Why do people get turned on by the chase? It is easier to feel tingles for someone who is out of reach. Why are the tingles so fucking important?

When someone is sitting there legs spread, waiting for me in worship, I always hold back. Thinking it’s too easy, it’s too good to be true, too sweet an offer to just blindly accept. Like a free cruise or money from a Nigerian Prince, there must be a catch. This incredible, smart, beautiful human can’t possibly be ga-ga over me, can they? I always feel like the big green monster clumsily making my way through life.

The greatest loves of my life thus far have been unrequited, crushing on the ones who don’t want anything to do with me. Loving those who are out of reach because I am addicted to the hurt. I don’t know my own worth.

Spending years being easy because it is easier to be easy. Love who you can get, fuck the one you are with. Maybe something will grow? I guarantee it won’t be love. Love is more often pretend than achieved, not to be taken lightly or deceived.

I want to worship the one who worships me back. I want to travel the world with someone who is proud to hold my hand. I want to be vegan together. I want to grow. Make art. Make love in beautiful places, touch me under a waterfall, hold me under the stars, kiss me in my car, let me know that I am not alone by simply being with me.

I have spoken of radical requited love before, but only now am I truly believing in it. Or am I? I don’t know what I believe. In any aspect of my life really. I spend my days in a cloud of general confusion. But I do know one thing: “My love, my love, my love she keeps me warm.” I have always loved that Mary Lambert song. I have to look in the mirror and tell me that I deserve it. The warmth of arms protecting me, holding something they cherish.

I know I am incredible. I do shit, I am someone, I fucking sparkle. I always knew that someone would come along and compliment me. Not just a color out of the tube, this person must me a mix of all the good, a new shade, completely original, wrapping their soul around mine in a sweet song, a delicate embrace, perfect understanding, and wavelength compatible.

I never want to be a wife. The fantasy still does not cross my mind. That word means property. I am a partner, in crime and happiness, bliss and misfortune.

I have been single for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to be dependent on another. I don’t need to lean on you.

I have been contemplating polyamory for years, since I picked up the book The Ethical Slut in a radical bookshop in Indiana years ago. I never thought it was viable because I couldn’t imagine finding even one person to love me, let alone many. But I see it. I see the beauty in never ending your options, never shutting yourself off forever. There is no be all end all. Love is fluid and ferocious. It is an organism, alive and pulsing, spewing.

Saying I love you is another thing altogether. I wonder if I have ever actually said it and felt it at the same time. I know that I have said it and I know that I also have felt it, but really there is a grey zone. I remember saying it in those early relationships, boys who wanted to wife me, I loved how they loved me. But I don’t think I loved them, not really, I was not capable of it at that point.

I have met someone. She is so kind, a daughter of the earth and stars, she makes my heart smile, she cares about animals, she cooks, she hikes, she is a musician. I can’t find a single flaw in her. It is a feeling like no other, to hold someone who looks at you with wonder, looks at you like the sun rises and sets in your eyes. My flaws fade away when she sweetly kisses them. My beautiful sunflower queen stands now on serene mountain path that she built.

I want something to go wrong. I make things go wrong when I feel like I am not worthy. It is strange how easy this is. Strange how simple it is to just be together. I always feel like something has to give. Instead I need to just let it be, enjoy the bliss like a woman’s hand on a canvas, spreading and pushing paint, blowing it with her sweet lips, spit.

She sent me flowers, big bright yellow sunflowers bursting out of a now forgotten moldy vase. Now dried and shriveled memories on my dashboard. I want to buy her a drum and plant a field of sunflowers for us to dance in. I want to twirl my dress for her.

Let’s eat vegan donuts and listen to Ani Difranco. Let’s dive into each other. Let’s drive across the country. Let’s paint on the same canvas, strapped between two trees in the forest, on a path that you built for me to wander down.

There is room for me to finally be happy. Room to explore. I harbor others negativity, I hold their pain in my heart until it is as unrecognizable as my own. I choose happiness. I want to spread legs and love, spread kindness and open doors of bliss and positivity, open arms to all humanity. Nobody is immune to loneliness. Everyone deserves this loveliness.

How does one exactly “do” lesbian sex? Fingering, fisting, eating out, scissoring? I was told it’s awesome to grind your clit on a girl’s tits. Dildos: double ended strap-on rabbit shake butt plug, give your clitoris a hug. Which is the top tonight? Switch bitch. I just want to touch and rub, rub, rub.

I have never fucked a woman with a strap on cock. I have always fucked women tenderly, not wanting to hurt them, but I know I like to be fucked differently. I need to fuck how I want to be fucked. Dive into masculine femininity, hot oozing butch, luscious layers of genderfuck brilliance.

Love is like an orgasm. Elusive. Freeing. Scary. Easy to fake, but not really. Not as common as you think. I still don’t think I have had one – an orgasm or true love. Or if I have it hasn’t been as earth shattering and mind blowing as the description on the back of the box indicates. Uncommon like the butterflies of blissful ignorance.

Back to the tingles, it always stems back to them. I can remember the moments that people have made me tingle. It lights up your whole body, makes you feel scared and alive. That means you are nervous, right? So the tingles aren’t good? Do I ever make tingles erupt in her body?

Pins and needles in my lady parts, butterflies engulf my insides, flutter softly, swarm sweetly though my whole entire body, out my fingertips when I touch you. Yearning, CRAVING, full desire, want, need, must be with, dreaming in waking life. You are behind my eyes and I can see the future. I will run through our field of sunflowers, stroking the petals and eating the seeds to make sure it isn’t a dream. Guess, I’m not as scared as I thought.

If you wanna be my lover you gotta “get” with my friends. If you don’t want to be my lover I am going to “get” with your friends and probably every girl you are interested in too just because well, I can.

To most people it would seem that I get what I want. And I do, but it’s not always what I really, really want. I am confident and successful in most areas of my life and I often have multiple suitors barking up my tree. It’s all a facade.

To be honest with you I suck at love. I’ve been heartbroken before and try to keep my heart safe at all costs. This makes me a pussy, incapable of making the first move. I can never seem to seal the deal when I fall for someone. It sucks. I’m lonely and desperately want to be touched and kissed, but not just by anyone. I need something more true and worthwhile.

So I don’t jump in head first. I become friends with them and then can never break out of that zone. The person I want does fall in love with me, but for some reason only at a platonic level. Years go by. I’m still here, alone with all of my talent, pure wonderfulness, and cats.

It’s torture to long for something and be paralyzed by fear when trying to get it. It is however creepily easy for me to pick up all of their friends and potential love interests. I know this sounds absolutely shitty.

I can hit on and have a successful one night stand with any girl or guy that they are into. It’s easy to get with someone that you have no intention of loving later. Am I just spite fucking these poor unfortunate souls? Yes, yes I probably am.

I’ve hooked up with some best friends, bandmates, brothers, and random girls that I knew my love interest of moment was into. You would be surprised at how many people really do not respect the bros before hoes law.

bros before hoes

The “you” I speak of in the next paragraph is the hypothetical love of my life.

The other day I fucked someone who inspires you, someone who thinks you are incredible, he looks up to you even though he’s older than you. He talked about you while we were together, it made me want you even more. His first question was you aren’t dating that guy right? You would be surprised how many people ask me that. It kills me to say no.

Is it fucked up that you pop into my mind when I close my eyes to kiss anyone else? I want to open my eyes and see you looking back at me, I’m always disappointed when it’s not. It’s not their fault either, they are all amazing and worthwhile humans that I am attracted to, but none of them compare. You make my body tingle without even touching it, without even being here, just thinking about you erupts me.

Gross right? I deserve someone who feels the same way about me and nothing less, but love and lust is so infinitely complex and difficult. There are no rules. You can’t tell your damn heart or libido how to feel.

I don’t know if I did it to feel strangely closer to you or because I am legitimately attracted to this guy. I can see why you are friends with him. Without me even saying your name he told me how you guys met and all the details of your friendship.

He played my harmonica in the key of “V” like a master. But I couldn’t cum. I couldn’t cum because it wasn’t you. It was your friend instead. It was who I could get. It was a version of you that wanted me back. Seemed like a good idea when I was drunk.

He held me after and said all the shit I wanted to hear from your lips. He kissed me goodbye in the morning and told me to say hi to you the next time I saw you. Yea that’s not going to happen.

I fixate on things and people. I need to be absolutely swept off my feet by someone else to get over you, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to throw in the towel and admit defeat. I want you to wake up and realize how incredible we could be together. My fantasy is so tangible that I can’t stop feeling how I do.

I’m definitely a stupid girl sometimes. I don’t use my brain, only my flimsy heart and unbridled sex appeal.

It’s a terrible idea to seek out the best friends and loved ones of your crush and fuck them. Shit happens and it leaves you feeling empty and mean for playing with this other innocent person’s emotions.

I don’t do it to hurt the one I love, I don’t ever want them to know. I just long for a connection.

Here’s the double standard. I would be devastated if it were the other way. If I found out that my crush was banging one of my friends I’d be done. I should think about that next time this situation presents itself. You get what you give.

Spite fucking is ultimately not a good idea. When you truly love someone the ultimate goal is to make them happy or wish them happiness elsewhere and move the fuck on if they don’t want you. Maybe you will remain friends, but probably not. If you are a total psycho like me you will operate a little differently. It’s vitally important to learn from your mistakes and take charge of your own destiny. You will find yours someday, and so will I.

A girl with faded blue hair (and about an inch of dirty blonde roots [mental note: that’s a great name for an autobiography “Dirty Blonde Roots: The Diary of a Burlesque Dancer”]), sits naked on her bed, smoking a bong. Three purring cats are asleep at her feet. Hot tears pouring down her calm face as a red vinyl special edition Billie Holiday record plays, “Someday we’ll meet and you’ll dry all my tears, then whisper sweet things in my ear.” Every word is the pain of every woman – no, every human. We all have felt unrequited love. It is defined as one sided and not reciprocated love.


This was the first line in a very powerful poem of that name by the incredible poet Ben Brindise. Here’s a video recording of it:

A good cry is like a good poop, dumping out that negativity and darkness, the unnecessary evil, those extra and unusable bits of life. The tears fell from my ducts, picking up bits of makeup as they traveled down the curves of my face and breasts. Flushing out the eyes and making everything feel so much cleaner. I have never even smoked a cigarette, and I feel like it would hit the spot after this kind of catharsis.

I always try to smile (though my heart is breaking – great song). I was once dumped for being too happy. He said “I feel like I’m dating a cartoon character, it’s unnatural to be as happy as you are!” Say whaaaaat?! That’s a fucking flaw?! My smile is my power, but so are my tears. The balance between those two things is everything.

I’m single but not alone. I’m not going to rant about every sonogram and wedding announcement, because honestly I’m not mad. Yay for mutual love, and people who are in love with love and their lives – it’s beautiful. I’m not jealous, it’s not the life I chose to lead at the moment, but it’s not a bad way to be. Valentine’s Day is approaching so all of the commercials are geared toward lovers – don’t buy in and don’t let it bring you down bro. It’s going to be ok! And if you cry don’t think you are weak, take it in stride and know that everything is how it is supposed to be. Who knows what today will bring?!

Featured image made by Amanda Jedraszczak.