ku-o;

in a world of words, fruit, and skin

[ku-o]

so apparently for the past two days i’ve been having an allergic reaction and mistook it as some gross mucus buildup or something going on in the back of my throat when apparently it was my throat closing up from eating coconut. welp, ya live and ya learn

[ku-o]

i secretly love the process of progress. like when ur not where u wanna b but ur gettin there. it’s tough, and it shows everywhere on u. but u kno this little funk ur in will b worth it...this necessary funk. it’s a very humbling experience

[ku-o]

The last guy I dated made me feel like something was missing. Not from us; from me.

I last saw him when we went to San Francisco. After telling myself that I would never get into a long-distance relationship, I did. We hadn’t seen each other for three months and decided to meet up in San Francisco out of convenience: his mother lived out there and he was visiting her for the holidays.

“I can’t do this,” I said.

“What’s going on?”

After giving him early-morning head, I got dressed, walked out to the front of the hotel, and called my friend Iris.

“I haven’t felt insecure in years.” There was a silence on the phone. Well, Iris let out a sigh that dissolved into the silence. “We haven’t kissed once since we’ve been out here.”

An older white man walked by me, staring at my inevitably conspicuous nipples poking through my top.

I turned my back to the man and folded my arm across my chest. “It’s so cold here,” I said. San Francisco was a strange city to me. There was an inexplicable heaviness looming at every street corner, and the people pulled it with them as they scurried, strangely, leisurely, through the streets.

“I don’t like it out here,” I said, my voice was hushed. For some reason, I was worried someone was going to hear my confession and tell me to leave. Get out and don’t come back; there’s plenty of people who would feel overjoyed to be fifteen minutes from Fisherman’s Wharf. “I’m gonna go,” I said, interjecting my self, “I think he wants to walk around the city today.”

“You know what you have to do, right,” Iris said.

I was quiet. I didn’t have to do anything. “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

[ku-o]

I stand in the middle of the waves, looking up at the sky. The stars are too loud and too quiet. The moon is pointing down to us. The radiance from the neighboring galaxies splatters the night. And I am wavy.

excerpt from the short story “Me, In the Clouds” by U.O.

[kleptomaan]

[quantumchild-deactivated2016120]

in front of my mother and my sisters, i pretend love is cheap and vulgar. i act like it’s a sin– i pretend that love is for women on a dark path. but at night i dream of a love so heavy it makes my spine throb– i dream up a lover who makes love like he is separating salt from water.

Salma Deera, “salt” (via writingwillows)

[ku-o]

feeling absent lately. like i’m in a sort of limbo or abyss. this is what i mean: i placed my phone on silent. “do not disturb.” because i’m finding it difficult to keep in contact with people who i cannot see. He, in the sky, is the only exception. i don’t feel alone or lonely; i feel reserved. i am a reservation. been calling myself up, making sure i make it to me on time. i always show up late but that’s okay because i understand, life can sometimes slow you down. so i get it. my universe smells like absence and cleanliness. i think my heart needs a bath. a lavender, blueberry, hot, hot, hot bath. if i wake up tomorrow covered in webs, it’s just my way of saying i’m home, and i’m not leaving this anytime soon.

[ericboyd]

The river bends softly into you.

SIX WORDS (4/23/16)

[ku-o]

i usually read the daily text right before i go to bed for whatever reason so i didn’t read it until i woke from my nap right now. the text highlighted how the sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood during the great tribulation. taking this into account, i literally just woke up from a crazy dream where so much demonic bs was occurring but it most of it was subtle and could be easily overlooked (as many “good” traps are). i woke up confused and bothered cuz the dream was so vivid yet random; ive been so busy that i dont even kno where that kind of dream stemmed from. fortunately, since it’s habitual for me to read the daily text at night, i read it after waking up right now and its calmed me down so much.

[talkofthecitee]

[ku-o]

I drink watermelon juice from a shell. Your shell.

It is pink. It is a field of unplucked flowers and your floating petals. You taste like what I’ve been looking for, and I do not know if I can leave us now.

When you ask me if I love her, I drink the watermelon. It spills from my mouth, and is dripping down my neck now. You place your hand on my collarbone; catch the drop in the palm of your hand. With your sticky, sweet, cinnamon fingers. You run yourself through my head.

My hair is painted in red. Your fingers are burning and I am a mess. My lips are stuck together and I am a mess. Because of you. And I am a mess.

I drink watermelon juice from a shell. Your sweet, cinnamon shell. It is messy, and the air is sweet, and my heart is swollen, and I am always craving the palm of your hand on my collarbone.

[iamceducci]

[ku-o]

I hold you anyway I can. In the palms of my hands. In conversations not about love.

Somewhere in my back, between my vertebrae and shoulder blades. In my breath -- where I hold you the most. Always inhaling.

Inhaling your scents then uncontrollably exhaling my sense. This is when you drive me crazy. This is when I break my hands. This is when I lose my backbone, soften into impotence; soften into innocence. Soften into you, in a sense.

I hold you anyway I can. And sometimes I hold you so high, you dissolve into the firmament, turn into the Could’ve-Been angel, and I am left alone.

Yet, here I am. Still holding you anyway I can get you. Holding you, anyway. With my broken palms and broken wrists.

[ku-o]

i just ordered over $100 in VS bralettes on ebay. anyone who knows me knows that i never wear bras, like ever. i’m a sports bra, no bra, or wireless bra kinda girl so these bralettes are gonna have me on another level of sexiness

[ku-o]

When I think of love I think of mangoes. Peeling them and feeling their juice run down my lips. He says it is a weeping willow tree with fireflies dancing through the leaves. I think about sand in my hair and many, many years of picking cotton from the spaces between my fingers.

What we dont know

[sensitiveblackperson1-deactivat]

[tristamateer]

Nobody is in love with me and everything is still warm. Still soft. Still rosewater and a typewriter ribbon. Still cookbooks and salt air and sheer black lingerie. Still red lipstick. Still mostly kind. Still often uncomplicated. Still mints at the bottom of my purse, hair held back, pulse thumping through skin. Still sweet tea in a pitcher on the kitchen counter, a cold glass with three lemon slices, a full ice cube tray. I don’t understand how it’s all so light.

Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)