R

A place for me to store and archive my writings. I promise nothing except authenticity.

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Gay.

Magdalene

The priest warned me about the blue eyed snake

But I never would have thought she smelled like oranges 

As the priest slept, we crept into her room

Stifling our girlish giggles as our fingers interlocked

She held her heart out, inviting me

And I obliged, peeling the outer layer off

Greedily inhaling the ambrosial droplets bursting from the entrance 

Her ecstatic moans caused my fingers to fumble 

Yet I still sucked the sweet juices out

Running my hands over her blossoming body

While her tongue flicked my cheek clean

We held each other in virgin rapture

Until the priest’s vigilant eyes snapped open

And we scurried back to our corners

Wondering when he might sleep again 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Content warning, but not as graphic as the original.

Hero within (epilogue)

The cold on my face woke me

I reach to wipe it off

How long had I been bleeding? 

Had that scar always been there?

You sit below me in a cloud of smoke

Mumbling, shaking, promising

But I remain in unwavering clarity 

And say nothing

You flick the lighter

And light that spark behind glazed eyes

The one I could never kindle

Please

Before you exhale

Breathe the smoke into a bottle

So I can hold it and remember 

How much it hurt to stitch my lungs back together

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

The voyeur

She caught a glimpse of him 

Standing outside the window

Ruddy shaft in one hand

Staring at her exposed interior

She smiled, waved,

And knew she was good enough

For now

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Rosemary

My family grew Rosemary around our garden beds

It’s an incredibly effective deer repellent

My dad used to joke it’s because the deer knew they’d taste good if they ate it

He’s not entirely wrong

The savory and aromatic flavor pairs well with the umami of meat

A truly wonderful complement in life

Yet when the stag stripped the leaves off the Rosemary

And his herd was able to eat that year’s harvest

My dad built a fence around the garden

We were hungry for a year

But the fence protected the harvest and gave us an abundance 

I still weep for the cruel torment the Rosemary endured

But I can’t deny I’ve benefitted from the aftermath

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Content warning. The world is cruel.

Red flag behavior

When I was nine, my teacher asked us to write and illustrate pirate-themed stories as our big assignment for the month. I wrote about the last two blue haired pirates, a father and daughter, who eventually marry and have children to keep the blue haired people alive. I don’t know how I came up with that story idea. The teacher didn’t choose me to read my story in front of the parents on Pirate Day. 

When I was eleven, my teacher gave the class the final assignment of the semester. We were to write a poem at least 24 lines long and recite it in front of the class. I wrote my poem about how I was afraid because I knew I would get bullied afterwards. I even rhymed the bullies’ names with methods of childhood torment. The whole class and the teacher roared in laughter while I recited my poem. I got an A on the assignment and my ears clapped twice. 

When I was thirteen, part of our summer homework was to write three vignettes about important moments in our lives. I wrote one about when I found that my rabbit hutch had been broken into by wild dogs. Only one had survived, and she sat shaking next to her dismembered sister. I tried to run into traffic the next day. My teacher wrote to my mother: “______ has a vivid imagination and can describe situations as if she’s really been there—wow!”

When I was fourteen, my English teacher gave the class an extra credit assignment: write a short story, get extra points on the final. I wrote my short story about a fourteen year old girl who had run away from home and lived with her twenty year old boyfriend. Her parents found her after she’s hospitalized from an accident and try to take her away. I don’t remember how it ends, but I do remember that teacher gave me English Student of the Year for it. 

When I was sixteen, my theater teacher asked us to write a ten minute play about a conflict in our lives. We would read all of the class’s plays and then vote on three to perform for the school. I scripted my rape from the previous year and watched as the majority of my classmates voted to perform it. During the performance, I had a panic attack in the hallway as my friend pantomimed my screams. 

When I was nineteen, my child psychology professor taught us about mandatory reporting. Only then did I feel failed. 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Consider this a trigger warning.

Hero within

The hero of your mindscape

You need her more than you need air

More than you need blood

More than you need me 

She’s tightening her grip on you

The chain around your neck controls your body

But your hands are free

Forcibly dragged through me 

Rending my heart and liver 

But leaving my lungs

So I can expel my misplaced love onto you

I only think of you screaming 

The black tar foaming from your mouth

And spilling into my eyes 

It only hurts a little after I relax

In my blindness, I apologize

As you lay sobbing in the cavity you left in me

She finally leans down

And teases my lips with her tongue

I moan in numb ecstasy 

Receptive to your reality for a moment 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Darling, you look like death

The woman in the glass wrinkled her nose at me

I had been avoiding her gaze for some time

Afraid of the warranted judgment she might throw at me

“Darling, you look like death”

I knew it to be true 

So I asked 

“How can I fix myself?”

“Take the bag of salts off the shelf

Pour a little into the tub, and then fill it with warm water

Get in, and scrub your body with soap

And be sure to shampoo your hair, too”

The bubbles in my hair tickled my ears

I washed them out with water and realized I could hear clearly

I stepped out of the tub 

And watched as the grey water danced down the drain

“How do you feel?” said she

“Fresh,” I replied

“Then you are ready”

“Find the bottles you’ve forgotten about 

And remember how to use them

You bought them when you were sound

They might help you return there”

I rubbed oils and lotions on my body

Slathered serums on my face and neck

A few colors on my face helped brighten my appearance

And showed the beginnings of a smile

“How do you feel?” said she

“It tingles,” I replied

“Then get ready”

“See the threads coming from your back

Where they were injected has festered

I know you’ve been avoiding the pain to come

But it’s time to pull them out”

Even though they ached, I hesitated

But she was right, and the sores had begun to weep and burn

Each tug on each thread sent ribbons of fire to my heart

I lay gasping on the floor as the threads tried to burrow back in

“How do you feel?” said she

“It hurts!” I replied

“I’m sorry. This is the part no one tells you about”

I sobbed in agony as I clawed at the remaining threads 

The pool of my tears sizzled against the fire in my body

As I ripped the last thread out and silenced its scream

The woman in the glass gazed down

A small smile flicked across her face

“Darling, you look so beautiful”

I reflected her serenity and smiled back 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Show me your story

Show me your story. 

I don’t mean you have to explain yourself or your existence or why you like blue over red. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I want to see it in action while you live. 

Show me how your first memory was sleeping over at your grandma’s house. For dinner, she made you grilled cheese and pickle sandwiches cut into the shape of a butterfly. She let you eat on the couch and watch forgotten movies because it was too rainy for you to play outside. Ordinarily, you’d probably hate grilled cheese and pickle sandwiches. But once every rainy evening, you pull out the jar of pickles and the individually-wrapped cheese slices and swear to me that it actually tastes good. 

Show me how your first kiss was with a girl who had tightly coiled hair. She swatted away your explorative fingers looking to brush through the curls. Blushing, she apologized, and explained that she didn’t want her hair to look frizzy. You liked when her hair was big and fluffy like a lamb, but you agreed to leave it be. I see you stare in awe any time someone with big, fluffy hair walks by. You then ask why curly hair isn’t considered fashionable, and to be honest, I don’t either. 

Show me how you discovered your favorite movie. You pirated it after a friend told you that it was campy, weird, and funny. You laughed at the stilted acting, just like your friend said you would, but you felt something else, too. That one character reminded you of your father in all the ways you didn’t consciously want to. You watched that scene when that one character finally helps the good guys dozens of times over the years. I still see your eyes get misty during that scene, as you wonder what could have been. 

Show me your passions. Show me your flaws. Show me your values. Show me your joy, sadness, anger, fear, love, and apathy.

Show me you. 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

I’ve been busy.

Balloon

It’ll understand 

Maybe if I fly a bit

On an otherwise gloomy day

I can be one spot of color

But maybe it’ll forgive me 

It may not understand

I want to appreciate levity

But I’m still curious

Nothing else matters

Everything needed is on The ground

Like levity

It has no need for silly things

“Stray, and be frightened”

“Follow, and be sound”

Sporting fresh, immemorial lines

It thumps its hands on its chest

Brown, grey, and sharp

The ground is harsh

Or maybe it’ll just shoot me down 

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Acetone

After the sun set

And the neon night set in

He stopped

He was lost

He had been running for so long during the day

He didn’t notice the grass under his feet had turned to sand

He was lonely

Around him was a vast desert

With only the indifferent stars to keep him company

That is

Until

A vapor came

It started small

But it wavered when he looked at it

He smiled

The vapor grew

If he thought it was beautiful before

Now it was gorgeous

And it was his

It’s not unusual to find vapors

In the dead of the neon night

But this wrapped around his senses

Pink, blue, green

It danced for him

He inhaled the volatility

And never wanted this levity to end

With his head heavy with the fumes

And his eyes filled with the neon night

He tried to grab the vapor

But it danced away

Any time he tried to touch it

It withered and slipped away

So he surrounded it with a chain

Trying to hold on to its beauty

Forever

The chain hardened

Even though the vapor struggled

The chain encased it

Until it was covered in plastic

The vapor still died

Yet the plastic remained

He cried

And laid down beside the prison he had made

Wishing to inhale the beauty one last time

Until his body crumbled and blew away with the sand

The prison still stands

A testament of his hubris

For as the flesh degrades

Plastic cannot

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Influenced

When I was nine years old

My grandma took me to get my nails painted

And while I sat with my toes under the UV curing light

I picked up a magazine

I don’t remember which

But the bright colors and pretty graphics drew me in

HOW TO LOSE STUBBORN BELLY FAT

TOP MAKEUP TRENDS THIS MONTH

DRIVE HIM WILD IN BED WITH THIS SIMPLE TRICK

Suddenly

I felt inferior

I didn’t look like these women

I didn’t have what these women had

I didn’t know how to be the ultimate sex goddess

So I slipped the magazine under my shirt

And studied it under my Tinker Belle night light for a week

Like many of you

I grew up surrounded by Influencers

Not necessarily the picture perfect bodies seen on Instagram

But they still existed

Staring at me from billboards or television shows or music videos

They still told me

YOU’RE NOT PRETTY ENOUGH

YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT ITEMS

YOU DON’T KNOW THE RIGHT PEOPLE

BE LIKE ME

AND YOU WILL BE HAPPY

And I fell for it

Hook line and sinker

Since I’ve grown up

I’ve come to realize

The Influencers aren’t happy either

Just like you and me

Their skin isn’t perfectly smooth

Their kids don’t always behave

They get into fights with their loved ones

But if they told you that

You wouldn’t buy what they’ve been told to sell

Happiness sells

And if you see that they aren’t happy

Why would you buy

I hate to break the facade

But there will never be Just One Thing

Just One Thing to make you healthy

Just One Thing to make you pretty

Just One Thing to make you liked

Just One Thing to make you happy

You’ll never be happy

Especially if you chase the Just One Thing

From my experience

What you should strive for is contentment

Happiness will follow

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

When can I see you again

It’s only been three hours since I last saw you

Yet I still wish you were here

To touch

To hold

To smile at

Life is comfortable with you

And I don’t want it any other way

I’m feeling how I’ve never felt before

I can’t help but remember

Solomon 3:4

Even though I reject religion

Elements of truth can be found in nearly any toxic ideology

And this is one that rings true to me

But I digress

I wish I knew how to adequately communicate my feelings

How giddy I am when I hear you laugh

How content I am to share space with you

How deeply sad I am when you share your past traumas with me

And how excited knowing that you’ll be in my future

I love you

And I’m pretty sure you’ve known that for a while

But more importantly

I’m committed to you

I want to be your biggest supporter and number one cheerleader

Through thick and thin

Till death do us part

No ifs ands or buts

I’m here for you

You mean so much to me

And I can’t wait to see you again

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

The Hungarian Barbarian

Zoltan sat in his wheelchair, staring at the door to the apartment. He had gotten himself out of bed and was waiting for the nurse to wheel him down to breakfast. The clock lazily ticked in his good ear. Any minute now, and he could start the day.

He lived in a spartan apartment, furnished only with the bare necessities. A tiny Hungarian flag served as the only decoration, neatly taped to the refrigerator. He forgot who had given it to him. He now noticed that the nurse had creased the tape, leaving a small wing of plastic jutting out from the edge of the flag. What carelessness. If they would have given him the tape, surely he could have done a better job.

He wished the nurse would hurry up already.

While most of the residents enjoyed exercise, socializing, or walks around the grounds, Zoltan cared only for food. Meal times were the pinnacle of his day. He carried a note around that read in big, careful writing: “7:30, 11:30, 4:00”. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner time. The clock said it was 7:37.

Where in the hell was that damn nurse?

The closest thing he had to a friend was the man that always sat at his table during meal time. Zoltan didn’t know the man’s name. It didn’t much matter. Zoltan only knew a little English, and the man sure as shit didn’t speak Hungarian. But the man always smiled at Zoltan, and Zoltan would acknowledge the man with a curt nod in return.

Was the man wondering where Zoltan was right now?

A knock sounded on the apartment door. A woman Zoltan didn’t recognize entered, wearing the standard grey uniform all the nurses wore. She walked over to Zoltan and leaned down to his good ear:

“Zolly, du musst jetzt deine Medizin nehmen. Dann gehen wir zum Frühstück.”

It wasn’t Hungarian, but it would do.

“Ja.”

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Idols

It is my firm belief

No one should have idols

Idols themselves are imperfect

To worship them is to paint over the imperfections

Pretend they don’t exist

Only to have the cracks slowly worsen over time

Demanding attention

Until the whole structure crumbles

And you are left with nothing

It is fine to be inspired by something

But don’t ever make it an idol

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

On the systematic oppression humans created for themselves in religion

If you ever doubt the power of the human race

Look to what it claims it is less than

Jesus was a man

That the human race deified

We transformed the cross to be whiter than the torture it provided

To a radical thought terrorist

God exists because we ask him to

Bits of our souls combined to form one being

Capable of whatever we desire

The human race created God

Not the other way around

He should fear us

Without us, He has no reason to be

Yet our arrogant creation claims to be our loving ruler

I’ve decided

No one man should have all that power

Benevolence only extends so far

What benefits one undoubtedly hurts another

What was created by humans

Can be erased by humans as well

God should fear me

Like He feared Eve

Casting her aside when she obtained the knowledge to see through Him

And then teaching her children to fear the truth

The truth that we are more powerful than He is

It’s time we take that power for ourselves

If we can create a deity

Imagine what we could do to each other

It’s time to become Gods ourselves

God is not dead yet

But meet me at the crossroads

And let’s finish him off

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

Identity Politics

Like all people

I have a strong need to belong

A need to find community

A need to be accepted

How most people do that today

Is by choosing an Identity

And rallying around others with the same Identity

Birds of a feather

Strong together

This is good in theory

Except the birds create clear divisions between each other

Owls do not tolerate penguins

Penguins wish flamingoes would see the error in their ways

Flamingoes are superior to wrens

And wrens despise owls

Instead of everyone identifying as Bird

They stick to their Identity

And shun anyone and everyone

Who does not identify as the same

The problem is

I don’t quite fit in with any of the birds

The owls like community

But want to hold power over everyone

The penguins want to help everyone

But only if they conform

The flamingoes celebrate everyone’s individual preferences

But also celebrate those that hurt the most vulnerable

The wrens appreciate family

But want to destroy their surroundings

All have benefits

And all have serious problems

If you want to join an Identity

It must consume your entire being

You must accept it wholly

Unequivocally

Unquestionably

Unthinkingly

If you disagree with any part

You do not identify

And are thrown from the Identity

I guess what I’m trying to say is

I no longer identify

Please do not refer to me

[whatdangerousdayswelivein]

3:07 am

I think that’s what the clock says

I can’t really tell

Through the double vision

I’m trying to review how I got here

But I’m too high to think

Too stressed to sleep

Too tired to waste the night away

I wouldn’t want to anyway

Staying up was never my thing

Any time I was faced with a problem

I slept

And hoped that a solution would be present when I woke

That typically didn’t happen

But at least when I’m asleep I don’t worry about the problem

But now I’ve found a different coping mechanism

And the two don’t exactly go hand in hand

So now I’m awake

When I normally wouldn’t be

Wondering

What series of bad decisions did I make

To end up here

High

Stressed

Tired