Monday, January 18, 2010


i am not a catholic. the pain in my ovaries increased. i tickle little bellies for pie. am i, in relation to the norm, a desirer. fall from the hands of hero's. how do you make love? this participation is voluntary. celebrate a defecating mutilated love. this is the last joyful mystery. my prose is too safe fucking love more than feeling pain. not a collage, a binding together. this open ended task that is a language we love in. the inability to love is something special. i refuse to be the woman i am supposed to be.

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