Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 2/3 At school, I carried a thick book on breaking into the business of acting. I’d had my first agent at age 12, the unexpected outcome of a beauty pageant my grandmother had placed me in to distract me from my parent’s tumultuous divorce. I’d earned but two non-speaking film credits but from the POV of my 17 year-old brain, four years at a university would only stall my imminent success. None of my family had graduated college. It wasn’t a given that I would go. I chose not to try. . . Until years later. A story for another day. . . Highlighter in hand, I snuck my walkman headphones on beneath my hoodie to drown the voices of my academic teachers, read my books on acting, and study lines for whichever school play I was starring in. I was failing my economics class, missing often in order to complete my training at the hotel where I’d been hired. Securing a survival job as a restaurant hostess to support the pursuit of an acting career felt more important, more practical, more economical for my future than grades. . . My friends were studying for the SAT. I was going to be an actress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
Part 1/3 I was eating molten cheese, the kind that comes out of a spout, from Taco Bell. . . I was a high school senior crashing at my father’s business partner’s pool house on weekends so I could attend back to back Friday/Saturday strip-mall acting classes at the Bobbie Chance Studio in the Los Angeles valley. . . I’d drive my Mazda Navajo with the broken A/C, windows down, up the 405 freeway, blasting tunes from the walkman hooked into my stereo by one of those little cassette tape’s with an aux cord, thinking about how I was going to be somebody. . . For 24 hours each weekend, I’d sweat under hot lights, letting my “animal” out, travelling the gambit of emotions from laughter, to panic, to tears in a single evening at my teacher’s behest, then hit the drive through on my way back to dad’s bud’s pool house, falling into bed with a bag of Taco Bell. A day’s end reward. . . I was going to be an actress. . . In class, I’d often ask to work on scenes from the movie Gia. I’d been enthralled by the film — captivated by Angelina Jolie’s raw performance as a queer addict. I wanted to be an actress with that kind of grit. I still don’t know if requesting scenes from that particular film, scenes primarily between women, was an attempt at understanding the mind of a junkie, because my mother had been one, or to avoid being paired with and groped by male scene partners who were double my age and came from backgrounds in porn. . . Then again, it may have been an excuse to kiss a girl, to embody queerness, under the guise of acting. . . I digress. . . (Cont..) . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #actor #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
To be alive is to mourn. Beds where we once rested our heads, people we once rested beside, animals we’ve loved, family we’ve lost, our bodies. We mourn what has been, what can never be again, hopes dashed, love soured, spring flowers that cannot last. Some days I mourn my 20 year-old knees, my grandmother’s ability to drive a car after dark, cities where young love dripped from me, my child-feet standing on my father’s surfboard, his head still full of hair. Memory, a sweet grief, exquisite and excruciating. There are people who criticize me for posting images like this one on the internet. What I’d like to tell them is that I am mourning my tits which will not always stand perky, upright, like this. I’m mourning the queer youth I didn’t have. I’m mourning a fading dream of nursing babies. A window closing. Another day’s sun setting. I am in mourning for my life. I want to remember. I am but a body and a heart with some words. I want to remember what is. I’m sitting around a kitchen table in Los Angeles. The very kitchen where this photograph was taken. I’m talking to two friends from different eras of my life, each having had a profound impact on me. Two friends I met on different coasts for whom I am the connective tissue. They now have a friendship all their own. There is little I love more than being this glue. Two friends who now live under one roof and co-parent a dog named Elvis. Tonight I find myself with them. A night which could not have been planned. Exactly the way I like it. Travel dates changed. Here I am. Adam sets the dinner table for three. (Swipe —> to keep reading or continue in comments) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . #writer #grief #longlovemomo #love #queerwriters #wordporn #animals #lovinganimals #mourning #heartexplosion #cats #catsofinstagram #queer #queerpoet #queerpoetry #family #friendship
