Lately The me of now 
has been conversing 
with the one from 

younger years 

And has found that (sh)e* 
has a question 

(sh)E* wonders 
If best friend since childhood 
of that time remembers what he did to Us 

If he ever thought about his actions before he acted 
When he shadowed the white walls of our innocence 
And proved that the only light in the room was 

coming from his eyes 

Glowing feral with the self righteous light 
of someone denied Something they deserved
 
And then 
almost 
getting 
caught 
by 
grandmother
 
Saying quiet
Go to sleep

With a voice that didn’t know 
what it stopped from fully(?*) happening
 
So 
I may have lost my virginity 
at age 13 

But I don’t know 
Because the night 
changes things 

Like people

The night hides things 
Is always different 

And 
so 

I wonder If he remembers what happened
When he chose to wake myself of youth 
that night With something never meant 
to touch me in any way 

Especially 
that one 

I should say though 
that Part of me wishes 
we hadn’t been interrupted

And that I hadn’t woken up 
before it was to late 
Because at least then 

I would have known 
what happened 

Instead of wondering 
what could have been

I could have 
named him monster 
in child speak 

Instead of 
best friend 

and the secret of that night 
Never would have been put
in the back corner 
of my closet 

_____________

Fall Semester, Freshman Year, XULA (2010)

i am afraid¹⁴⁰ = x

i am afraid¹⁴⁰ = x

i am afraid¹⁴⁰ = x

i am afraid¹⁴⁰ = x

i am afraid¹⁴⁰ = x

_{i am afraid}¹⁴⁰ = x

Does x = FEAR?

False Evidence: [Appearing] Real?

:

The blood of Jesus Christ king of all kings is compared to red wine is compared to the juice of a fruit Can this wine dissolve the fears that bind the fears that make doing acquiesce the answer is yes if/regardless of total engagement with the particular paradigm. Is this a tincture of childhood? The wine went sour and clotted like blood after oxygenation. This process is clarification and cleansing to gather the clumps that should not be touching the palate. 

Tongues are sensitive muscles. There is an alchemy to all things even with only additions of time and space; allowing the fluids to breathe even if and when it did not feel that I could. The process itself is centrifuge, separating into individual aspects. I cut my own finger tips inimitable times into scar tissues. Left hand unable to feel the reality of itself after so long. Gripping staff(s) yet gnashing bones; some might say throw if being street game oriented or even ponderously sexual. There’s an eroticism to almost dying. There is an eroticism to almost removing aspects of the body by one’s own volition. Desire: freedom. Yet, not having achieved the oposición to which it is also safe. (when) will it ever be safe to say # metoo or perhaps we are still saying other things askance such as merlot and more and inconceivable m words to vibrate similarities. 

I had to drop the terror and the horror into the well and jump in along with them to let that child me know: it’s not your fault. I love you. Sex = Poems (?) Abstraction = Trauma? I ask my self in front of others.

:

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than where i’ve been.

i am so much more than

i am so much more than

i am so much more

i am so much more

i am so much

i am so much

i am so

i am so

i am

i am

i

i

am

am

me

me

(green)

(green)

December 5th, 2021

pushing pulling

pushing pulling

the moon & ocean

the moon & ocean

dance dance dance

:

December 7th, 2021

Family She They Names

Isa Lee Love Jones René