​Sometimes I sleep in clothes. Like sweats and a crop top.

I hate sleeping in clothes. I feel much more relaxed in pretty lingerie or completely nude.

But clothes are a safety feature for someone like me. Because when a bad guy breaks into your space and tries to rape you, the clothes have to come off first. And those moments of struggle may be the difference between being violated or getting away.

It’s a horrible reality. But I’ve attacked more than once in my life. In more than one city. And starting with the time I was a little girl.

​The memories came back a few years ago. 
In flashes and bits.

“How do you do it? How do you just accept that HE is with HER this weekend?”

The accusatory tone of the speaker was jarring. I was explaining that I’m in a poly relationship. That the man I love already had a married lover when he met me. That I didn’t even know he had “liked me liked me” at first. But when I found out, my world shifted and I suddenly found myself in the most wonderful loving healthy relationship of my life.

The skepticism was obvious on this person’s face when I mentioned my sweetheart was away visiting his lover and that no, I was not jealous of their relationship. Their connection had been going on a year + before I ever met any of them.

“I would NEVER be with a partner who slept around. If he’s mine, he’s mine only.” She said this with a harumph. 

Ahhhh there it was. The ever prevalent society accepted idea that we “own” our partners in any way shape or form. 

“He’s my everything”…

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes as another one of my friends pontificated on how the current man in her life had become the main focus of her world.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she meant it metaphorically, but it was the literal sense in which most of the women I knew took the sentiment that made me feel nervous.

Having someone be your “everything” is a lot of fuckin responsibility. And for the person expressing the feelings, it seems that all the other joys in life shrink to a very narrow idea. 

If he’s with her, she’s happy.
If he’s not, she’s not.

Once upon a time, a very tiny Tink was told to dream of wedding bells rung by a white cis gendered male knight who gallantly rode in to save her from herself.

Teeny Tink had a few problems with this scenario. One, while the idea of a big party sounded cool, the whole "til death do you part" sounded a bit grim. Two, she was having a happy little life and didn't need saving. And three, what if the person she liked was something other than a cis gendered male?

The truth is, I've never been one to fit into boxes - despite being a petite human. ;)

And recently I realized that I liked HUMANS - regardless of how they chose to gender (or whether they do at all). 

​So in honor of PRIDE month, I'm sharing this cheeky little poem, in the hopes it sparks you to feel freer too. After all, love is love is love is love. 🖤

​When I was a little girl, I made up this game called “Escaping”. Originally inspired by the stories of the Underground Railroad, and the book “Roots”, it quickly evolved into something very, very, different. More personal.

The basic premise is exactly what you might think. I’m the protagonist being held against my will, in a world I don’t want to be in. And despite all the odds, I manage to - with a lot of athletic ability, ingenuity, aid from fantastical creatures, and a few bouts of rather unrealistic luck -  break free to live my life however I wish.

I never do continue the game once I break free. Instead, in an endless cycle of repetition, the moment I’ve conquered all, the game “resets” and I start all over.

It’s been years since I played the game. Yet a part of me realized recently, that it never really ended. In a sense I’ve been playing a rather adult version of this game my whole life.

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