It is my mission in life to stick words together. I was pretending it was my mission to sit back and wonder if I am any good at it. I mean wonder so hard that even after my most trusted lovers and friends came to me with their truest voices, their moist emotional eyes, and said THANK YOU, I still thought, I am not any good. I will never get published. I will never be paid. I will never support myself.

This train runs every hour. Fuck that train. Fuck that slimy reptilian beast of habit, that safety of self-doubt.

Thresholds. Boundaries. Places where the people meet and fall in love. Erotic sparks electric jumps. I stir the pot and memories come to the surface, all these wonderful people who loved me when I would let them.

Thank YOU for opening the floodgates, your voice got in my ear I knew heat and passion again. You are so open and delightful and spiritually aware of yourself, an empath like me. Thank you for the intoxicated marching, the trips, the long drives, for bringing me the city, telling me the truth even when I did not want to hear it. Thank you for wanting to wait for me, then thanks for cutting that out.

Thank YOU for making me beautiful, liking my hair, reading my words, for being safe and depraved. Thank you for the words you used, for allowing me to be right in the moment. For ALWAYS being there, woven so deep into my life I almost overlooked you. Thank you for taking me by the arm and running with me. Thank you for the spoon. Thank you for the dance, for holding on so tight that one night when I thought my body was about to drip off my mind.

Thank YOU for the hollow in your neck, rail thin body, vine like limbs, intoxicating natural scent, amazing kiss, just the right amount of commitment at just the right moment. Thank you for the motorcycle rides, the time we tipped the bike in the middle of the road and kept making out anyway. Thank you for making me have to give you up because you would not take care of yourself.

Thank YOU for your broad chest, fingertips tracing inner arm, hot breath in the ear, for moaning when I touched you, for being a man sized boy when I could not have handled anything else. Thank you for making me strong enough to get as far away from you as possible.

Thank YOU for the nude camping, that one night when the city lay out beneath us and the sun went down and up again. We brushed our skin with green leaves, red berries, tiny thorns, and gossamer threads on branches. Thank you for the babies, the birthing, the playful creative energy. That glorious night in the cornfield where I ran and you caught me. For love notes in the morning. For laughing until our faces hurt. Thank you for liking my words, for hearing the difference, for giving me the space I struggled not to need.

Thank YOU for listening to me, for being such a great writer. For our silly little slumber party where we tried SO hard to get drunk. For hugging that guy at Larry’s, for the amazing dolls you make and all the groovy cards. Thank you for the pink carnations and that big bag of sunshine you brought me the day after my LEEP. Remember what a warm day it was for November? I think I ate half the clementines. I think you healed me. Thank you for helping me feel sane those times when I called and there was a screaming baby or two hanging off my pant leg.

Thank YOU for that time you heard I was in trouble and you helped me.

Thank YOU for the terribly kind and amazing words, the fantastic mail.

Thank YOU for the chance to be your mother, the mind-blowing experience of growing you inside me and learning how to help you get out. Thank you for every scribble, every dribble, every sigh, scream and smile. Thank you for your fresh thoughts, your kid logic, those gigantic eyes. Thank you for the eyelash wishes, butterfly kisses, funny phrases and goofy dancing.

I discovered that I am a beautiful, intelligent, sexual woman. I have a fine way with words, a mighty nice mouth and a capacity for love that stretches beyond the horizon. I am a downhill boulder, all tea parties must kick it to the side or be smashed. I am raw and ugly and mean. I can make you mad. I can make you well. I can make it good, or sad, or patch it up once more. I just caught a big ball of reality and ended up grateful for the bitter parts, delighted by the sweet. It did not get nicer, but it sure got a hell of a lot more honest.