a process

  1. lazy phrases and easy sounds come most readily while I am walking at dusk.
  2. languid stream-of-poetic(?)-consciousness solidifies into a frenzy and I pull out my little notebook.
  3. light prickles my skin and gets the blood rushing from mind through pen and onto paper.
  4. lines are edited as they are written, because after I have tucked the pen away it is too late.

I love flowers because

they look so strong when they stand up and strain towards the sun, and because at certain hours of the day their petals look all glowy and red and warm to the touch (just like when light is caught behind a friend’s earlobe or a flashlight is pressed under fingertips), and because of the way they seem to know when it is the right time to open up and when it is time to hide oneself away at least for a short while.

the beginning of an open letter

I often feel the safest when I am around women. It is only recently that I decided to more actively reflect on the reasons why.

Growing up, I sought comfort in the women closest to me (my mother, grandmother, sister) by burrowing into their physical and emotional softness. Bosoms, large arms, and yielding bellies were loving, sacred places that promised warmth and tenderness. (Thinking about these moments helps me remember why I need to continue loving the soft-vulnerable velvetiness of my own body.) It is an act of resistance to make oneself soft, to make the body a site of healing and strength to those who need it most.

To be… expanded

 

a sketch

I stared straight at emotion
and I’ve been blind for weeks

because of it.

when my eyes are closed,
everything glows red and purple.
the veins in my eyelids
are white lightning streaks
and they are so brilliant
that I do not sleep at night.

when my eyes are open
the sky is a false black.
false because it is not opaque
like darkness is supposed to be.
this black burns ultraviolently
and my irises feel bleached.

I stared straight at emotion
and I’ve been blind for weeks

but the visions are glorious.

I love

myself,
you,

the person I passed on the street who smiled at me just as that sunset colored pressure was building inside of my torso (I was going to burst into shards of sparking glass on that sidewalk even though the music was stinging sweetly in my head, passing back and forth between my ears like a keen metallic pipe cleaner)

photos I have taken of frozen yogurt (and one matcha bowl) that I think turned out pretty nice

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take photos of the people and things that you love

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