged visitations

Part 2

Wake up hours before my alarm routinely eyes fixed at the crumbling ceiling

Composting

The people I’ve loved who loved me not that I’d pick petals praying the last one would reveal requited longing 

Part 3

Dig my hands into dirt, nail beds and sinuses filthy with pollen and pee

Planting 

The parts of me I no longer need and those I wish to keep 

PART 1: Making The Arrangements

I grieve in threes

1. Listen obsessively to the same song on repeat

2. Wake up hours before my alarm routinely, eyes fixed at the crumbling ceiling

    3.  Dig my hands into dirt, nail beds and sinuses filthy with pollen and piss

I’m posting thirst traps again

I am faking IT

I’m refusing to blink

I’m deleting instagram 

I’m deleting my contacts

I’m deleting my conscience 

I’m done

I’m dreaming I’m an owl who thought they were a fairy 

I’m freezing my eggs 

I’m donating my blood

I’m seeking arrangements

I’m distracting myself

I’m dancing on your grave

I’m leaving you alone

I’m leaving me alone

I’m withholding rent for the space you take up in my brain

I’m trying to get back what you sold at the pawn shop

I’m getting off at the next stop

PART 2: Composting

I grieve in threes

1. I don’t grieve, I go to work on Monday, I fall in love again, I eat a tub of cookie dough and tell you I’m stronger for it all

2. Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t perceive me, just believe me

3. I’m reckoning, I’m hydrating, I’m eating dark green leafy veggies, I’m getting my vitamin D

I’m waiting

I’m aching

I’m sending voice messages into the ether to a phone thats deactivated and belongs to a dead person 

I’m guilty

I’m writing letters and addressing envelopes and keeping them in my desk because a decade is too soon to tell you I’m sorry 

I’m late

I’m not coming into work

I’m washing dishes for the rest of the day

I’m getting pruney

I’m drinking prune juice

I’m on the toilet

I’m sorry I didn’t see your text

I’m responding now, your email must have gone to spam 

I’m hoping this email receives you in good health

I’m hoping this email self-destructs

I’m getting up

I’m destroying every razor in the house

I’m done self-destructing

I’m in the hospital with pylonephritis for not peeing after

I’m infected

I’m ending this

I’m saving you for special occasions

I’m making excuses

I’m a failure

I’m a human!

I’m an insect?

I’m not a girl

I’m gonna stay inside the cocoon a little longer please?

PART 3: Planting

I grieve in threes

1. The people I’ve loved that turned to other forms, butterflies and ladybugs and winged visitations

2. The people I’ve loved who loved me not that I’d pick petals praying the last one would reveal requited longing 

3. The parts of me I no longer need and those I wish to keep

The little kid who tried so hard to be hairless and pretty, but mostly just wanted to be believed

I’m letting them out

I’m stealing boxes of tissues for when they’re ready

I’m letting my leg hair grow in 

I’m letting the weeds take over the garden

I’m still counting the days, 938, since you left us 

I’m watering my eyelashes with tear duct hoses

I’m microdosing

I’m exercising

I’m downsizing

I’m Marie Kondoing

I’m requesting a refund

I’m listening

I’m better for it

I’m fucked up 

I’m forgiving

I’m hanging upside down on playgrounds

I’m inside out and always grieving 

Good mourning, darling

Have some OJ 

It’s going to be another day

bed bugs bite

Yoo hoo!

Didn’t they warn you? Bed bugs bite.

A sorry sight, ask first, Mister,

Or face the fury

Of a once woman, 

Turned creature turned stone

Violated in her once home

Once womanly

Once body

Abandoned and burned “LADY”

Replaced with: freak

Petnames to quell the sting of “she”

infiltrated, detonated

By every he who followed, 

Rampaged, permanent cracks

How to dispose of shattered glass? 

What if, in fact, this bug not born this way

But chose: both, neither, “them/they”

Laid rest little-red-riding “she,” 

Deflect catcalls before puberty 

Forgive drunk “he’s” too touchy, too late

Crack chokeholds from so-called soulmates 

Who fucked the lady out of this bug

What’s left? 

A shell, turned beetle wing, 

an empty turned armor.

Did you know? A ladybug in peril emits an oozing 

yellow substance to repel predators?

A warning: sickly, puss-y 

In that case, call my trans disease. 

If it keeps the scum off me

Call my poison, freak, 

Insect, pest, shrew.

That’s Sir, Creature, Mx. Bedbug to you.

"Mx. Kelindah, what if...?"

Its okay, if you don’t feel like a He or She or a They or a ki or a xi or a ze 

What does it feel like to feel like a you?

Most glorious and shiny, you 

Most radiant and creative, you

they haven’t found the words yet for YOUR special kind of magic

because YOUR special kind of magic is beyond words, 

it’s bigger and bolder than a letter can hold

than a name can bare

than a pronoun can pronounce

You are more than the moments when you are too tired or too hungry, too crabby 

you are more than the job you choose, than the grade you get, than the name you carry

You are your YOUness, most extraordinary.

the itch, in fact, is how I notice

A fact: I am afraid to need from another.

afraid that if they fulfill, I’ll rely, 

then... *poof*

the rug, from beneath us, burned

flash fire.

 slash, say, it was infested:

BEDBUGS

but it was just a little worn!

needing a good cleaning

better placement

no, it had to go.

removed from sight

as if that will stop the itch,

prevent future bites 

from bugs we tried to vanquish

who persisted:

squirmed into eardrums,

sidled onto dreamscapes 

and rattled.

what’s left when you wake?

in the wake, living room bare,

was it always this small?

exposing dull floorboards,

any attempt at tap dance and

your soles splintered.

soak in salt water,

tweeze out each one:

an old regret,

a need suppressed.

an empty an ikea rug

cannot suffice. 

it’s not a bra, it’s a pec-patch

notice

that persistent press cross pecs

bless this chest, it begs

to be addressed:

inhale into cavern,

it’s dark in here

and we need light to cook with!

bring flint and firewood

we’ve enough food to share!

but we can’t nourish 

if we can’t see what we have, yet

what we need, lest

doom scroll

Compassion fatigue

Attention deplete

Can barely finish reading a caption before 

The Dull after

Vulnerability hangover,

meme meme makeover

Dog pee, desperate plea

Quiz to Tell if You’re Cheugy

Tips to Flee the Back of a Trunk

Stats to trash masks

Get-a-life hacks

Rates hike, worker’s strike

Cross picket line for teletherapy 

on amazon prime

Ego death chronicled in real time

(Oh don’t tell me you’re taking all this seriously?)

Screen cracks clean 

The need to be seen

The pharmacology of likes

Medical bill spikes

Baby on board,

Booty on billboard,

Reasons You’ve Been Doing It Wrong

or else Ads for BetterHelp

Memoir of a Judgmental bot

Your screen time is up

Your empathy is down

Which app rots your brain least?

RIP to Ask Jeeves

Resurrect your flip phone for style

Will you stay with me awhile? In the quiet?

Lower brightness and make a circus under covers? Tea party underwater?

Can't satisfy the fear of being alone with a pet drone

baby pictures

a love song to lil gap tooth, starburst swingset sang about heartbreak you somehow already knew,

ragamuffin of the “girl” scout troop.

to bruised knees and blonde bangs you cut for control and the bereft tuft that never returned.

someday, I’ll tattoo you all over, sayang,

not to stain your skin story, a soft armor,

but to remind you you’re mine. 

to bright eyed, bushy-tailed, bald-headed 

baby botak who awoke with “yay! breakfast!”

someday, I’ll change your name, 

but preserve the truest parts. 

that old name will creep up like 

ghost orbs in old photos, barely there 

but for the hairs raised on your neck nape.

call it a backwards beard or a fuzzy cape. 

a love song to boy titties and topless youth, 

to flat pubescence to praying for bursting bras

to answered prayers to praying for pecs to praying for absence to chest cancer double predisposition to negative broca test to ink beetle blessed sternum

to now, to know, to nest, to next 

to always paint and protect you, precious prinxe.