Wednesday, April 27, 2011

So what was that?

Yesterday's e[lust] post was something new - for me. I'd submitted my "Inspired by MomentumCon" blog post to be included in that e[lust] edition, and in exchange, I post the edition on my blog. There's enough links there to keep me in reading material for quite some time!

I was alerted to the call for MomentumCon blog posts by Emerald (who also has a post included). I may occasionally send appropriate blog posts to e[lust] in the future. I don't really have a "plan" for my blog, not even sure I have a direction I'm going in. I'd like to have more folks reading, but I also don't want to ignore my other writing in order to do blog posts. It's a dilemma.

Anyhow, I need to try and focus on some writing this week. Yesterday I got a rejection (albeit a nice one) and it's something I sent last minute, which I've been tending to do. I need to stop that and get stuff out much sooner. So, that's what I'm gonna do. But still, there's deadlines looming which I don't want to let pass. It's almost more important to me that I actually submit something than get anything accepted. If that makes sense.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

e[lust] #25



Photo courtesy of Sadie

Welcome to e[lust] - Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether youíre looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, youíre going to find it here. And in this edition you can read all about the best sexuality conference of the year (ever?), Momentum, in a one-time-only Editor's Choice anomaly: I couldn't choose just one, so I chose them all! Want to be included in e[lust] #26? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Weekís Top Three Posts ~

Where We Are - It was only supposed to be about the fucking. I don't know how I convinced myself that it could be. I fretted before we began, about how I could ever possibly separate sex from emotion.

The Edible Slut - His hand made an audible crack as it connected with her ass, loud in the dim bedroom. Did he really sink his hand into her hair, turn her head to face him, and shout, ìStop being such a brat!î

Beyond Bisexual - I donít identify as bisexual, because I am interested in so many more people than just two of the variety of sexes or genders out there. Except, that is a word that a lot of people understand.

~ Featured: Momentum Conference Posts (Lillyís Picks) ~

An Extraordinary Gathering (and a Gathering of the Extraordinary)

Finally! A Real Momentum Post

Inspired by MomentumCon

#mcon Rehash

Momentum

Momentumcon, Part One

~ e[lust] Editress ~

To Be or Not To Be....Anonymous, That Is - If youíre out or decide to be outÖ.youíre not just outing yourself. Youíre outing them all. And did they give their consent? Probably not, Iíd guess. And even if they did give their consent could they even have a clue what consequences there will be?

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

A Bump In The Road - A Swinger Party Goes Bad

Bridging the Gap (Between Swinging and BDSM)

con-sent

Eating Pussy

Jane Says: What Does Sex Feel Like For A Man?

Let's talk about food

Safe Word

S&M And Abuse

The Rules, Revisited

The Wet Patch

Who Cares About Your Open Relationship

Where There's Smoke...

Kink & Fetish

BDSM Advice: Nipple Clamps

bloodfucking

Communicating by touch

Consent [Violated]

Debasement

getting ready...

He mixed pleasure and pain, and my body responded to it all

Invitation

Stolen

Safety Scissors

Topping From the Bottom: An Ode

Wantonly Restrained

You Can Make It Feel So Real

Erotic Writing

3. Wrath

Cunt Licking

Definition of Inspiration

Linger

Miss Me?

My Sex Life: The Journey Continues, Part 2

Silk Memories

Sexy Dance-Ing

teacher sweaters and the cock that haunts me

The Casino

The miseducation of Ms. Mullins

Wow. Confession #558

When I come

WWWednesday

You Want This

Monday, April 25, 2011

Fighting back by writing like a motherfucker.

You can get one of these mugs here.

If you've known me lately, or read any of the posts here lately, you know I've been having a minor (or  major depending on point of view) meltdown. Yeah, I've been a mess. And that's disappointed and distressed (and/or pissed off) those friends and loved ones who have any dealings with me.

Today, while ranting hysterically at my husband (who was incredibly patient with me through it all), I said "I sound like my mother." Then, "I don't want to become my mother." And it dawned on me, through the haze of overwrought emotion, that I had so internalized her own view of herself, that I was continuing with her self-imposed limitations and self-destructive tendencies. Yeah. That same old rut. She died unhappy and unfulfilled. 

I don't want to do that. So, I'm gonna write like a motherfucker. That links to the signature Dear Sugar post at The Rumpus that gave rise to this saying. I've read that piece many times. Wish it would sink in. I have that mug. I drink mochas out of it (I also drink out of my fucking bunny mug, which I should take a picture of too). I have a lot of words in me. A lot of stories and poems and opinions and thoughts. All of which I've been deathly afraid of. 

It's hard - next to impossible really - to grow self-confidence overnight. Realizing I don't want to turn out like my mother (long gone now) has planted the seed. I'm going to have to use anger to fertilize it and tears to water it. Practicing healthy selfishness (something I'm totally unfamiliar with) will have to be the sunlight. 

I have to trust. We'll see what grows.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Stuck

Bound by Randy Lagana

I have been unable to write anything for days. I sit at the keyboard and stare. These words are an attempt to break free of whatever is keeping me from giving voice to my thoughts and feelings and opinions and fantasies and desires ... and fears. Right now the fear seems to have the upper hand. I'm filled with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I mean actual, physical anxiety. And I'm hating this.

Ever since I got back from Momentum, I've been wanting to write so many things, but I haven't been able to. And just now, looking for that link, I discovered that my blog post about Mcon is featured on their blog round up here - and wow, they say "beautifully raw account"- and I'm sitting here kinda stunned. I've been struggling. There's a direction I want to take my writing, but all the negative messages I've received over the course of my life have frightened me into paralysis. And nothing anybody can say to me can get me moving again. Only I can do that. 

And I know how. But I'm so goddamn fucking scared. It's gonna require me to be strong and sure of myself - two things I don't feel I am. It's going to require me to speak honestly - not that I haven't been, but I am quite guilty of the sin of omission. There are truths that I hold back, because "nobody wants to hear them." 

Last night, at least I think it was last  night, I clicked on a link that Violet Blue had twittered, and watched the video of the trans girl being beaten in a McDonald's in Baltimore. It's pretty upsetting to watch (I'm not linking - find it yourself). And watching it, the question is posed in one's mind (hopefully), "what would I do?" - and I knew, in my gut, without a doubt, that I would have gotten involved. In fact, I worry I would have gone a little berserker. And see? This is the kind of writing that scares me. It's almost too honest. 

I've spent most of my lifetime hiding my "true" self (whatever the hell that is), and I worry I've hid it so long that I'm not sure even I could recognize the real me. When I got back from Momentum, I was all "fired-up" and thought I knew what I was going to do. But due to circumstances, I stifled myself (and I just remembered Archie Bunker telling Edith to "stifle"). I sorta understand why I did. And I don't like it. 

Today I clicked on a link that Susie Bright posted on Facebook, about Jane Mecom, Ben Franklin's sister. In those days, a girl was lucky if she was taught to read. Jane never really learned to write. She had 12 children, 11 of whom she buried. This was another piece that hit me somewhere deep in my gut.

So, yeah, I'm stuck. When I finish writing this, I'm going to check a few things, shut down my computer and get into bed and read. And hope that tomorrow when I get up, I can at least start looking for the key to getting unstuck.

Bound Freedom by Randy Lagana




Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Poetry Catch Up: Day 14 through Day 16 poems

This isn't too hard to do if you do it everyday. But once you start getting behind? It all falls apart. So now to catch up.  I'm going to do this in order from oldest to newest, in the same manner as I've done them.

Shadows: Day 14 Poem  (this day was Poem in your pocket day - I carried this one in my heart only)



Still Wall

Awake before dawn, still sleepy, gaze
held by patterns on the wall. Streetlamp's
glow paints itself into a corner, its amber
traps this moment, quiet but for early birds
and waking city sounds. This light is still,
unlike that of sun or moon with their cycles,
their travels. Dark angles are shadows of night
windows, their panes warmer against the wall
than against the grey, real world of morn.
While I stare at the lines that crisscross the wall,
poem words come to me, and in hope of remembering,
pull my camera from my bag, take a picture.

she wants to fold into him
like the warm, gold light folds
into the wall, so close as to be one

Weeks later, I still cannot write that poem.
Others are written while this image burns
itself into my mind's retina. I want to write
the truth of it, but what is real? The light?
The shadow? The wall? None of it?
____________

Motion: Day 15 Poem  (this day's prompt was to use the words kinetic, tendril, embolden, blossom).



Movement  





We are all kinetic energy: trapped, tapped,
tormented, vibrating particles of want.

This tendril climbs, hangs, tangles, sways,
wraps around our bodies, holds us tight.

I embolden me, saying move forward, look,
experience the world for it is fleeting.

There is only looking-forward-to, since it seems
I will not blossom until it's almost time to fade.
__________________

Pwoermd: Day 16 Poem  (you have to read the prompt here to understand)

holshite


Well, that's all for today. I'm working on the Day 17 poem, but am having to quit to get ready for other activities. I think one of the contributing factors to my current "block" when it comes to writing things I need to write (blog posts, fiction submissions, reviews, etc.) is that I got behind on these poem prompts. So, if I can just get caught up, I'll be doing okay. Yeah, right!





Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Always something missing: Day 12 Poem

I missed Days 10 & 11, but plan on getting caught up this afternoon. I decided to start with today's prompt at Not Without Poetry from Gina Williams, which needed the last line of a favorite song, the main spice or ingredient in a favorite dish, and a geologic form. So, of course I had to do this one first (rather than the previous prompts). Any excuse to use geology in my poems! Thanks Gina!

I can't say I have A favorite song, but one of my longest-lived favorites is the Beatles tune In My Life. Go watch/listen. It's hard for me to hear that and not get choked up. So, I grabbed the last line, "in my life I love you more." Then a favorite dish. Tacos! Well-loved around our household and usually made by my husband. Maybe that's why I like them so much. And then ... geology! One theme I return to again and again in my poetry is the stuff that's missing, so I immediately went for the term unconformity, not the least reason being it's many layers of meaning. Unfortunately, thanks to Blogger, I can't get the formatting right in the second stanza. Oh well.

Triad of Meaning

Meat sizzles in cast iron, seasoned
with salt, pepper, and chili powder,
the hot kind, liberally sprinkled, stirred
in with chopped onions and green chiles.
I can never get it right, the flavor always
just a little off from how everyone likes it.
That's what happens when you don't measure.

One past is measured against another past, found wanting. Something
missing. But something is always missing. Layers deposited, removed,
deposited, removed, deposited. Nothing stays the same. Where we
meet always changes. Close, yet separate. Never quite right. But just right.

In my life. Places. Remember. Gone. Remain. Changed.
I love you. Friends. Lovers. Memories. Meaning.
More. Accept the unconformity. Pass the salsa.

Inspired by MomentumCon

For a week now I've been wanting to write about the MOMENTUM Conference, which was held on April 1-3 in Silver Spring, MD. Subtitled Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism, and Relationships Through New Media, it was one of the most inspiring weekends I've spent in a long time. But I haven't been able to write about it. Today I realized why not. But first about the conference.

Kudos to Tess Danesi and Diva for organizing this FIRST Annual conference! From the moment I found out about it, and decided to attend, I was impressed with all aspects of the conference, from the ease of registration, the continuing stream of updates as panels were set (not to mention the awesome topics and presenters of said panels), and maybe most of all, for me at least, the affordability of this conference ($55 for non-early bird registration). I'd had to pass up a writer's conference earlier in the year because I just couldn't afford it and I'd been quite depressed about that. But this one I could, and for that I'm eternally grateful, since this may have been a turning point for me. You can read Diva's account of the conference here.

I really liked how the schedule was set up. The conference began Friday evening with a meet & greet ice cream sundae bar (quite delicious) and the very funny Maria Falzone with an abbreviated version of her Sex Rules. Then there was the amazing opening keynote panel with Jenny Block, Reid Mihalko, Carol Queen, Tristan Taormino, and moderator Lynn Comella. The next day was filled with interesting sessions and I only wish I could have been in more than one place at a time. I'm not going to go into the individual sessions here (that would take me all night to write up), but to get a sense of what was available, you can go here and check them out.

There were several aspects of the weekend that were special. My friend and I stayed with Emerald, and so I got to spend more time with a good friend that I've made through the wonderful world of erotica blogland. I got to get books signed: Jenny Block's Open: Love, Sex, and Life in an Open MarriageCarol Queen's PoMoSexuals: Challenging Assumptions about Gender and SexualityTristan Taormino's The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women, and Susie Bright's memoir Big Sex Little Death. And I got to sit in on a panel on Sunday morning, Sex Positive Interventions: The Feminist Sex Wars and Beyond, that was not only amazing, but while I listened, gears clicked into place in my head and a bunch of vague ideas I'd had started coming together.

Okay, I've gone on and on. So, why did I have trouble writing about this? Well, besides the fact that it's impossible to condense a weekend full of information into a short blog post, there's been a vague sadness that I've been experiencing since the conference. Some of that is normal, there's always a bit of a letdown after a great event when you realize it's over. But for me there was more.

And this is where I start to get nervous. Because one thing that I realized in that panel on Sunday morning is I have to write as honestly, stark and raw, as I possibly can. If I try to hide at all, my writing will be mediocre. So, here I go again, stepping out of my comfort zone.

The whole weekend of the conference, I absolutely LOVED being amongst myriad sex-positive folks of all persuasions. It just felt GOOD. I was impressed by the maturity and thoughtfulness of everyone - presenters and attendees. I kept wishing I could magically materialize various people I know and say "look at this! isn't it wonderful!?" Yet, in the back of my mind, there was the constant knowledge that there was no way I could have had the guts to attend myself even just a few years ago.

WHY? Well, the title of the conference gives me all the reasons.

Making Waves - I avoid conflict like the plague. I grew up trying (and failing) to be the peacemaker in my family. I rarely express my opinion aloud if I'm sure that someone will disagree with me. Not because I don't lack conviction, but because standing up for what I believe in scares the shit out of me. Right now I'm scared that someone (that amorphous someone) will read this and be angry/disappointed/whatever at me for something I say here. I must say I've gotten better over the past few years, but I still get almost sick to my stomach when I think of actually disagreeing with someone. So me make waves? Scary!

Sexuality - My life has been shaped in both good and bad ways by sex and sexuality. For most of my life I was ashamed of my sexuality and it scared me. Yeah, you'll see the word scared sprinkled liberally through here. But now that I feel I'm starting to get my shit together around my sexuality, I've reached menopause, and my sexuality is changing, and I almost feel gypped. And I've got to come to terms with that. But still, sex and sexuality are so important to me, that I've realized I can't just let it go and take up something else, say counted cross-stitch? [trying to be funny]

Feminism - I've been a stay at home mom for most of my adult life - only worked for odd times and have no "career" to go back to now that my kids are pretty much all grown. Unless you count writing, which I've only come back to in the past 10 years and you really couldn't call it anything more than a hobby till now. And some might still call it that. I've always felt a jab of anxiety whenever someone would ask me "What do you do?" because I always assumed the "correct" answer to be something other than "I'm a mom." Nowadays I answer "writer," but even that makes me feel like I'm telling a fib, because it's not something I could support myself through, at least not now. So, does that count? Yeah, I've got a lot of self-worth issues surrounding my choices. Can I claim "feminist" if I haven't even made enough money over the course of my adult life to qualify for social security? I can't help but feel I flunked some test.

Relationships - Lots of poly-positive (poly meaning polyamorous) folks and topics at this conference. And though that was wonderful, it also made me a little sad. Probably because poly folks stress communication, and in my long-term, monogamous marriage (which I'm very happy in), communication is something that isn't a strong point. Probably because we both were raised in families that didn't talk about stuff. And though I've brought up the subject of polyamory, I've never felt that I've really been able to explain my thoughts on the subject, probably because of my fear of "making waves." But I keep trying to understand myself and my sexuality, and maybe I'll even learn to communicate in the way I'd like to. There's also very personal reasons why this makes me a little sad, but I'm choosing to not go into that here.

New Media - My writing is a constant struggle. I've got self-esteem issues (nobody wants to read what I have to say) and I have focus issues and there's also that good-buddy of mine, shame, because what I want to write about is sex. I'm envious of those whose lives have brought them to a place where they can  operate from a place that isn't hip-deep in shame. I believe that shame is the reason we have such fucked up ideas about what constitutes "proper" sexuality (like that could ever exist!). Despite my Fuck Shame necklace (which I wore all weekend as a talisman of sorts), I still carry that shadow. I don't feel it as much, but I know it's been there and it's left it's high-water mark on my life. But I have to write, so I have to write over the shame.

Which brings me to my inspiration. Like I said, I'm envious of those who can be so openly sex-positive. I want to be. But I still carry a life-time of sex-negative messages. One of the strongest, most pervasive is DON'T TALK ABOUT IT! Sex is private. Naturally, right? No. I've come to believe that it's wrong to keep it all quiet, hush-hush, under wraps, etc. etc. ad nauseum. So, I figure I have to start speaking up. Speaking out. And that's fucking scary. All too often I've felt that people (those amorphous people) see me as naive, and someone who doesn't know what she's talking about, probably because whenever I've been questioned, I've caved, afraid of the conflict that might come from standing up for whatever it is.

Most of the time I feel like I don't really have much to offer. That others can say things much more eloquently than I and with much more conviction and intelligence. So I've held my tongue. But during this momentous weekend, after that Sunday morning session, I was speaking with Carol Queen and tried to put my ideas into words (I didn't think I did that great a job) and she said "your voice is needed." Then later, she wrote in the book I held out to her: "For Robin! Write your heart out - I look forward to reading it!"

So, now my question to myself is this: Will you have the guts Robin? Will you be able to write honestly even if what you write might (or most certainly will) make the people who love you squirm? Will you be able to speak your truth, even if it's not socially accepted in our current culture? Can you have the courage of your convictions?

Only time will tell.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Stepping out: Day 9 Poem


A Word With You

Free association, does that count?
When I hear the word word spoken,
or see it written, what do I think?
The phrase can I have a word with you?
immediately brings on anxiety.
This word is never just one word,
and never good. It's what the teacher,
boss, disapproving friend says to you
before they launch into a verbal barrage
detailing all the ways that you've ventured
outside the status quo. It would be nicer
to have a word with someone about words
such as love, affection, desire, peace.
I don't know where I'm going with this.
Today I am nervous, stepping outside
my own status quo, into the words
unknown, brave, curiosity, future.


 Today's prompt introduced me to a new word: metonymy. This was Shanna Germain's prompte at Not Without Poetry. I'm real curious to see what others do with this.

And I swear my next post will be about the MOMENTUM Conference I went to last weekend, and not another friggin poem!

Friday, April 8, 2011

Dear Life: Day 8 Poem


Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry, from Nikki Magennis, was "What do you hope will save you?" The only thing I can think of is writing. Not sure that's what this poem is about. In my estimation, it's fairly dark. I don't have a lot of hope these days for "things" (read "life") to turn out at all like I'd like it to. But I'll keep scratching away. 

Tooth and Nail

There is no fight in her–
she is nothing but fight.
Constant tides, the push,
the pull, the shame, the pride.
Inside, all molten, all stone.
Outside just brittle shell.
Desire is her swirling wind,
stroked by butterfly wings,
howling through her primitive
forests of all she cannot let go.
Storms will rage and die away,
change her landscape, expose
her soil, her bedrock to touch,
to fingers that trace her edges,
and she will cling for life, sink
into her own flesh, in order to hold on.


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Like Magic: Day 7 Poem


Slight of Hand

flip and twist, a beckon
one thing, then another
always a shift, of hand
of eye, keep me guessing
don't let on, reveal nothing
reveal everything, pause
keep me waiting, manipulate
your fingers, cunning, palm
trick me once, trick me again
I fall for it, easily, hopeful
slowly learn, ignore the twinge
recognize I've been fooled


Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry is from Mike Ferguson, and it included this short movie. It was amazing how quickly this poem came. Raw, very raw.


Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Where I went: Day 6 Poem


Wild Iris

            Now that I'm free to be myself, who am I?
                                    ~ Mary Oliver, "Blue Iris"


Memories, tugged like stuck socks behind a drawer,
come flying at me as I scroll through floral images.
I think of waves, my mother's eyes in the mirror.

Newly married. I walked home from work, up the road
from coastal terrace to the ridge. Blooms I had thought
were planted, never having seen wild ones before.

Years later. Mother of two girls. Another pacific town.
These iris were planted, had grown into a tangled crush
through years of neglect. A friend showed how to divide.

Off another coast. April evening on Block Island. I listened
to Mary Oliver read in her quiet way. Next day I ventured
a signature. Chose the Red Bird over the Blue Iris to offer.

Another Spring. Blooming. Birds nesting. Birds in flight.
Birthing of horny crone. Full of fear yet unafraid. Rooted
yet tossed by wild wind. Contradictions. I wish to see
my own eyes.


Today you must go to Bill Noble's blog to see his lovely pictures of the native Douglas Iris. 


Today's prompt at Not Without Poetry was an interesting one. These images brought back a number of memories. Of small Pacific Coast towns where we've lived and the irises seen growing there. And then I thought of the book of poetry "Blue Iris" by Mary Oliver and how I got to hear her read a few years ago in April on Block Island. And the first line in that poem. And my eyes, and what they've seen. What they see now. What they hope to see. 

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Share and share alike: Day 5 Poem






Share

our space
our lines
our gaze
our bowl of cereal


share the fact that we don't know how
we got here, or what will happen next


I love today's drawing by Jeremy Edwards that is the visual inspiration for today's Not Without Poetry prompt. What it inspired was a short little ditty, rather spare, but exactly what I was feeling.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Momentary poetry: Day 4 Poem


One Moment in Many

In the beginning there is going

pink cadillac rain
fluttering jazz hands rain
summer storm rain
white spider rain
telephone pole wires rain
cinnamon and nutmeg rain

In the end there is returning

***

Today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry was my own, and wow, was THAT hard. I couldn't separate  my memory of the moment when I took that picture from the poem. All I could do is remember that rain. The poetry book I grabbed was "Sightseer" by Cynthia Marie Hoffman

A Day Late: Day 3 Poem





She Just Can't Make Up His Mind

Where's my top hat with jaunty
slant? A half dozen spout mindless
drivel, voicing their thoughtless
opinions, and her naked soul pleads
for quiet, wishes to be shucked of all
their wrong-headedness.


Yeah, yeah. I'm a day late with this. Yesterday I was in a conference all day and then driving home.  Got in at 2 AM. I just could not write then (plus I was already late with my poem). 

Saturday, April 2, 2011

When you desire more time to write: Day 2 Poem

Dear Self

don't be so afraid
to write to yourself
the world will not end
if you are truthful

learn to loose the grip
holding on for dear life
only makes your fingers cramp
hold your own hand

these are what I want for you
can you allow yourself
to be who you fully are?
can you love yourself?


Today's prompt over at Not Without Poetry was a wonderful one (on desire), but I've been at a conference all day and sorta wrote the poem during a short break and it was not at all what I wanted to write. I have another poem in mind and maybe that will come out sometime soon.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Mindful: Day 1 Poem



This is what I got. Very interesting. 

The Mind

Think hard. Will that truck to stay in it's lane,
that spark in dry grass to snuff itself, my heart
to open. I have done what I've done and what
I haven't done. There will be no dying of regret.
There is air. Grass, trees, bugs crawling in weeds.
This is the world, changing and not. Safe or not.
Over and over, your face looking at me, your voice
dead. Away, away. Why this dream? This fear?
Thank you for not. Still here.


I'm not going to talk about this one. I am going to talk about prompts. Last year, for poem-a-day, I didn't use any provided prompts, other than what life handed me that day. But often I like what prompts do. They stretch me. Turn my mind into silly putty to press down on the prompt and then use deformation to arrive at something new. 

Hard to understand: Day almost 1 Poem




Understand


my complications, contradictions, those convoluted
thoughts that drive me, make me who I am, who you love

that I've decided to stop fighting myself, stop the struggle
against my nature, allow myself to be happy with my self

how much I love you, and how often I wonder
what it is
that makes what we have, something
different

something that makes both of us see that despite
our many
faults and failings, we will continue, because we both
try to understand


This isn't the official poem-a-day poem. I'll write that one (from the prompt) later. It's a little after midnight on April 1, and this is my first poem of the month. I admit that it started forming in my mind a few hours ago, while I drove. I'm heading to a conference that I'm pretty sure my husband thinks is a little weird, but because he knows me, I think he understands why it's important to me. And for some reason, that just warmed my heart as I drove through the rain. Earlier today, someone spilled guts all over his morning. This person is getting divorced, and it's not going to be pretty. At one point we just leaned against each other, quietly treasuring what we have. I know that I'm not a paragon of virtue. But what I hold in my heart, I will never let go of. 


And as for "April Fools" - I say fuck that! Let's have some April Truth!