Last week, I published an article on xoJane that got a hell of a lot more attention than I expected. The story was about my decision to beat up my rapist.
Big Mouth is now in zine form! Each zine will include essays, articles, memoir, song lyrics, and poetry revolving around a specific topic. The first, of course, is sex.
Option 2: You can go directly to my PayPal account by clicking here. You’ll enter your address with your payment and I’ll send the zine ASAP!
I’m selling the zines for $5 to cover shipping and printing. If you can’t afford it, we’ll work something out!
Y’all fucked with a big mouth.
I was sick last night and spent two hours on the following nonsense. It’s exactly what the title suggests. I fucking love shitty 90s music, omg.
The following is the result of me trying to fit a bunch of thoughts about love, sex, and intimacy into a single piece. It came out as a poem… or a list… or something. It’s a quick and probably painless read that dips into things like saying “I love you” too quickly, unfortunate standards around intimacy, and ineffective healing strategies.
Can I plz sleep inside ur skin, bb?
I’ll be your flame.
I’ll be orange and pink bangs outside your
screen door, ir-
Hey dudes. It’s been an exciting week!
My creative nonfiction was published for the first time EVER. You can find it at Narratively, an incredible website that features a new nonfiction essay every weekday. My piece revolves around my prostitution history and **it might be triggering for those with sexual trauma**
Here’s a clip: “I had nothing left. The end of my relationship with Beth and the hiatus from my career exposed me to a hideous truth: I had been trapped in a trauma cycle dating back to my youth. The hands that typed out Craigslist ads, the legs that spread in strangers’ cars, and the mouth that took in wrinkled flesh – those things weren’t mine. They belonged to my past. They belonged to the part of me that still felt voiceless, choiceless, and desperate for something resembling love from men who had none to offer.”
This is essentially a grownup version of my emo middle school poetry.
Uh. I am not a poet. I did, however, enroll in a poetry class at my local community college to keep myself from stagnating. The prof hated my guts until I turned in a sexually explicit poem about threesomes last week. She REALLY likes writing about sex. I know this because she often reads us her weird sex poems. Now we’re cool.
Here’s the poem that saved me from gaining a 50-year-old archenemy. You should not be reading it if you are related to me. TURN BACK RIGHT NOW, MOM. I’M SERIOUS.