So we had the day off of classes yesterday. And my friends and I decided it would be a good idea to get crazy drunk the night before. One girl--Diamond, we'll call her--procured some delicious rum from the Bahamas (from a previous hookup in her dorm), and four queer, single girls proceeded to down an inordinate amount of generously measured shots.
I wrote this for my poetry class (it's supposed to be a prose outpouring on a body part). What do you all think?
I long for intensity
the way I ache
One in my heart, squeezed in a juicer and
left to sit,
One in my gut, gobs of clay longing wrapped
to my ribs and
opening my lips
chapped with kissing.
And my refusal to love ordinary isn't snobbery,
it's simmering stronger than tea, than tomato soup,
heavier than the buzz of alcohol.
Well, that girl and I broke up. We still get along. It's weird not touching or kissing, but we'll get used to it. Yesterday she hung out with her ex and I couldn't take it and she said that maybe it wouldn't work and I agreed. But she wants to keep it open, and I tried to break it more cleanly.
I believe we shall still be best friends.
So I'm dating this girl. As of two evenings ago. I enjoyed hanging out with her when I met her at college; she's this cool playwright who is very energetic and dynamic and talks all the time, but in a good way because she has so much to say.
So here I am, at the lesbian capital of the world, in the lesbianest college. Finished my first week of classes. Love the environment. Wear overalls all the time. Meet a lot of girls, have a few gay friends, a lot of straight ones live in my dorm. As far as I can tell anyway. Long story short, I'm actually fitting in comfortably.
I'm going! To college! In five days!
Smith, of course, which is excellently queer. We shall see how the all-girls' thing pans out.
The legislature in MA today voted to keep same-sex marriage, not to vote on it. No stress, not even a debate. The future of gay marriage in MA is pretty certain now. Love love love MA!!! And Deval, too, of course. If Mitt was still around, he'd lobby to vote on this when everyone was planning on banning gay marriage.
Fiction absolute. That’s what he called it, reading Tom Wolfe in English class that day. Fiction absolute. As I was reading I wanted to underline it, but I’d forgotten my pencil. Everyone has their own worldview that places their group—or groups—in the best light.
I have not cut my hair since I was ten. Except for one trimming in eighth grade. That's seven years of unrestricted hair growth, seven years of long wavy brown splitting at the ends from so much combing.
The girl that I love
Wears a rose on her ivory neck
That hides from all eyes except mine
I would kiss it
The day she flips my pendant round,
Touching my collarbone.
"I'm kind of OCD about pendants," she said. "Sorry."
"It's OK," I smiled. I came out to her ten minutes later,
spouting out like a teapot, not the way I want to
but the way I usually
Never, apparently. Or rather, I already learned, yesterday, but it's a bit too late to take Walnut Hill up on their offer.
Two days ago, I was a disturbingly happy, content person who was developing her confidence and self-identity. Now I am exhausted, feel like crying five times a day, and have no desire to do any of the work or activities set out in front of me.
This summer, I talked to practically everyone at work (60 racially/economically diverse kids) at least once. At my homogenous high school, who do I talk to? Five or ten friends. Maybe. And I can't feel sure of any of their attentions for long stretches of time. I'm worried about making small talk with my classes. I thought that this year I could just break down the walls around me, but I can't. That, coupled with exhaustion and altogether too much for two of me to do, is making me miserable.
OK. So I haven't had the time to get new clothes since last summer, and I only have a few T-shirts, no shorts, and an ancient bathing suit. I needed a new suit especially badly because I wanted to go swimming the next day, and so on the Monday before my last exam my dad dragged me into a store.
Sometimes I actually do like shopping, but that day I was still upset from feeling like I had screwed myself over by not deciding to go to a private arts school next year, and I was pretty vulnerable. Bathing suit shopping is a bad idea when you're vulnerable, and a worse idea when you're with your dad and four-year-old brother.
Well, given the proliferation of poetry-posting at the moment, I thought I'd post some angsty gay poetry of my own. Wrote this last fall.
If I cannot have you
I will just love you
My heart warm, yellow-orange goodwill
In a basket, light shining through the holes
Oh, my gut still hasn’t accepted it. I can’t even feel down there, all the action is at my lungs, where it hurts for them to expand when they remember