A little visual I made today that got me all kinds of triggered.


Kisses dripping chemical courage
A curtain drawn, for a two-way audience
Bodies move and cling to each other, they close in
Penetrating first physical, and then soul-like membranes

Such an act has rules of engagement
one, a sense of duty. Two, real love
Sex is esteemed in society’s eyes,
My female form has never been mine

So the irony on this night is loud
Those eyes that view the female shape as a vehicle for potency
Now watch my silhouette as it caresses the shadows
I am theirs but this time because I did the insisting

Shame would make an…


Real text message conversation with another weirdo

Her doorbell rings.

“Ah. Fuck” — less of an exclamation and more of an absentminded acknowledgement — then she tosses a salsa container on the counter that she’d just pulled from the refrigerator and moves to open the door.

The salsa, some tortilla chips, four ibuprofen, and a screwdriver make their way onto a platter that she sits in front of as she nestles into the couch and crosses her legs. She takes a swig of the screwdriver and downs the pills.

Still a bit smudged with last night’s makeup, she’s wearing a pair of denim shorts, and a soft…


At the age of 8, I lived with my family in the first place that felt like a real house. Prior to the Avenue C house — and based solely on the beginning of my ability to remember things — we’d been in a tiny and dilapidated shack almost right in the middle of a high-traffic road followed by an apartment in the suburbs, respectively. When we moved to the house on Avenue C, I stopped sleeping in the same room with my little brother and we got a dog.

My room had a giant picture window that looked out…

Liesl Anne DeJarnatt Lipford

it’s my dance party

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