ig:@polygamy

just the vibes. happy pride. (painting of ME: “Human Behavior” by Destiny Haven Trujillo, 2023)

there used to be a farm near my parents’ house. the road home would snake through rows and rows of trees no taller than a man, speckled with stone fruits. when the summer came, my mom would park out front of the tiny house where the owners lived. we’d hop out the car and say hey to whatever niece or grandkid would be working the stand in the shade. i knew how to flick a melon, listen for a hollow thump, turn it to its side to see if it was gonna be sweet. i’d pull little crates of peaches and plums. if it was a good day, i would even get some new berries, kumquats, ground cherries, or whatever caught my eye. we’d head home, speeding towards the bend in the road where all the big trees made the sun flicker through the car windows. we’d get home and my dad would take the groceries inside, grabbing what looked like 50 bags in one hand.

earlier tonight, i pulled one airpod out my ear on the way to key foods to listen for voices down the block. i didn’t have my contacts in, so i couldn’t tell if the dancing figures on the street were wind blown trees or drunk neighbors. squinting made my face sore, so i just kept walking until i got close enough. in the hum of the fluorescent lights, i grabbed a plastic box of cut up fruit, some deli mustard, and oat crackers. i caught my face in the security mirror’s reflection, pallid from spending all day crying and tucked away from the sun. i teetered back to my apartment with 2 heavy paper bags.

i got inside and checked my texts. one of them was from my mom, asking if she can buy me a ticket home for a weekend. i might have to take her offer, just in time for the summer.

listen to my demo, “hello sailor”! recorded live in studio, one take, with jeremy capps @jeremycapps on bass, and Ben Amin Julia on guitar.

have y’all heard my song, DOGGIELUV? if not, you should listen now.

i know we joke about recognizing The Pattern (are we joking?), but as im approaching my saturn return, i realize im reliving the biggest blow to my heart from a few years back, almost down to the tiny details, with different people.

AHHHH WHAT DOES IT MEANNNN

i asked you to come meet me where we drink. you replied,

“thanks for the invite, sweets, but i caint. no more drink, no more smoke, no more coke. doctor’s orders.”

that night, i saw a man with neon green plastic tubes around his body. it was light in the bar where i host karaoke, so i couldn’t tell if the tubes were lit up. i walked over to him, drunkenly, confidently, and said,

“where you comin from, glow sticks?”

he looked confused, then said, “oh, this is my oxygen tube. i have a lung thing and sometimes i forget i have it wrapped around.”

i swallowed any visible shock. i looked to my bartender and mouthed “shot”. any social hiccup can be remedied with a little tequila.

on our best friend’s birthday, you sent me a video of you digging up the brass knuckles you hid by the flagpole in front of the ER. she and i were giddy and buzzed when saw you later that night. we jumped on you and kissed your face like little puppies. you looked worn out and fearful.

this guy at the bar had a similar look. i thought to order him a shot, too, but i noticed he only had a highball glass of soda water with a splash of bitters.

i downed my shot, wiped my mouth. “you’re not drinking.”

he smiled. “nope. i don’t drink anymore.”

on sundays, i used to go see you. you’d get me a tequila ginger beer then let me behind the bar so i could dj from the cracked ipod touch connected to the speakers. we’d go in the bathroom after a few hours and a few more tequila gingers. i’d hold it while you pee. we’d kiss until my lips felt numb. then sometimes i’d go home with you. we’d wake up with our feet tangled together. it was a bad kind of holy ritual. i partook once a week, you were a little more devout. i miss it, but i’m glad we stopped.

i asked the man how long it’s been since he quit drinking.

“it’ll be a year on wednesday.”

i asked him what got him to stop.

“a year ago on wednesday, i was revived in an ER. i wasn’t supposed to drink, do drugs, or smoke, due to my lung thing. then my sister found me, seizing on the floor.”

a patron in the bar wailed the final notes of their song, signaling for me to get back on the mic and usher the next singer on stage. i asked him to stay, told him i had a couple of questions for a friend i knew with a similar issue. i turned to the crowd (3 drunk people, the bartender, and a bustling barback), steadied the shake in my voice, and announced whoever was next.

when i turned back he was gone.

i fought the urge to text you about it. i really, actually fought. you’ll have to meet him for yourself. i hope you never do.

i’m breathing deeply, audibly. loud enough to drown out the leftovers of your voice.

“say it. tell me.”

i crossed my ankles, squeezed my knees together tight, letting the inhales push my belly down and out.

“tell me.”

the blue glow of 8:13pm mimicks the same one peeking through your green velvet curtains the morning of your birthday.

it mocks me.

i keep breathing, opening my throat so that it hisses against the roof of my mouth.

tears keep climbing up. i’m always crying. i started crying the last time. i needed it.

“i know, baby. tell me.”

it’s fucking cruel, the body. mine betrays me. every so often this animal need punishes me. it’s what protestants would deem demonic, spiritualists would say it’s a sacral imbalance or connecting to the womb.

something like that.

you used it against me, my body. but your body betrays you, too, worse than mine. maybe as revenge. for me and everyone else. and just for itself.

how’s your breathing? not so good anymore, is it?

mine right now is still deep. so fucking deep.

“tell me your pussy is the sweetest.”

writhing and yearning is so pathetic. especially when i don’t want you anymore. i wince at your pictures, barely capturing the scraps of man hanging off your skeleton.

i’m in heat though. and you were coldest to the touch, especially when i needed it.

couple bangers