Search This Blog

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Tiny Triumphs

It always happens like this.
We break up.
I'm vulnerable for any random reason.
He shows up.
I give in, get sucked in, get done in.

We broke up on New Year's Day.
A year after the last time we got back together, after a year apart.
I've lost count of our breakups.
Lost count of the violations, abuse, unheard nos, lies, manipulation.
My desire for him always overcame me.
His desire for me always helped me forget.
In those moments.

I was detached.
We were fucking.
On my terms.
I sort of knew I was fooling myself.
I knew I'd end up back there, a mess in love with a beautiful, funny monster.
I promised myself I'd get out this time.
As soon as it stopped feeling good.
It was good.
Until it wasn't.
Until it was all about this mad love.
Until I was just fed up.
Until I learned he'd been lying about having an STD.
A whole year. I was exposed for a whole year.
I'm lucky I avoided it.

But I was done.
The lies.
The always wanting more than he would ever give.
And I ended it.
And my heart shattered.
For the thousandth time.
I cried so hard with my best friends all around me.
I cried so hard my head pounded.
I could barely breathe and my body ached.
But it only lasted a few days.
I wished him well and truly meant it.
Only this year did I really start to love him.
Only five years later did I really care about HIM.
And finally, I care more about me.

And I let him go.
And I was OK.
I am OK.
It took about 2 weeks.
Then the calls began.
Then the voicemails.
And the texts.

And life is good.
Work is coming together in a magical and wonderful way.
I was asked to interview for my dream job.
My first art exhibit happened.

And then I had a bad day.
The kind fat women have when we crash into reality again.
When we're reminded that we're the bottom of the social ladder.
When we call out fat hate and get attacked.
When we just want to connect like normal humans, but a life of rejection floods back.
When we feel all of the lies that are told about us.
That we're unlovable.
That fighting fat stigma doesn't matter.
That people who don't like fatties are entitled to their preferences.
When we're reminded that we're alone.
That even the radical lefties don't care and want us to shut up.

That day was yesterday.
And oh, how I missed him yesterday.
How I cried yesterday.
How I prayed yesterday.
How I feared that no one will ever touch me like him again.
That no one will ever desire me the way he does.
That my body will never again be alive with electricity from just looking at another.
That no man as sexy as him will ever love a fat woman like me again.
That he was my one, the one, and everything ahead will pale in comparison.
I still fear these things.

And I slept.
And my friends held me close.
And though it's not the same, that love filled me with joy.
And then the job told me I'd been chosen for a second interview!
Like magic.
Badly needed magic.

And then, as I sensed he would, he showed up.
He came to my window.
I ignored him, and the knock at the door.
But it was open, and in he came.
And I couldn't help but smile.
Because I am still so in love with him.

And this doesn't end how you think.
We hugged.
I'm in the middle of job testing.
I let him buy me a coffee.
We went to my favourite spot.
We talked.
I asked myself what I was doing.
I remembered him in my arms, our lips and bodies and souls entwined.
For a second I wanted to go back there.

We drove around.
Talked more.
He said sorry.
He never really said sorry.
I told him how difficult seeing him is.
I told him that life is good, and my future bright.
He brought me home.

I wish I could stay with you tonight, but I know you're busy.
Even if I wasn't, I still can't.
I know baby.
And then "Little Black Submarines" came on the radio.
That lump filled my throat.
And he knew.
He always knows.
Please don't cry.
Then please don't come back.

I resisted my instinct.
The one that tells everyone to call me if they need me.
To hug him.
To kiss him.
To look into those beautiful, liquid, brown eyes and try once more.

I thanked him for the coffee.
I wished him luck.
And I got out.
And he drove off.
And I cried deeply standing on the ice patch between two houses.
I told myself that I have work to do, and I can cry myself to sleep if I want.

And I came inside.
And I wiped my eyes.
And I locked that damn door.

Photo from

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Few Seconds

I love those few seconds
Pillow wet
Dreams fresh
Of kissing his lips
The promise of love
One single date
New and shiny
A sleepy smile

I love those few seconds
Before I remember
Tearing the seedling out
With assumptions
Old crusty wounds
Life of traumas
Not even a full day's sun

I love those few seconds
Sun shines in
Birds sing out
Until it all floods back
Eyes swollen
Head sore
Crying the night before
He doesn't have those feelings anymore

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Consent to Harm, Part 2

Below is a link to an interview I gave to the CBC about consent and sex work. I'm not super thrilled about the title (I don't consider sex work harmful), and I'm not thrilled about how my self-esteem issues were sort of framed as connected to sex work - because sex work, and being able to independently lift myself out of poverty (and other aspects), dramatically increased my self-esteem. But given the raw data she had to work with, and level of honesty with which I spoke to the interviewer, I'm not surprised. I also don't think it was intentional. Those two criticisms aside, I'm VERY happy with the show in general. The anti-sex work academic at the end did get called a few names, though.

I am very grateful that the CBC is talking about these issues without framing sex work as inherently exploitative, and I love that they centred the voices of a cash-poor sex worker (me), a BDSM and sex educator (Andrea Zanin), and of a sex work positive professor (Brenda Cossman).

I'm mostly just pleased with how non-rambly I sound. She took some pretty disjointed talking and made it coherent! Have a listen over here at my website, Enjoy.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Seduction Instruction

In a most particular order
Not one step shorter
Start it off with a stellar vernacular
Show me you're spectacular
Let your feminism shine
Ask me about mine
Honestly state your intentions
Disclose any infections
Accidentally graze my finger
Allow your gaze to linger
On my eyes, not my chest
Ask me what I like best
Assure me you're a cunnilinguist
Offer to demonstrate on my pinkest
When you can't stand the electricity
Request permission to kiss me
Start with my lips, move to my lobe
Stiffen as I unbutton my robe
Flick my nipples with your tongue
From your shorts you will have sprung
Ask me to lie down, remove my pants
Swipe my folds lightly with your hands
When I'm engorged, lick my clit
Maintain a swirling motion, just for a bit
Until my entire body is shaking
And your balls are aching
Bring your dick up to my lips
Unwrap a condom as I lick the tip
Roll it on and get in position
On top of or behind me, and push slowly in
Until my I push back and moan fervently
Then fuck me faster, harder, urgently
Until you holler and expand inside
Awaiting more, our time we'll bide

Thursday, January 30, 2014