Revelation
hitting me like a brick.
So, so, so hard.
I might be sick.

Parallels I have found between my sexual
and my emotional happiness
have leveled
for the first time in my life.

I, myself, am molded clay.
But I’ll never harden.

And what I think I need
can be done with my own fingers,
with my own words,
with my own heart,
with my own positive-electric drippy brain.

I keep wondering why people won’t be more considerate.

You’d think after all this time,
I would have realized I can’t rely.

And I’m not saying that won’t ever need help.
But I feel my body understanding that I can take care of myself.

My clay can mold to lover, sister, friend…
At any moment.

In my brain, I have found the switch.

And all it took was a broken down car
and for someone else to deny me of love when I really needed.