I feel it a lot as of late, as if I’m looking for something I’ve long forgotten. I feel the restless shift of my soul, the tightening of skin on my fragile bones. It’s too much and I feel like I may be crushed, turned to dust. The words that shouldn’t, slice through skin once thick and strong but now thin, worn down from the weathering of a weary life. My spirit feels brittle, as if a single year has aged it centuries. I am not young, I am old. Trapped in this space where I don’t know where I am so I can’t figure out where to go. It hurts so much that I feel it physically welling up in my belly cavity, ripping downward to my womb. The space that should be carrying my ideas and hopes wrapped sweetly, safely in that space that is supposed to be sacred. But it’s all dried out. Cobwebs and dust. No one goes there. There is no spark. Is that because she left or did it leave long before the door closed?
no see lesbians are not more accepted than gay men they’re more sexualized please do not get those 2 things confused
If you feel like you need permission to indulge in vanity, this is it.
You are allowed to think you look beautiful, pretty, handsome, dashing, lovely, what have you.
You are allowed to take tons of selfies.
You are allowed to get lost in your own eyes in the mirror.
You are allowed to strut your stuff.
You are allowed to think you’re a pretty rad person.
You are allowed to love the fuck out of yourself.