Fear has legs.

I am not good at writing unless I am filled to bursting. As if my words cannot get out of me fast enough. Like I am trying to catch all of the water from a faucet in my bare hands.

I like the feeling of spiraling out of control feels, the precursor to ripping a few choice words out of my chest. I’ll line them up later like neat little spices on a rack, but while I’m wrangling them, they’re just lose gunpowder.

In these moments I am unafraid of all the feelings. Of how they’ll be interpreted by the people who read them.

I want you, the reader, to form opinions about me. Wonder what I had for breakfast. Maybe come back and read your favorite part.

But, fear is a tricky lil’ guy. It’s spidery legs can click along just fine. And if one rips off, it’s still there and somehow that is scarier than the spider all together.


I have been learning to sit with my dicomfort. My sad feelings. I like to run races with them. See how well fear can keep its legs from tangling while I race it to the bar or to projects or to a hookup.

Instead, I am sitting in the stillness.

Today, after work, I wanted to practice skateboarding. Something to numb my mind. But instead I watched a movie. Sitting still takes a lot out of me. I paused the movie halfway through because my mind was just so,


I am running away from my feelings about my breakup. There is the general heartache, yes. There is the silver lining of being happy to have experienced it in the first place, yes. But there’s more there.

The last time I was in love and didn’t end up with the person in the end, I thought the world was ending. That was about 6 years ago. There were so many places I would look for him in. Until it faded and faded and I thought that comet would only come once.

And then it came again and it was wonderful and the caution I usually held onto slipped from my grasp.

And it was delicious. And it was one of the best things I ever felt and I am so sad it’s over. And maybe it’s ok to admit that here.

I have realized that I am afraid of waiting another six years to feel like the world is tipping over. I am afraid at the bleakness of the future where I am busying myself and trying to keep up with friends and pursuing my passion my art, myself,

That she will not be there.

I am falling in love with myself again but it feels like parts of me are missing. And I wonder what other parts of me are people holding?

A foot here? An earlobe there?

They say that you have yet to meet all the people who will love you and that makes me feel a little lonely. I don’t know if I love easily. Or if my definition of love has to feel as wild and as free as this did.

There is so much work and I am so tired.

Retrogrades are supposedly for putting it all out there.

I am ok and I will be more than ok but it will take time. And it’s the time that scares me. That I will be 38 and maybe in love again.

So, I’ll be patient.




Queer and writing.

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