Am I polyamorous or do I just like having friends? 👯‍♀️

certain breeds of dogs get too faced™ on two

Mar 20, 2024

Question(s) for you on this proverbial Wednesday:

Why do we place romantic love above platonic, intellectual, or even physical intimacy?
Who benefits when we infantilize those of us who have invested in the latter group, but not the former?
What’s the deal with mainstream *polyamory* being co-opted by couples in our late-stage capitalist society?
Who benefits from THAT?
What if you thought you were polyamorous but you actually just like treating your friends and romantic lover(s) with equal weight?? (which I guess is technically still polyamory but… SEMANTICS)
Plus, are we all asexual or has capitalism just isolated us so much that we’re numb to the thought of being intimate with each other anymore? (teaser: there may be some further thoughts on this one next week…)
And did anyone start watching “From Couple to Throuple” yet? (I have thoughts).

Anyway, it’s been a chaotic week (year, lifetime) for both Larissa and I. But practicing radical platonic love has gotten us through. This piece was written in chunks last week over Appletini’s, shared playlists, and walks through Oosterpark.

Am I polyamorous or do I just like having friends? 👯‍♀️

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

certain breeds of dogs
get too faced™ on two
hands wet and wild & 
water proofed 
eyes 
survived 
your car crash and I can feel 
the bones shifting in my body 
do you have any 
cocaine / dad /
core / memories?
crocus puddles 
punching up Miley 
Cyrus climbing over church bells 
(like a DJ set from the Disney 
gods) shat on my head as I was
writing this friends & lovers quilt 
daring to be the fullest daffodil 
arena somatic bottoms emotional 
tops take earnest screenshots
in white sheets at 11:11 everyone
[says my life is moving fast 
you say time is moving different]
right now I’m the catcher in the sometimes it won’t always be like this unpacking everything from the past that we didn’t even know we’d left there; dead kites don’t read until you’re looking for the next piece it’s either raw meat ripped apart by gold teeth or a star about to burst into something is shepherding towards us I know it the parakeets know it the water hens know it the moon knows it the herons catching the wind waiting at the fish (market know)
there’s always something 
ready, dripping