Consumeme
I am convinced that the phrase "single lesbian" is an oxymoron, or at least in the middle of the mid-west, in this quaint little town of Normal, Illinois. I don't think I've met a lesbian womyn who is actually proud of her singledom yet. I'm certainly not saying that I'm one of them...but fuck it at least I don't flinch at the chance to embrace the word "quirkyalone", and at least I'm not settling.
At least I'm not settling.
Lesbian couples are either nesting in their homes full of cats and feminist literature and birkenstocks or just getting over a relationship where they lived with their girlfriend in a house full of cats and feminist literature and birkenstocks. I'm fucking sick of it. Where is the fucking originality, womyn?! Where are the chics who like rock music and swear and sweat and when they go home, instead of curling up into bed with their lesbian lova, dance to jazz on GLT with their cat at 3 AM in the morning? Am I the only one?
Am I the only one?
And then, and then I wait around like all the others, like all the other lesbians who just got their heart broken, wait for the next email or phone call or gesture from my long lost lover from years past or my new crush(es) to fix my broken heart,
to fill the void, to erase the nastiness,
to expose my inner ugliness and
then transcend to beauty and fucking
make
me
cum
Reaching out and never finding
Filling the void that I know is there but
Can't be erased
Because I must un-do
The doing
I must fix
The unfixable
I must learn to masturbate and
Fucking enjoy it myself before
I let you
or you
or you
in
inside
of me.
Until then, philosophizing about my life
Predicting what will happen next
(although i know it's a lost endeavor)
Will have to
Suffice
It will have to be enough to dance with Bailey...
To talk to my sister instead of my best friend
To wait for emails never given
Or write emails never sent
To actually feel that void
of you...
that 10 year fucking big ass
Void
of you.
I need to consume myself.
Before
Before it happens
again.
At least I'm not settling.
Lesbian couples are either nesting in their homes full of cats and feminist literature and birkenstocks or just getting over a relationship where they lived with their girlfriend in a house full of cats and feminist literature and birkenstocks. I'm fucking sick of it. Where is the fucking originality, womyn?! Where are the chics who like rock music and swear and sweat and when they go home, instead of curling up into bed with their lesbian lova, dance to jazz on GLT with their cat at 3 AM in the morning? Am I the only one?
Am I the only one?
And then, and then I wait around like all the others, like all the other lesbians who just got their heart broken, wait for the next email or phone call or gesture from my long lost lover from years past or my new crush(es) to fix my broken heart,
to fill the void, to erase the nastiness,
to expose my inner ugliness and
then transcend to beauty and fucking
make
me
cum
Reaching out and never finding
Filling the void that I know is there but
Can't be erased
Because I must un-do
The doing
I must fix
The unfixable
I must learn to masturbate and
Fucking enjoy it myself before
I let you
or you
or you
in
inside
of me.
Until then, philosophizing about my life
Predicting what will happen next
(although i know it's a lost endeavor)
Will have to
Suffice
It will have to be enough to dance with Bailey...
To talk to my sister instead of my best friend
To wait for emails never given
Or write emails never sent
To actually feel that void
of you...
that 10 year fucking big ass
Void
of you.
I need to consume myself.
Before
Before it happens
again.