My 12-Step Guide to Being a Badass
1. I admitted I was powerless over all the excruciating bullshit in the world—that the life I was expected to live according to straight society was unmanageable, and not a life I wanted to live anyway.
In the Springtime of My Dystopia
There were signs. There were warnings.
We were too in love to pay much attention.
It was merely some background noise,
some clatter, inconvenient clutter.
What were those politicians droning on about?
Overly made-up talk show hosts harping on about
nonsense, trivialities, invented crises.
Grown men wearing the flag like a toga
or burning it in acts of performance art largesse.
Betty Boop Shaves Her Legs and Hooha for Her Big Date
"Oh, I have to hurry up and get ready for my date with Mr. Wonderful. I just wish he had given me more notice. That would have been more considerate than this boop-oop-a-doop booty call. I have to take a shower and shave my legs and everything down there and clip my nails and fix my hair and put on my stockings and fix my makeup and change the sheets and clean the bathroom and the kitchen and tidy up and put the condoms on the nightstand. Where's the lube?"
I Love My Job; I Hate My Job
fantasy world pink and purple paisley hearts and stars and flowers
dolls and children and excitement and joy and love in abundance too much in abundance where can it all go this is what people are like before they are destroyed by life and education and bad parenting and institutional authority and medical atrocities and war
Another School Shooting Homicide/Suicide
Such sadness.
Such outrage.
People pray.
(Don't you know
there is no god
and even if there was
he wouldn't save you?)
Don't Give Me a Hard Time About Condoms and Other Pickup One-Night Stand Caveats
There are certain things you shouldn't do without asking first or negotiating beforehand. And you shouldn't get all pissy if you're denied. These include, but are not limited to, the following:
- pissing on my face
- ass to vagina or ass to mouth
- verbal abuse (Though the usual dirty talk is okay and even preferred)
- anything that breaks or significantly marks the skin (Although, I get a kick out of having to cover hickeys with concealer before I go to work the next day. Makes me feel like a teenager.)
If You Have No Home for Hate, You Have No Home for Love Either
Try to expel hate, and it will wander, scavenging for scraps, surviving by any means necessary, wounds festering, world-weariness feeding a determination that has become destiny, identity, a crutch to lean upon while staggering on, surrounded by chaos.
Reasons I Went Home with Them: an Alphabet of One-Night Stands
A seemed tormented and sad and was into history and Existentialism and porn and played basketball and piano.
B was planning on going to nursing school, and he saved me from the guy at the bar I didn't want to talk to.
C could talk about Foucault, philosophy, and sociology at length. I guess you could say he had me at "Foucault." And he played in a band.
This Hatred We Call Tolerance
Two kinds of tolerance:
1) the ability
or willingness
to tolerate something, such as
the existence of opinions or behavior
that one does not necessarily agree with;
2) the capacity to endure
continued subjection
to something
without adverse reaction.
Messed Up on a Friday
Messed up. Took my night meds in the morning because I was tired and in a hurry and didn't know what the fuck I was doing and was trying to blend a protein shake into yesterday's cold coffee, but it wouldn't dissolve so I tried the electric hand mixer and then the Cuisinart. And then it worked but it took too long and then I was worried the night meds would make me sleepy or act high during the day and I had to stand up all day and be nice to people and act like I cared when I just wanted to be in bed masturbating and sleeping.
Trump’s Wife Packing Luggage
I dreamt I was Donald Trump’s wife. We were traveling.
He basically kept me in the dark about our itinerary.
I didn’t know where we were going or when we were going.
I had an enormous amount of luggage.
Many little pieces that needed to be fitted into larger pieces.
And of course every place we went, I had to unpack the little pieces,
lots of jewelry and cosmetics, little jars and bottles and boxes.
Epic Political Suicide Poem
Suicide plans on post-it notes
scattered on surfaces,
pieces of furniture, countertops
throughout the apartment.
Stashes of pills stockpiled,
knives sharpened, razor blades
bought in bulk, handles of
bargain brand vodka.
A cozy robe.
Should you force yourself
to wash the sheets? Change
your underwear? Does it matter?
Should you care? Could anyone
care less than you? Suicide
as backup plan when
you can’t think of anything
better to do.
Facebook is Making Me Depressed
Facebook is making me so depressed
I don't know if I can write this poem.
Born Angry
Some family stories get repeated over and over, become the stuff of legends. One such story is about when my mother was pregnant with me, and, from inside the womb, I was kicking so hard that I kicked the newspaper she was reading off her lap. Writing this now, I wonder if it was possible that the news was making me mad even then.
Angry is My Happy
I like being angry.
I like being pissed off.
The oppressor is not going
to trick me into being complaisant.
Postmenopausal Pretty Hate Machine
I don't care if you hate me.
I'm not one of those women
who needs constant approval,
to be a people pleaser
How do you want to be defined? By one action? By some opinion that could evolve? By a mistake, regrettable only with hindsight? Or by the sum of your parts? Okay, do that for other people. Start the trend.