Good god

If you’re following this site and you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, well. I’ve been here, and I’ve been living with chronic pain for over a year. This is what this poem is about.

I am angry, good god, I am
seething. At the wasted potential
of it all. You don’t understand, I am finally
liberated, free of a prison I have felt the bars of against
my skin my entire adult life.
My shrink, she keeps telling me : you are further
away from these bars than you have ever
been, why do you keep looking
over your shoulder? Why do you keep running?
And so, though it is not easy, I learn
to slow down, look at the view, smell
the proverbial roses. The pace I set is fast, but
I am queer, we do
walk with a purpose. I did not mean
to make this into a poem. My anger, it burns inside
me, or that might be acid reflux carving another hole at
the core of me, and the worst part is that doesn’t even
matter. I am free but still my body keeps
betraying me, calling up all the ways in which it can’t hold
itself up without conjuring an ocean of pain. Waves
upon waves lapping at my endurance my
self-esteem my empathy my
will to live.
Some days the water recedes enough to dry
out the reminders of my own frailty. Invincible,
I inspect the wreckage and ask myself what the
hell happened here, amnesiac
of my own suffering, the absence of
pain exactly that, an absence.
But when the tsunami inevitably hits, and oh,
how I know it will come,
what pity for a body who did not
sufficiently prepare itself, who knew and still
let itself be flooded? What pity, what
kindness? All I have left is
anger. Needling away at my nerves like the
tendrils of fire that inhabit them, not malignant
enough to have the decency of being all
consuming. Mild enough to be slapped
in the face with its randomness. Present enough
that I wish there was a God so that
I could hate them. Pain and anger and a failing,
barely aging body that I was just
learning to love.

Metrophobia – 2023 version

At the end of October, I reedited my zine Metrophobia, with updated versions of some poems as well as some new ones. The goal is to distribute it at a few holiday-themed art fairs in order to promote the poem book I am going to publish next year! Huzzah!

This version of Metrophobia is in color but smaller in size. It contains 7 poems, 2 of them being new. If you want a digital or paper version, please contact me (email address below), they are completely free.

I’ve been working on this new poem book, called Arms Always Open for a few months. I’m almost ready to publish it, basically as soon as the cover art is done. But I also gotta work on finding an audience for it, which is not a simple task. So if you’re interested, keep an eye out for a big announcement here in the coming months! 🙂


Here’s a self-indulgent poem I wrote the day my dog died. Stoemp had been with us since early 2011. My mom and I brought her back from the countryside, and she laid on a pillow on my lap for the whole trip, curled up close to my belly, looking up at me, scared and farting up a storm. She was so tiny. She was a good, anxious, obstinate dog, and I miss her a lot.

All dogs go to heaven,
as the sad 80’s cartoon said.
This I believe.

I believe that there’s a God,
especially for dogs.
And their heaven is full of prairies and mud pits,
big trees with lots of shades
and smelly, comfy cushions to nap on.

In this heaven, there’s a space
away from other dogs, for you
who is afraid of socializing with your kind.

In this heaven,
nodoby watches you while you poop,
nobody scolds you for barking too loud,
and when you scratch at the earth,
a satisfying chunk of dirt detaches itself
and flies at the exact spot you want it to.

In this heaven, someone who smells like me
keeps their hand on your flank at all times,
next to your ribs, the way you like it.

In this heaven, you might meet our other dogs,
the ones who are buried in our backyard,
though is has been paved over now.
Maybe you’ll reminisce together
about the smell of my room,
the feel of my grandma’s hands,
the cool parks we used to take you too.

Maybe in this heaven, they let departed humans
pet their dogs one last time.
If that’s the case,
I look forward to putting my hand on your flank,
the way you like it,
one last time.

November 28

On the eve of this day we sat down on the floor and sang many songs with the friends we made along the way, the friends we fought to keep and foster and this thing together we’re negotiating like a precious new life. I want you to know desperately that every word, every gesture I utter in this place is love. It is hope that carries me toward this unknown future even though sometimes I walk backwards to avoid letting fear propel me forward. I have no choice in whether I exist, here and now, but since I have to, I am glad I can choose to face this moment with you. Beautiful friends make a happy tomorrow and the day after we will breathe relief into each other’s mouths and keep calling them back and making silly hearts with our fingers. Everything I put into these instants is love, and since worry will not stop until everything disappears, I choose to choose you, over and over again. You are the light, and the home, and the hope. And when you don’t want to be, I will be those things so you can catch your breath. It doesn’t matter at all, but it is love, anyway.

Make – girl

This poem was written during NaNoWriMo, because one of the challenges I’m currently failing at this year is to write one poem a day. As I said, I am not being quite successful with that or the total word count, but I am pretty enthusiastic about my story this year, and I have already written more than I did the past two years. 🙂

I knitted a sweater
Warm, soft. Pink and blue
With yellow flowers on the front
And matching earrings.

I ordered chunky shoes online
And hemmed a skirt some inches shorter.
It took a while, but I embroidered
Hearts into leg warmers.

I swallowed back harsh words,
I drafted heartfelt apologies.
I bit on her lower lip until it bled
And picked at her rainbow-painted nails.

I brushed her hair,
Cut her hair,
Brushed it again,
And bleached it on a whim.

I loved her and loved her and loved her
Until she stopped believing me.

Out of expectations and grief,
Out of despair and angry tears,
I made a girl.

Small as a mouse,
Bigger than the universe.
Arms always open.

I made a girl
Pretty like a blade,
Cutting like a rose.

I made a girl
Then I took it all back.