Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

Polyamory Hierarchy 101

Primary. Ones that I want to grow with

Primary. Ones who are my intentional family.

Primary. Those I prioritize and put my resources into every day.

Those resources are so limited.

Primary. I will drop everything just to be a pillow and soak up your tears.

Primary. I consider how I affect you.

Secondary. You are still my breath of fresh air,

a love of my life,

that smile when I wake,

but we know we don’t plan on forever.

We don’t even plan on a year and a day.

Secondary. I cherish each moment differently because we make no promises.

Secondary. I have no expectations, but I still love and value you.

Secondary. I will strive to do my best but sometimes I just have too much going on.

Partners all matter, just in different ways.

But if you look at me and a partner from the outside I bet wouldn’t be able to see who is a primary and who is a secondary.


Because they are still people.

People deserving of love and affection,

time and our definition of commitment.

Primary and secondary are just descriptors.

Sometimes they are unspoken but known.

Sometimes I love you just because you exist,

but I know that our paths are too different.

They are similar enough for the short-term, right.

Secondaries are a beautiful experience and so often taken advantage of.

I hope you know that no matter where you stand on the partner spectrum

you deserve respect you have value.

Hierarchy is not abuse.

Hierarchy, if it exists is necessary because of limited resources.

Hierarchy is not an excuse to abuse assert couples privilege.

Couple’s privilege is not having a life and responsibilities with someone.

That is just called living.

Hierarchy, Primary, Secondary are words we use to communicate an idea.

Don’t get so wrapped up in the idea that you forget the context.

Don’t forget that those words are just the outline laid on canvas.

We are creating art with our love and feelings for each other.

Every touch.

Every moment.

Each painting has a different style…

because of you.

Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

The reason why you think I am happy…

is because that is the face I choose to show.

The world fucking sucks.

But look over there.

That Tree. That blade of grass. That flower.

That is life and I choose to breathe it and give the bad the middle finger and face it down.

No seriously though. Have you ever hugged a tree?

Yes, oh yes, I am about to take you on a tree hugging witch round up of loving the earth.

You see I am happy because I am a steward and while this shell is decaying and my brain is a hot mess, my spirit is blessed and free knowing that I came from and will return to nature and it is love as it nourishes us daily.

Thank you, Earth Mother goddess for not forsaken us though we pillage and rape you!

You think I am happy because that is the joy I project as channel her, it, them, us all.


I look at you and I feel a flutter.

You look back and it’s gone.

But it was beautiful while it lasted.

You were a mountain of words and primal beauty.

You were a dream until you looked at me.

Until you saw me with Eros filled eyes and expectations.

When you saw that I was a real person.

You noted that I existed and that I was the artist and the canvas;

The student willing to learn.

But you wanted me to guide you. You needed me to lead you.

And I was not placed here to be your instructor.

I was not put here to be on the pedestal above you.

I am your peer. We grow together.

We learn.

We explore.

We process the hard words, the concepts that don’t make sense because “Why can’t we just love for sake of being a person, a place, or a thing with value.”

Why is it not liberating? We should feel our deliverance when we utter those words, not the feeling that everything is dependent and repressive.

Love is power.

Love is strength.

Love is real life magic.

Love comes in many shapes and forms just like the people that walk this earth.

Love is a -romantic.

Love is alterous.

Love is fire and passion that is that moment, not forever.

Love is that flutter while it last and you are responsive and thankful.

“Praise be!” you shout from the only place that you understand.

Your unfamiliarity? Your unawareness?

Fuck! You have made me a goddess.

Another pedestal I will fall from.

But it was beautiful while it lasted.


I have a voice and it is loud.

Some people don’t like because I have learned to be proud.

I like my voice, well I do now.

I like my voice because I now I stand up fo me.

I will not allow you to push me into your box.

So that means I am not humble.

I am not humble and I will gladly take it.

I am not humble because I fought and found value in myself and my words.

I am not humble because I developed a sense of dignity.

I have a voice and all you wanted me to have was a meager sense of self when you said it was ok to speak as long it was in alliance with your view.

And no I do not accept your view.

I do not accept you objectification, erasure, or manipulation.
I do not accept your worship that says so you should die.

I do not accept your “well meaning” prayers or blessing to purge me of my demons, because of those demons, that sin is my light.

I bask in that glory.

I will be loud and proud and when you try to bury me, I will climb high and shout from the rooftops I have to.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here and you will hear me.

Posted in Verse - Diminishing secrets of Zephyrrine

If you were ever my friend…

You shouldn’t feel honored, but you should know just how important that one word is.

You see “friend” is a term that reminds me of self-decomposition.

Friendship for so long was the same as control and manipulation and

“if you don’t conform you are worthless”

“Friend” has been that rolling duffel bag version of baggage that I construct and reconstruct almost as much as I do the term family.

I learned that I can choose my family and cut off the toxic bits that were poisoning me and contributing to my timely demise.

I learned friend was a choice, something precious that not everyone gets to hold, no matter how much they demand it.

“Friend,” I say it again “Friend”.

I have deemed you worthy.

I do not consider you a person to wear one of my countless faces around.

No pretty painted mask.

If I consider you my friend, and that is the distinction.

You witness my dark, my grim as I dance around in a pretty white lace dress and canvas shoes, the epitome of decay covered innocence, with my afro puffs standing tall against the users and abusers, bubbles in hand.

Bubble kisses so sweet cause I took down a brick so we pass notes back and forth.

I called you my friend and meant it.