Part 3/3 I was an art-hungry kid spending my days in the aisles of the Samuel French bookstore on Sunset with my nose deep in Shanley, Rebeck, Lorca, Williams, Chekhov. And between that auditions, including the one where the woman waiting ahead of me to go into the casting office whispered into her phone, “I’m just gonna book this job,” then proceeded to slide her underwear off from beneath her skirt, wink at me while dropping them into her purse, and let out false moans of pleasure within moments of closing the casting office door behind her. . . My nights consisted of acting classes, waiting on tables, and reluctantly using fake ID’s to get into clubs where I could bump elbows with industry people, pass them my business card, and politely assuage their advances. . . I rented every movie Meryl Streep had ever done and wrote essays about them for my own pleasure. Just to quench a thirst, a need to be studious, or perhaps simply to consider myself something more than a pig on a spit for consumption. Anything to keep the flame of my intelligence, my love of stories, burning. . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor #actresses #actorslife
Part 3/3 I was an art-hungry kid spending my days in the aisles of the Samuel French bookstore on Sunset with my nose deep in Shanley, Rebeck, Lorca, Williams, Chekhov. And between that auditions, including the one where the woman waiting ahead of me to go into the casting office whispered into her phone, “I’m just gonna book this job,” then proceeded to slide her underwear off from beneath her skirt, wink at me while dropping them into her purse, and let out false moans of pleasure within moments of closing the casting office door behind her. . . My nights consisted of acting classes, waiting on tables, and reluctantly using fake ID’s to get into clubs where I could bump elbows with industry people, pass them my business card, and politely assuage their advances. . . I rented every movie Meryl Streep had ever done and wrote essays about them for my own pleasure. Just to quench a thirst, a need to be studious, or perhaps simply to consider myself something more than a pig on a spit for consumption. Anything to keep the flame of my intelligence, my love of stories, burning. . . Photographer: @rebeccathered Director: Sean Salcido HMU: @mylanmedrano . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #actor #queeractor #actresses #actorslife
there’s a keyboard in my apartment that I’ve had since I was fourteen . . I keep the keys dusted polished clean . . just incase you should pass by and play our song again. . . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . . . . . . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #actor #atxwriters #jenparkhill
there’s a keyboard in my apartment that I’ve had since I was fourteen . . I keep the keys dusted polished clean . . just incase you should pass by and play our song again. . . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . . . . . . . . . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #actor #atxwriters #jenparkhill
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
the cowlick on the back of my head is in the shape of a vortex. a whirlpool yeah, that’s the word. . . I always thought that patch of hair stood up at attention because too many times, I’d slept on it wet bent the follicles to sway in that direction — unkempt . . I’ve been taming it, the cowlick, wetting it down in the bathroom mirror each morning for years before work thought that’ll fix it . . last week, I shave my head and find out the true shape of this cowlick. huh. not what I’d expect. a whirlpool. it’s cute, really. . . my mother always said, from an arial view, the streets where I grew up looked like a rose . . I’d say it does look something like a bud like the growth on the ZZ plant, Z’s finger’s pointing to the new buds, one by one . . or like a pussy the one I’m looking up at now watching my girlfriend shave the one they own . . I’m sitting on the bathroom tile playing with the dog thinking how becoming myself can feel so very pedestrian a pair of clippers like the ones we use to groom the pup . . I’ve contemplated shaving my head since I first saw GI Jane and one night we just do it no time like the present . . I wept watching years of hair fall to the ground like a story . . I felt like a sheep being sheered after winter I felt like a mammal and not just a girl . . I never got the turns right on those rosebud streets lost again, leash in hand blankets of salty fog . . I grew up here. could I really be this dumb. . . streets that curve and tumble you back in the direction from which you’d come . . but I knew, when I hit that blue horizon I was heading west all roads lead to home . . I’m watering a palm tree I rescued from a dumpster and it lives in my living room in Texas, always looking a little lost . . that first winter, I watched those sweet palms die and wilt under the weight of snow and frost . . what is a palm tree doing in Texas? . . (Cont in comments or swipe —>) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #music #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet #queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #queerqritersofig #jenparkhill #queeractor
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
Autumn. . . we’re in the elevator falling floors away from summer . . in the next room, where September spins on a loom, a half-held moon catches our smile . . sleepy-eyed, beneath a cool sky that starved our speech and fed our laughter, we did not kiss. . . in autumn, I break the bat just stepping to the plate . . I have always been this way. . . the air smells like beer and wet dirt and winter hats and plaid shirts and sex on first dates . . Indian summer’s sweat remains. . . on the phone a friend leaves me a message “I want to be balanced and right-sized,” they say. . . Yeah. . . another says, “The only expectation you can have of another adult is that they will express their wants and needs.” . . another hugs me and tells me she’s just been engaged. a burning man proposal. giddy and scarfing 2am pizza, we slop up tequila . . we are school children writing desires in one another’s diaries fools for that warm feeling . . before that therapy, where my therapist says, like a Cheshire Cat, “it’s a good time. You feel sturdy.” . . I look down at my cold feet. I keep them moving. . . Yeah. This. That. This. . . A salted wound that only swimming can fix. . . I am satiated by my solitude. I am nourished by friendship. my thirst is quenched by our art. . . The worries of our world roll, ache pull at me and / if / but I talk to god and listen. . . I want for nothing. . . 103 on a September day, the sentiment remains— I fall at my knees for fall. . . for the first time in my life I want to fall in love slow-ly . . bite by bite piece by piece marked by canines— lover’s teeth . . I want to be fucked reckless right there in the g-spot of my mind and in a body the loyal kind. . . let’s get this out of the way— . . I’m walking the pony back to the barn each night, I’m leaving the pen door cracked giddy up if you need to go . . I’m taking the long road back to my place where the fire’s burning and handwritten letters are on the way (Cont.) . . 📸 @adamcolemandp . . #queerwriter #queer #genderfluid #writersofinstagram #love #fall #autumn #poets #wordpornoftheday #queerpoet ##queerwriter #lesbian #queerpoetry #lovepoems #teeth #jenparkhill
