now I finally have an answer

my love language is you calling me weird like I’m the most expensive wine no one’s been able to afford until now.

my love language is stillness, waiting… maintaining the question for half a decade, maybe longer

8 hour hugs, synchronized breathing
my love language is to halve the distance infinitely

hearing no, saying no

having my boundaries honored, having my boundaries celebrated, when my no is held with care, like a gift instead of an inconvenience.

my love language is being touched like worship

directness. ambiguity.

ambiguity that leads to directness.

weird. weird like a child, like what if the trees sang to you, what if we were tigers, what if just you were a tiger and I was a ghost.

I’m only on this planet to hit peak weird, and it’s only happened three times. If you ever go there with me, you’re a universe I will struggle to exit.

my love language is living in the feedback loop where the stranger I get the more your eyes shine- like you’re daring me, and I can’t not.

my love language is seeing someone alchemize feedback and make changes.

when people tell me the hard things, the things no one else is bold enough to hit me with

my love language is maintaining eye contact to the point of hallucinating.

loss of control in the controlldest of control freaks.

Old poetry

I still don’t know what this means, nearly a decade later.

girl with broken vase

I search your body for
evidence of death, 

bread and wine between your teeth,
yellow bruises gracing
undersides of eyelids.

you fold inwards
bones sloshing, in preparation to

your children are scaled and

they know water from sunlight 
but still choose


If you’re going to do psychedelics, do them with someone you trust, who is the kindest person you know, who is the most nonjudgemental. I had fun 🙂

The unsocially acceptable healing

So…. I went and did a thing. I’m a professional cuddler now! Peep these shots from my recent photoshoot, and follow me on insta @beheldminneapolis. My website is live at . I’ve also been doing massage, and caregiving (as usual). My goal is to have a completely flexible schedule by December. Or earlier.

And if our days are numbered
We’ll find each other somewhere

The instinct is to latch on. buy you a freaking ring until the exit sign you could follow out of my life straight up burns out. I want to bar the door, I want to hide you in the center of a maze that just keeps pouring you back to me.

That’s the instinct.

Man it’s hard to let go of what I’m already terrified of losing. I want to pour love out of me without it mixed with fear or jealousy. I want to trust.

Not even trust you, just trust the universe that I’m going through it for a reason, that you in my life or not is the best thing for me. That I’m given exactly what I need.

She still herds me like a sheepdog. Bites my heels till I acquiesce. But I’m so damn stubborn.

love letter to the meatbag in question

Feel my body exhausted, ship after
the storm

captain I don’t know if she can
take much more

human human human
meatbag full of emotions

head full of hypotheticals

I’ve tricked my own past out of
existence, but the future

haunts my neurons like the
only effective exorcism is

focus on the breath

focus on your heart
waking you up at 5 am

like a kid with a

sweaty headed,
pajama footed and


Flow vs. Fight
Don’t ignore what is

push push push

I still don’t want the universe to get in my way
a child too young to cut my own meat up

“here let me help you”

but I bite and bite and bite

she’s a steak knife
my teeth are bared

just try

And I turn my face,
grown enough to be


I love you even when one or both of us is clawed
I could never make you gasp for air like you did for me
2 years ago.

I’m a huge fan of your work, smartest
sheepdog on the farm.

But here I am, a billion acres and you got me
on the greenest grass I’ve ever danced over.

Impermanence. Used to say it like a dirty word.

But if I let her take me everywhere she wants, the view just gets better.

and i ain’t even mad

out here still just trying to learn how to surrender
I know how it is when everything that is here is just how it is, no force, no anger. I’ve felt a love so vast it left me weeping and terrified (?) There isn’t a name for that emotion.

I don’t keep ? in a box.

No words no words no words. Words are an illusion that you can keep anything down and unchangeable and knowable.

those times I’ve trusted that everything will be given that is needed, how does that even feel when I’m not manic

frantic flow like a swollen river, that’s what that was. I knew what I needed to know, but it was too much

From a text I never sent:

There is spiritual practice that tries to avoid the abyss or practice that becomes comfortable with going deeper into it.

I want to believe in this in the marrow of my

BONES. From vertebrae to sacrum, want to feel this wind as music in the arteries that bring oxygen to my
EYELIDS, I want to know this with the electricity in my

Peace. Surrender. The sun rises and gives me everything.

The sun over the water.

Want the ocean to hit me until I remember how to let go, all noodle arms and boneless. Could have told you this is how it’s supposed to be, letting the waves crash you

take you to the shore you’re meant to wash up on.
Don’t fight what is here.

Praise to the sand, scraping
your cheek raw.

Praise to the cage that
delivers you from sleep.

Everything is here to bring you out of the dream.

Reality is gonna scream your name, that light that demands
full attention, that fire that

burns your house down, the
one you loved so much.

The only thing left is



Give yourself permission to do shitty art. To dance so stupid, to sing so cracked and ugly. For joy. There is nothing like the joy of letting yourself do bad art. Something pours out, like neon blood you ripped right from the sun. Beautiful like your heart would be, pulsating behind glass, cracking the windows on the high notes. The first time I heard you sing was like

exactly like

[no words]. Nothing as true as this.

Out of the primordial chaos we create
slow-ooze and starfall
all real and necessary

truth is your hand
dripping with ink
or contorted with violence

[clear out to build]

Fire as prelude
Fire as the gentle voice
that breaks morning into your dreams.

the first egg, cracked.

Not always sure where God lives
but I know where they
used to stay

on the second floor of a nursing home,
the room next to the nurses’ station

Too tall for the bed

your eyes
gave you away

like stained glass betrays a cathedral

Unrelated song:

Have you ever heard of Jo Luehmann. because DAMN. Heard her on the Dirty Rotten Church Kids podcast.