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The days feel the same
The days feel the same
like I didn’t walk towards the light three times then rip my heart out to say goodbye to another / like I didn’t get the call that my first home and first love was about to go then have lived every day since aching to hear her speak, if only once more not in a dream / like I didn’t tear apart all my being, struggle through my worth and grief, unearth the best and worst parts of me, then heal…
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the song took you somewhere and I went with you. you held my hand and I wanted nothing more but to hold you steady. it was the first time I felt the world open for us... and we were real, unburdened, unguarded and full of hope birthed in the innocence of a solitary moment •~•~•~• @canwediscusspoetry asks for a #fyourfeedchallenge about music & vibez and this is what I write (at Miami, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5WQ3VslhAk/?igshid=qvipgl9vx122
I am rarely consistent with my habits, activities, or even where or how I write I have written in Parisian courtyards, huddled in the corner of the G train before it descends Brooklyn, random European hostel bars, sprawled across the grass beneath a Ferris wheel, a secluded corner of a beach right before high tide, and during my morning commute I should be someone who sets a consistent time, a consistent space, you know... create consistent habits Instead I let my fingers extend the length of a mobile phone quickly typing emotions and words in a rapid frenzy as if leaving them unattended meant they lost the opportunity to be spoken aloud I carry journals, I buy new ones before I’ve finished filling the pages of others, and I sit in my car in moments of silence to get the words just right I am a forever fluid process. I am always moving. I am always writing #fyourfeedchallenge @canwediscusspoetry (at Spring Garden) https://www.instagram.com/p/B451Z8elOvX/?igshid=46a72x7mpfhb
The way @boniver crept into an ice cold room of a carpeted cabin, buried beneath several feet of snow in upstate New York. I could see the Hudson, our love was skinny but the sun poured in a second story bathroom window. This song belongs to me It’s @jackgarratt , reappropriated, re-memorialized, existing right below the belly button where desire stirs. It’s the croon of his voice, the weight of your hand and the sand between our sheets. This song belongs to me It’s @smallblackmusic and every living room fist pump, half turn, flick of the wrist; the way we danced around one another with the lightness we never found in moments of silence. It’s the way you thought it was our song but I shared it with several strangers before you and it remains my song. This song belongs to me And I go collecting songs for I am the soundtrack of my every experience. These songs belong to me So when @canwediscusspoetry prompts me to reflect on who my muse is I say “Olivia” my writing ego, the side of me I didn’t embrace until a year ago. She is my muse. She breathes in the melodies of lovers and taps her foot to the beat of every energetic pulse that is felt in moments of complete liberation #fyourfeedchallenge {for those of you who don’t know, Olivia is my middle name🖤} (at Coral Gables, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/B41F4V4l9FK/?igshid=ommaoqxwyluc
there’s nothing fancy about this quote, it doesn’t exist in metallic colors or the divinity of innocence before it has been plucked from your open heart It is the reminder of all that has transpired, the white, the black, the every shade of grey. It is the search for balance, the mechanism that pushes you to find home, the way you crawl for it, long for it, feed yourself the dirt from beneath your nails so that you are planted, rooted, ready to blossom It’s the painting on a white wall that reminds you that only you define your limitations. It is the sound of a muffled morning; a cold tropic day that infuriated temporal standards, your hand upon the inside of your glass chest pressing out, screaming to be heard, waiting to be released. Someone begging to be embraced, the moment you realize it’s more meaningful than your frustration I remember this painting. I remember the wall where it hung. A loft wellness studio, a room where I was alone, the way I went everyday so I could feel like part of a community, the way it let me push boundaries that were physical because I couldn’t take expanding the ones that were emotional any longer I never told the owner, the way the image and words kept me warm on my coldest New York days.. the way her conversation and energy made me feel safe in a space she worked hard to cultivate as honest, the way yoga saved me when I felt directionless, without purpose, betrayed and alone because... it was my practice and no one held me back but me. To this I say “Inhale the good. exhale the bad shit” cc: @clairehungdesign : it’s been years, thank you ✨ {damn writing this was way more emotional than I anticipated. Thank you again @canwediscusspoetry for an amazing inspiration for this post #day3 #fyourfeedchallenge} (at South Miami, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4yYPjnlQOA/?igshid=1sldqsipa5elt
I used to hide in my bedroom with a journal on my lap. I would cross my legs in front of me and lean over them to write I was young but I wrote with an intensity that would seem inappropriate or incomprehensible for someone so young I have always brimmed with emotion. It has always poured out of me in a way that is primitive and honest, uncontrollable and pure I have always walked my own path and I have always found myself at a fork in the road, two doors, which way to go? Who will I be on the other side I take chances and I write about my pain like I’m untangling necklaces, as if this time I know how to keep them untangled as I continue layering on accessories; let’s keep this life presentable But I am never really clean and precise; this process is messy and I emerge with more questions than when I started I dance through these journeys on the tips of my toes, lightly, trying not to make too loud of a sound until I get to where I need to be... but I am never quite there... and I have broken toes on each foot to keep me grounded because I flow too freely I créate, I flow, I look to the sky because only she is infinite and I am infinite and we land when we choose to let gravity claim our dreams This is how I create Again, an amazing idea from @canwediscusspoetry #fyourfeedchallenge Day 2: créate flow (at Spring Garden) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4vuGdcF3mC/?igshid=quwk4kifejeq
I was 11 the first time I remember being embarrassed by my body. My first boyfriend “broke up” with me. He got mad when another boy liked me. The sixth grade class began saying I wore a wonder bra and stuffed my bra because I had curves before most of the other girls I played sports, I read books, I never wore too much makeup, I obsessed with being recognized as an intellectual, I studied hard I was 14 when I first kissed a boy and 15 when I had my first real boyfriend. He read Nietzsche, loved cats, wore too much Marilyn Manson, sang in a band, and had the most brilliant innocent smile. He was the first boy who made me feel beautiful and the first one who made me realize I was I was 19 when girls in college started saying I was easy. They didn’t like that their boyfriends thought I was cool and that their ex-boyfriends were asking to take me to dinner. In high school, I didn’t wear ribbons, my emo book bag kept their boys at bay In college, I wasn’t hiding beneath starched yellow button downs, an oversized olive sweatshirt or a plaid pleated skirt. In college boys could see me I graduated college. I went to graduate school. I moved. I went to graduate school again. I sought ways to balance my figure with my intellect. I dated men I thought valued both I’ve always felt ashamed. I felt that if I showed too much cleavage, I was flaunting it, “flexing” too hard, or asking for the kind of attention I knew I never wanted. It took getting back to Miami, to this very place in my life, that has allowed me to begin embracing all of it It’s only recently that I’m learning to love all of me. It’s taken getting to my mid 30’s to realize that I’m tired of hiding and that I attract the energy I put out. I was not made to be tiny and I was not made to be ashamed I continue to negotiate the ways in which I present myself. I’m just learning to do it in a way that feels honest so I’m posting this picture which embraces that sentiment This post is inspired @canwediscusspoetry prompt for the #fyourfeedchallenge (at Wynwood Arts District, Miami, Florida) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4sRSkDFOB1/?igshid=19lbwor8q84m0
