Feeling Is First

 My Partner has been in bed all day. He has eaten a banana and a bowl of peas. I hate Chronic Lyme Disease so much.  We were going to visit his parents tomorrow. Outside with masks on. For the first time in a long time. I had to cancel. I'm just crying and crying.  I'm thinking about how my family formally rebuked me for loving him. I'm thinking about all the people that claimed to love him and then just left when he was sick. He hasn't been endlessly good to me, but I can't think of anything he's done that's heinous enough to warrant these walls. This separation. This excommunication. What principles are worth a suffering man's isolation?  I'm thinking about one of my friends who had covid months ago and still has issues from it. I'm thinking about all the other people - all the children - who have post-covid syndrome. I'm thinking about how the people who aren't taking covid seriously do not have a strong enough fear of chronic illness.

 I've been participating in the weekly short story competitions on Reedsy, and it's been a lot of fun. This past week, I was a sicky, so I didn't finish the story in time. I figured I'd post the story here instead. Enjoy <3 ~ My earliest memory didn't actually happen to me. It was given to me by my Maker. She programmed it to play in my mind when I booted up for the first time. I play it periodically when I want to see her again.  It is a welcome and a warning. It is a declaration of love and an explanation for why I am alone in this world. I was never supposed to exist, of course. I'm illegal. My Maker created me, hid me, switched me on, and then fled while I was booting up. I never actually met her. "Don't look for me," she says in my memory. "It's too dangerous. Just live. Live beautifully. I love you with all of my heart."  So when people ask me about my earliest memory I tell them it is of my mother's face, pained but hope

 What follows is a poem about a negative experience I had being a third for an established couple. I've had other very positive experiences in triad relationships. This one just happened to be bad.  ~ I take honey in my coffee.  No matter how careful I think I'm being,  I always get some on my fingertips.  Oh well. I love to lick it off.  She is both the honey and the coffee.  The bitter makes the sweetness sweeter.  My caution is irrelevant. Each day she will be who she is, and I will enjoy her.  ~  I was crying about something else. Not him.  "I'm really a delicate creature," I said. "I can tell…" he said, "I want that…" So I wrote a poem to his gentleness.  I wonder, now, if even then there was  manipulation in the sentiment. Did he think me easy prey? Did he hear delicate as moldable?  Could those tender hands intend the harm inflicted?  Or was the abuse almost accidental? Is toxic masculinity a sword he's unaware of wielding?  Does coe

 I grew up on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I regularly rewatch it. I'm part of a Buffy fan group on Facebook. I went as a Slayer for Halloween multiple times. I've fan-girled about cast members at cons. I've even asked my family to play music from Buffy at my funeral.  News of Joss Whedon's abusive behavior is not surprising, but it's still heartbreaking. Many fans have been expressing a sentiment similar to this: Joss Whedon's shows helped me become the kind of person who would not tolerate Joss Whedon's abusive behavior.  I'm not going to say anything more profound than anyone else has been saying. Buffy was monumental for femme empowerment and queer representation. It wasn't a perfect show, but it holds a significant place in pop-culture history. Many people much smarter than me are writing about this.  But I need to be clear about where I stand on this. He's one of my favorite creators, and he's chosen cruelty over and over again. I have to

 Every single person who has bought one of my chapbooks has been someone I personally know. A friend. And honestly, I hope it stays that way.  I value accessibility, definitely. I want my poetry to be available for anyone and everyone who needs it to find it. But that's not the same thing as fame.  I don't want fame. I don't want a huge follower count that's half robots & scammers. I don't want an inbox full of brand ambassador requests.  I just wanna keep sharing my poetry with my friends.  And I wanna make new friends! I wanna engage with other artists and writers and musicians and Richmonders and parents and queers and survivors and activists. I wanna know what they value. I wanna support them and uplift them.  I wanna give back. I wanna pay forward.  So I spent a lot of time today going through my follower lists and reaching out to people or removing scammers. I'm planning to continue this process for a while. I want to be really intentional about my int

I have started to collect my poems into chapbooks and sell them for $10 each. It is a strange thing to sell one's art. It is uncomfortable to ask friends, family members, and followers to buy your art. When so much content is free, it's easy to be picky about what we pay for. Certainly I, myself, am picky about which art I pay for.  I appreciate artists who are transparent about their finances and their intentions, so I want to offer up my own honesties on those topics. Here it goes:  Our Current Financial Situation We are a polyamorous family of 8 living on one income. My husband is a computer programmer with a good salary. My partner is a college student working on a computer science degree. My main gig at the moment is being Teacher Mommy to our five kids.  I worked outside the home before the pandemic. Most of my income at that time paid for childcare. Maybe I will work outside the home again in the future. Maybe I will continue to focus on parenting and art. We’ll see.  W