There are parts of my heart
scattered in each place I’ve been.
You see, travel does this funny thing.
It reminds you of the complexities in this world.
Cobbled streets lead to collosal castles
streets sprinkled in sorrow,
history and happiness too.
There’s nothing I would rather do.
Human connection is the aspect of adventure
that lives in the heart of each traveller.
The appreciation of beauty that notices
this door is closed but damn, it’s beautiful.
What lesson can be learned here?
That the little joys of life appear
in the middle of something unexpected?
I love that.
Travel is something I hold dear,
And you will always find a piece of my heart
to imbue with some pernicious belief, opinion, etc.; to influence feeling or action
Slithering snake of society,
Tactless tundra of intolerance,
You think you control me?
You think you hold the strength
to infect me with your filth?
Incessant ideologies of ignorance,
Persistantly trying to penetrate, and yet
Your walls do not close on me.
I am a warrior woman.
Strong in stature and stamina
Blasting through your bullshit.
Fuck your fake foolish fantasies
About who I’m meant to be.
Do not think for one moment that you
Hold the power to infect me.
via Daily Prompt: Infect
Buttons slowly slip through fabric,
I have something to show you.
Flesh making appearances,
I want you to see me.
Scar tissue ripples below the surface,
I have nothing to hide.
Imperfections under spotlights,
This is my awakening.
I want you to touch them.
Carefully planned interaction
You, me, those cuffs, and that dirty mouth.
Words hidden on our tongues, ready to stop
Knowing we won’t want to.
Face pressed firm into the mattress,
Brought to the edge again and again
Before the waves crash over.
My sea is calm once more.
Intoxicated with desire
And you’re the designated driver, yeah
I’m not afraid, ’cause I’m a rider, yeah
Ain’t nothing wrong with feeling right, so won’t you
Scream, at the top of your lungs, everybody’s feeling right
push me up against the wall. i’m tired of
feeling invisible, remind me I am here.
be rough with me baby, you know
i like it. my hair wrapped in your fist as you
speak devilish words in my ear.
i never have believed
in a higher power but you have me seeing
stars. that thigh in between my legs is a
staircase to heaven that
i could ride forever.
[italicized lyrics at beginning are from “Scream” by Timbaland]
Put your fists down, little rebel
knuckles scarred from the struggle
eyes ablaze with the memories
skin grafted soul recovery
My hands are up, little rebel
down on my knees
slow breath from my lips
in awe of your resilience
Let me love you, little rebel
pass me a rope
I’ll climb over this distance
soothe the fire from your mind.
Let me protect you, little rebel
You are safe now.
f u t u r e (adj)
late Middle English: via Old French from Latin futurus, future participle of esse ‘be’ (from the stem fu-, ultimately from a base meaning ‘grow, become’).
did you know that you were born from miracles?
standing on the shoulders of the mothers
born from miracles before you,
slowly standing so that we might
did you know that you are a healer?
existing in the power of the women
who helped us get here,
maintaining life so that we might
did you know that you are a force?
surviving intersections of oppression that
tell you change is impossible,
pushing one step forward so others might
reach the finish.
did you know that you are not just the flower of generations past?
did you know that you are a seed?