i'm on strike with matches

                     I.

Non-alcoholic elixir of herbs and magic

ISO MOC/hard femme types . ..

for constructive arguments, witty banter,          and silence.

This abuelo has a very low-tolerance for yt bullshit.


My arms are too tired for more emotional labor, but we can tear up over some, This Is Us. I keep wondering what is better than Randall? Then Kevin comes through with something.


Let's look longingly at rivers with forgotten names,

and I can read to you, and you trace your fingers over my
                                                                                              lines, skin, breaks.

     listen
I hear
your
heart.

               II.

Dark and moody type, seeking out the same for calling out sick, and fucking in bed.


                            III.

Incredibly good external organizer with messy desk ISO fellow coffee addict. I can't really converse without it in the morning. And I generally don't trust those who don't drink coffee.
In the summer I will make too many jars of sun tea and you can help keep track of where I've left my thoughts.



     IV.

    Stubborn cancer with floating earth parts ISO a human that has a catalog of life experience and wants to fold me into her pages. Please be mildly into biting.


   V.

Good humored belly-laugher can intuitively tell when you might need a gift, a card, or nothing at all. Let's walk the Oregon coast, get cold and wet, and spend evenings by fire, exploring the roar of  . . . .

  VI.

Rock and disease coin collector ISO a dusty, neglected, lover, who is ready to spend countless hours trying to connect, but we're both too busy to physically meet up.



VII.

Lonesome human, with kindness to share ISO, one person who is willing to commit to the imperfections of life. You: Smile with your whole body; offer me things you can never actually give; quote my favorite authors; cook with the grace of all your ancestors.
Me: I love with loyalty to a fault; I buy too many cards, that I never send; I spend most days sitting in my car, trying to catch a glimpse of Red Tailed Hawks.

portrait

5 things I am grateful for today:

1. Coffee
2. Black clothes
3. The voice of Sarah Vaughn singing "The very thought of you".


4. I don't have an amends to make today.
5. Me

gravel peel faithfulness

When the route reveals you

I sing.
I am sad.
The trauma is there.
The confusion is there.
I won't use a bible verse to convey the mixed feelings of my heart.
I don't care if you ever glance my way.
Because I feel what I feel because they are my feelings. All the muck and grime of living,
and breathing.
I feel the sadness of my friends' dad's death anniversary.
I want to cry. But it's stuck.
I have this ache inside of wanting someone to make me feel whole when the world has sucked me dry. If you only knew how hard I have to work to get through.

This is my confession.

This is my priest.

I tell you I am sick. I am neglected. I am all the things real and felt. I am proud, and hurt. I am all these things all at once. I am allowed to feel.
And I hold compassion in my heart for those who suffer. And I'm also stubborn in what I give out. Because I give out too much.

---Save your receipts for the returns.

And I exist because I have kept going, fighting, loving myself.
And I do miss you. You showed up in my dream last night to be exact. You told me you love me. And I did not say it back. I got in the car with a woman named Daisy, that I've never met in real life. But I've helped keep her sober. And I got in her truck and drove away.
That is exactly how I feel. Confused.
How am I?

I really dislike the sound of my housemate's laugh. It is like chalk on blackboard. I am full, and I am sometimes petty. I have less headaches. I still don't do the things I used to do when I get lonely. But sometimes I move from alone to lonely and back again. And that is how I ebb and flow.
And I described to my therapist the duality of my being. And the tip of my tongue is not being bit off...because it is okay. I am okay. I am okay. I am loved.

and now i cry.