I have just gulped swigs of water-and my throat has never felt so alive. I felt each drop of water caress the walls of my mouth while also experiencing this swig of water as whole, almost solid. Right now I feel a stretch in my lower back as my body corouches to write on this paper, a canvass for my thoughts and the worlds shadows. Penumbra, is the stat I’m in, clearly out of focus, a state of loud silence, the air is filled with the humming of pens on paper and I”m reminded of dreaming. There is a liberty in this space I’ve found in other nooks and crannies of my life: sex with Andi was mutually freeing, just taking so we could give. I feel high, as if I’ve been smoking,. My spirit is moving around inside/outisde of me and I feel like I’ve melted into myself - I’m in complete relaxation but instead of being sleepy - I’m completely alive/alert in that sleepiness. My eyes ache with watching, I long only to touch and be touched - but some people can only exchange in that kind of economics, economics of connection with their eyes closed. I want to do it with my eyes wide open. I feel open like each chakra, the millions of them have discovered even more of themselves to open. Each pore is saying thank you to ll of you for your touch, your gaze. I want to open the rest of my life, the rest of every moment, expecially this one, finding myself in others eyes. It hurts me when eople look away. I take it as rejection. I know its uncomfortable but what I do, to hold osmone’s gaze is to think “thank you” in my head. IT allows me to accept the gift of their presence. We are so afraid of the her and now

Where will these pages be in a year from now? Carefully tucked into pretty folders or a the bottom of a landfill? Will they have been recycled and turned into fascist propaganda? The possibilities are endless, as are the feelings lighting up inside. I smell myself on me, the sweat, the longing, the men’s deodorant I use. I want to feel safe in this space, but I feel whiny, I second guess myself all the time. I just wanna shout “You’re objectifying me! You’re reading what you want into me.” Now I’m Angry. You see me and think what a kind young woman. Oh look at them fawning over the men, all the young women. I am not a woman. But you don’t ask me. I’m not a woman. Ask me, who am I?