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.
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?
the day i find zero delight in talking to you. it is so damn rare to never get bored of someone; and i know from the experience of having that someone. errrr..
for now, see ya
a memory inventing itself” —Octavio Paz, from East Slope (trans. Lysander Kemp)
now, ‘eliminating the unnecessary’ was always a task needed to be fulfilled within months of its beginning. my circle is too large, too consuming, too unfamiliar when it shouldn’t be.
do you know how easy it is to cut all the excess and have them slip out of favour? as easy as forgetting the dates that used to mean so much to you. you just get absorbed into other things and you realize your prior jewels weren’t nearly as eye-opening as the ones you were just introduced to. i’m not done until i’ve been exposed to a solid third of all the mines, continually being turned inside out.
i am for the bodies that move, speak, think—my dad’s belly, my mom’s voice, my grandma’s old photos. i don’t know what else to do with tissues of your amending heart but to hold them; and maybe these three pages stuffed in this dirty envelope will straighten things out. hey, check my credentials: i am disheartening, sarcastic, annoying. don’t stay.
my hands are somehow being held by all of you, all at once; but ultimately, my stars will die and i will be stopped from trying to save my world. i still deal with the 4am natural spirits filling my room to raise the laughs that drone out of my mouth while simultaneously feeling angry at knowing i gotta share you. i wish my bones were colder so i could be past the feeling, ya know?
i used to think it was really cool how i could get up, drink too much whatever, spend too much time reading every tedious word on the internet, and drain my brain with loving you too much.
i had a conversation about this with a friend of mine the other day and, i think dirty talking is the most underrated talent for a girl to have. i give recognition to those who can do it well
if you hadn’t already noticed, i made a new tumblr! this one is strictly for pictures, as i’m using ls-g for mostly writing/actual blogging. i came up with the url @heoiyeon based on my real korean name (pronounced Hae Yun).
i felt moonshine in the veins that ran in my arms-it was a little blurry in my throat but i had trusted in systematic advil for breakfast. i was sad because i wanted this to burn as much as i felt you did, but now we’ve burned out in a different way. i’m sorry if i seem distant or contrastive to who you were used to but how far does ‘never meant to’ get me when i honestly didn’t try to avoid it either? sometimes i don’t try very hard not to hurt people.
what else do i regret? i regret realizing there were none like you who shook off the miasma of sleeping pills. i regret letting myself enjoy my body when it is with your body. i regret not trying to edit all the bad parts. i regret showing him my tumblr because he will come back to check up on me one day and he will probably think this post is about him.
i sat (probably slept) in the shower for a few days and thought about all the thoughts i experienced. it was really depressing, but i’m alright with you staying here every night.
you are needed. make me strong in spirit.