“And this wasn’t supposed to be a fucked up poem
but it’s turning into a fucked up poem
because I haven’t been able to cum in three years
without thinking of his hips sliding into mine: like first base,
like second base, like third base,
like home.”
More from Trista Mateer
“I have a postcard mouth. All it ever says is: wish you were here.”
“accepting this body did not mean convincing myself that it was beautiful”
“here’s to being your own therapist and still needing a therapist, here’s to the stories…”
“See what time and distance does to us? How it makes us soft and forgetful?”