The truth is, I have too often not risen to the occasion of myself. I have too often draped myself in the cloaks of softer, quieter.Fine.But I am not fine.I laugh too loud and fight too hard. I cannot manage a low key entrance and instead show up to trumpets. I like my sex rough… Continue reading the bold type
last year i wrote about running. how i have worn out many a figurative sole by simply fleeing, removing myself from the life of whomever i was currently sharing it with. i don't think i'll ever not feel the itch to just run, when things look funny in the light. but now i understand that… Continue reading all my boring lives.
sometimes it's easy to forget it ever happened, to go about life and never have it surface in the forefront of my mind. even when i am reminded by my naked reflection, the now barely-there line of a scar etched below my pelvis, a slight kiss from a scalpel in yesteryears past; the small Bs that were… Continue reading 4. Mother’s Day
this essay is late. i was traveling for work all last week and foolishly thought i'd be able to write while doing so. i was mistaken. thus, there will be two essays posted this week. staying on task. i started writing this a long, long time ago. probably a year ago. glad this challenge is… Continue reading 2. Rocket Love
Thirty. Ah yes, the big three-oh. The age when women start keeping track of ovulation cycles and mourning each egg lost during monthly visits. The time when a woman examines her face in the mirror and takes note of each wayward line and makes a promise to her (now obviously fragile) reflection to not laugh… Continue reading Dirty Thirty