Wavy

She flat-ironed my hair once and my curls settled into waves
that washed away the part of me that adamantly said no
to alcohol, uppers, and complex carbohydrates.
Curls that once concentrated on research methods and
logical fallacies refocused on sleepovers and bar events.
Curls that formerly found peace in juicing beets and
lounging in a warm bath took a backseat
to FaceTime and a bed that was not mine.
These sedated waves made excuses for twilight violations
because who wants to admit that this person
who seemingly put you on a pedestal
and made you feel beautiful and smart and perfect
would also be the person who for one night
would not take no for an answer.
That was not her, that was vodka-fueled her
and she promised never to drink that much again
because she is a nice person
and she loves me and cares about me
so of course she couldn't possibly rape me.
Waves that transformed rage into indifference
when fingers that were not hers, but looked like her
and knew hers well wove deep into what was once curls
shaped into a fist with a whisper:
"It's okay, I know you fucking like this."
Waves that interpreted a love bite as a badge of honor
and a site of passionate affection
when in reality it was a circle of piss declaring:
"This pocket lesbian is MINE.
I know her brilliance and I see her beauty
and I devalue it by not being here,
so I leave this mark on her neck
fully knowing that it cannot be covered and
fully knowing that there are those who exist
that see the brilliance and the beauty
and will value her more than me,
so excuse my absence and know your place
because this bitch is MINE."

Until I am not.

Because I love myself too much
to be disrespected by someone
who cannot get me off without
the assistance of a vibrator
when my ride-or-die mistress
also known as my left hand
has never failed me.
Because these curls no longer make excuses
for demoñias with equally demonic friends.
Because these curls are precious and brilliant
and full of love and perseverance
and are deserving of the best
BECAUSE I AM DESERVING OF THE BEST.

Curls that were once colonized into waves
have manifested into a tsunami.
My condolences to those who drown
in an attempt to tame me.

The Difference

This time I've got experience and
therapy and Paxil in my back pocket.
I've got dreams and goals and love
For myself and the will to keep living
for my self.
I decided that old wounds weren't
going to stop me from
forgetting how to form sentences
every single time I look into those
beautiful baby blues that
chip away at the facade of
the tough tattooed girl
hardened by the overextension
of heart strings by the hands of ex-lovers
who once held titles of "future whatevers"
with fantasies of weddings and children
and destination vacations held together
by the same heart strings that
are on the cusp of snapping.
Despite that, I leave my heart without
a bevy of armed guards atop stone walls
surrounded by a moat supplied with sharks
anticipating to gobble up the next jerk
that makes me cry.
This time will be different
because you are different
and because I am different.
But the familiarity of pulled heart strings
and impending rejection
erases any notion of difference
and it is all the same.

Lowlifes & Highlights

• Pre-diabetes reversal achieved.
• Self-care and mental health leveled up.
• Academically affirmed and invigorated.
• New friends, future colleagues.
• Old friends reaffirming their ride-or-die statuses.
• Driver's license attained — LOLOLOL!!

Basically, I am happy because for the first time in very a long time, I am making myself the priority. Weird how that makes complete sense. 2017 is gonna be lit AF.

The Six Month Turnaround

If I sit somewhere in Summerlin long enough,
I'll recognize someone from my past life
of a domestic fantasy involving casseroles, 3.5 kids,
the Celestial Kingdom, and a crossover vehicle.
Top knots, yoga pants, puffer vests, and Ugg boots
stroll past me and my eyes are locked onto
the Lululemon icon that sits atop the rump
of an upper-middle class bottom.
But these days, my chauvinistic gaze
is steadily fixed upon a woman unlike any other
woman I've had the pleasure
of pleasuring and being pleasured by.
She is the antithesis of the Summerlin housewife
and so help me God, Mithra, Jah, Buddha, and
everyone else before I say something stupid
like, "This Christmas I'm asking Santa for
a girlfriend who is specifically you."
She feeds my ego and soothes my ego
like a magician causing my anxieties
to disappear with the yank of a sheet
that is comprised of her laugh,
her bizarre Midwestern-East Coast hybrid accent,
fueled by the strength of her hands, arms, and legs,
and rooted in the shape of the smirk
that forms on her beautiful face
when we are engaged in banter that lasts
deep into the early hours of the morning.
I am sleepy, I am on fire, and I am happy.

The Long Answer

I really like the way your mouth
feels against mine and I don't care
that you're a wet kisser
because I'm the same.
Judging by how your tongue moves,
I'm confident that feeling it
on any other part of my body
is going to set me on fire.

Insert Annoyed Sigh Here

The novelty of the dating app was quickly lost on me about ten seconds after signing up. I know this. I have gone through this before. I even joined a lesbian dating app. That proved to be more entertainment (I would have to tell you the story in person), rather than functional, but I digress. I am more of a Wooderson than......not.

Reclamation Proclamation

Just when I thought that a broken heart would kill me, my blood sugar and liver levels almost did. Who knew that a sugar and carb-heavy diet along with short alcoholic stints throughout your twenties could do such a thing? Modern science. I did not want to go to the doctor for this very reason —i.e. empirical evidence that your body is in a state of protest, but I cannot die without seeing Tennis live, or going to WWC next summer. Plus, I want to see Kylie live at least one more time. Priorities, man. Anyway, I changed my diet, started drinking more water, and started going to the gym. This is going to be the blandest Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve ever. Diabetes and liver aside, my body and my mind are returning to normalcy. In conjunction with taking advantage of Medicare, I think the haircut set off a chain of events. I do not know why I tried so hard to comply with the respectability politics of square presentation. Actually, I do know why: because I was defining myself by my significant other. However, I am woman, I am non-white, and I am heavily-tattooed. Regardless of "radical hairstyles," I will always be a magnet for judgement. Life is too short not to own my douchebag queerness in its entirety.

I finally got my period after not having it for 5 months. Everyone thought I was pregnant.

One of the required texts in my research methods class is Light in the Dark/Luz en lo Oscuro: Rewriting Identity, Spirituality, Reality by the late Gloria Anzaldúa. Parts of it are in Spanish and it does take me longer to read since I have to refer to Google Translate often, but it is incredibly inspiring and therapeutic. I actually do not mind taking the extra time to understand the Spanish. Junot Díaz has a quote about wypipo willing to read books in made up languages like Elvish, but freak out when they see Spanish. But this is America! America that was once Mexico? I digress. At times, I chastise myself for relating too much to the mystical aspects of the text and I become embarrassed. But thems the "intellectual imperialism" breaks, right? Decolonization is exhausting.