lack of artistry is shown when people are intolerant towards a deep-rooted appreciation for the beauty of the naked human body. real talk. if your body does it, then it’s beautiful. even the gross stuff is beautiful.
Isn’t it great, every day, hot and sunny?” What are you, a fucking lizard? Only reptiles feel that way about this kind of weather. I’m a mammal, I can afford coats, scarves, cappuccino and rosy cheeked women.
i once heard that growing old with someone essentially comes down to the gradual unveiling of one weird things on their body after another.
folks, i really do want to know about your birthmarks and tattoos and piercings, even if they sit on the flakiest or bumpiest of skin, even if they’re hiding in the dirtiest corner of your embodiment.
tell me something boring, tell me a first impression, tell me about your first sweetheart. tell me a story; you’re all interesting.
i got the freedom moving restlessly in and out of all different places around me, something that doesn’t manifest in everyone’s world. i got spiritual freedom, physical freedom (present only after hours when i’ve had a long day and want to be stripped naked); and most importantly, mental freedom. i got all the mental freedom i want, and despite this, i’m still flimsy.
i never think eminently, emphatically, exceedingly, effectively.
i know that it’s “so elementary” to talk about gratitude while sending silent tributes to those in ethiopia/uganda/haitia/sierra leone/whathaveyou, but i think most people only realize the tangible things about the lives that exist in unfortunate places, like hungry tummies
but think about this: there is someone, somewhere in the world who wishes their mind could grant them freedom but you would rather say that something is what it is just because that’s what the box says.
and that is SOOO.. bougie.
i tried to write a poem about me, i tried to write two poems about you, i tried to write three poems about us but i kept messing up.
i wanted to speak about your scent and how it makes my heart drop to my feet and bounce right back up to my entire 4’11” self. i wanted to make a metaphor with the immersion of skin and your softest cotton. i wrote about wanting to be your ‘little things’ that make you happy, like singing birthday cards, or your favourite room in the house, or when you turn your head to receive a spontaneous deep kiss and you continue to speak in tongues until you lose your entire tank of oxygen, or just really cute oven mittens.
i miss you already, do you know that?