i just wish we could erase the part of our brains that have been conditioned to believe that our bodies are inherently dirty, vulgar, or bad. like obviously thousands of years of conditioning isn’t going to disappear in even my lifetime probably and i don’t expect us all to walk around naked or anything but damn i just wish that loving your body and showing off/accentuating the parts of it you like wasn’t seen as being slutty or attention seeking or overtly sexual because maybe it isn’t sexual maybe it’s just saying my body is beautiful here look at it and appreciate it. and even if you do want to wear something to be sexual and to bring attention to your body sexually then who the fuck cares? we wouldn’t be such a perverse, hypocritical, and sex obsessed culture if we didn’t make sex and the human body such a taboo thing to begin with.
i feel like there are three to five different people living in my body.
and they all want different things.
and they’re getting antsy.
sometimes it’s like having my limbs tied to horses running in opposing directions and i just want to find my own voice in this cacophony of chatter in my own head.
i want a timeline that branches off with the trails running parallel like train tracks. i want to glide seamlessly between them all on a whim.
Well I don’t want to fucking need anyone.
And I can’t decide if that’s sad or not.
every few months or so i feel like i’ve never been alive until this exact second, like i’ve somehow existed in a fog until this great moment of clarity that always finds me either in laughter or in tears, sometimes both. i feel everything at once or nothing at all lately, and i’ve surprised myself with how easily i can turn the switch. i sabotage myself almost everyday, closing myself off from this flood that waits until 3am to find me. i’m not afraid of getting hurt; i’m simply afraid of losing myself.
when i come out on the other side of it all, i can see my life branching before me like a thousand veins leading to a thousand places and i know that my hands are on the wheel this time, and i am in control. i’ve asked god to make my life into something beautiful, something unforgettable, and after watching a billion potentially beautiful things come and go without notice, i can say now that life isn’t merely observing and waiting for the universe to fall into your lap; you’ve got to be willing to make things happen. i see and feel something beautiful everyday, and i want to spend the rest of my life making other people see it, too.
I remember I was swaying and singing and you held your hands up to the light and we laughed.
hands are my favorite things. and wrists. i remember hands. i catch myself staring. wrists are the most beautiful part of the body, but i couldn’t tell you why. my wrists are pale with blue trails branching into my palms. they’re speckled with freckles. they are fragile and thin skinned and they long to be touched and held and led away with the rest of me following behind. i think you can tell a lot about someone from their wrists, their hands. maybe we find them so lovely because they hold the key to life itself barely hidden beneath a few thin layers of skin. i like slender wrists and big hands. i like to see the bones when the fingers stretch. i like intertwined pinkies when holding hands is too scary. i like the way they tap the steering wheel to music. i like when the knuckles go white. i like them on the back of my neck and i like the fingers to draw circles on my forearms and i like to watch them strum guitars and scribble in sketchbooks. i like when they massage temples leading to a furrowed brow and i like the way they can make things and shape things and frame a smiling face or wipe away tears.
my hands are small.
and they want to be filled.