Infuse your life with action. Don't wait for it to happen. Make it happen. Make your own future. Make your own hope. Make your own love- B.W. This one's called time out for a reason. I took a time out. Make sure that you're out doing something while the sun soaks into your skin… Continue reading TIME OUT.
My blog is my baby ( my blog has reached its second birthday) and I make it my mission to speak confidently about my positive ritual. Unless you're from Mars, I'm sure you all know that it is now Lent for those of you who look into yourselves religiously. From my perspective, I grew up a… Continue reading 40 days of the positive Mantra.
There can be a lot of misconceptions of the idea of “self-love” and the thought of putting yourself first. Indeed I pride myself upon being able to take care of myself. For a very long time I have struggled with myself and my identity, whether it be how I look or how I am generally.… Continue reading How I overcome struggle- self care.
Don't ever let them hate on your body for it is a striking mosaic of bones a relic of desire, peppered with nostalgia- wiggling hips like a dog bounding from the riverbed. Your belly button is deep and soft a likeness to a shellfish- your skin is fuzzy and uncharted and your fungus white… Continue reading Body-
Under photos of Zaragoza and them her hands grind Moroccan tea the girl- with her fences built high belly button pierced, her face smelling of honey and green tea. She believes in energy and angels in sweet lavender and Eucalyptus but not in you. She’s been to Cambodia and back in her head- a pilgrimage… Continue reading Remembering.
These are crystallised visions
Dancing too close.
Instruments of the deep blue;
Fish hook kisses,
Raging rip-tide tongues.
These lights are an alien sky
Scoop music or
Struggling spirits –
Slipping, yolky through florescent fingers –
Into steel-basin chests.
Phosphorous, unbound waves take us
Swaying in its swell of salt.
If we vomit tonight,
It’ll be jellyfish
Blubbery and full of washed up wishes.
Hips swing in rings of infinity
The Steady, instinctual pattern of bees
“Honey” They mouth;
Choked women’s voices
All those messages bottle-necked,
Annexed in Adams apples.
Tribal painted we chant
A song unknown to us
Possessed by the drums and
Something ungendered and primal-
Sequined wings exposed
To hungry hands.