Endangered Species

It took me 30 years to love myself. 30 years to learn it's ok to be a size 0, have natalie arms, repeat 2 a days until I drop, sit alone in my boxers wearing my choice t of the day my inner romantic clepto seized possibly decades ago.

It took me 30 years to be ok with being loved. Every road traveled, every person I met made me who I am. Most locked me up and laid the bricks, but the ones who bring a smile to my freckled dimples gave me wings.

We can close our eyes to the things we don't want to see but we can't close our hearts to the things we don't want to feel.

I'm hard to love. It took me 30 years to be ok with that. Nothing worth having comes easy.

Like who you like. Love who you love. Like what you like and love the shit out of whatever it is that moves your soul. Don't give in. Stop pretending to smile, wrapping yourself up in their sheets. In the end the sadness in your eyes can be seen by those who care and the reflection looking back at you doesn't empathize for happiness sakes.

Make lists. On a post-it, in your diary, in your head, on a napkin, scribbled across the bathroom mirror. Write it down, breathe it out, live it. These list-worthy things aren't things at all. They're you. They're what makes you come alive. Don't die before you're dead. The easiest way to  do it is to give up on the you you're covering up.


One minute Bigge tells me to ride, the next George tells me to check yes or no, the next Aretha tells me natural beauty is ok and all that jazz changes my foot steps. Even Tupac knows I get around. Love the changes.

No one else is to blame for not loving you, but the voices in your head, the thoughts you let in. Easier to listen to others and quote their words, "No one can love you if you don't love yourself."

Done. Do it. Your kind of awesome is an endangered species.

Love the way you love.  We all love in our beautiful chaotic way. The ones who love us back, love us for the crazy way we love. Don't change how you love because it doesn't fit in the pretty little box wrapped by the voices of those who wish they loved unapologetically. So be crazy in love, in like, in life. With you and who ever you want to fit in a song. Live the only way you know how, happily.

I like the viens in my obliques, the rough edges of my toe tips, the scar in my eyelash, all the thoughts I can't communicate with words. I'm still learning how to let someone else love me, but loving yourself feels pretty damn good. Love on.

Shit's Loss

A heroin recently convinced a crowded room it's ok to loose your shit. She had me under this spell from the moment our paths crossed. It only took me decades to actually be ok with shit hitting the fan. My shit hitting the fan.

Not because I hated my job, I lost my job, I broke up with my boyfriend, I caught my husband in bed with a man, I heard a voice tell me I had terminal cancer, a voice tell me I had cancer period, I witnessed a horrible accident or a bunny getting hit by a bus, I saw a loved one's face disappear from sights ability...No.

I lost my shit because I let myself feel. Feel all emotion. Breathe in the nausea. Cry Justin a river. Embraced the happy horrific sadness. This a step for us sunshine chasing, pro happy choice card carrying smilers.

Sympathetic voices express the need for running company. Miss Independent's soles are happiest away from the chaos.  They promise sweaty returns even the hottest shower can't erase. When the feeling of the shit hitting the fan overcomes, happy thoughts can still remain.
 
So, lose your shit.  What's the point of any of it if you can't let vulnerability take over.

The shit's weighing you done anyway.

4am

Some nights go by with limited interruptions. Dreamers dream wrapped in the colored scenes rememered by those lucky enough to dig consciously.

Some nights break perceived bliss opening wonder flood gates. 4am knows all our secrets. The t-shirt us romantics habitually reach for echoing thoughts we hold on to. Thoughts embraced of those who hold on surrounded by letting go pushers .

In the daylight, letting go is applauded. Those who clap on que lack the star lite truths. How can you turn off the happy chants sufficating your fear. Fear is a liars enemy, one to be kept close. Scrutinze the fear. Feel it. Understand it. Give it the 4am analysis. Learn where it lives and give it wings.

You see it all at 4am. The ease, the sheets, the coffee cups, the shades, the comfort...the dreamers future. Some of us can't help but provoke fear. It's horrific presence stings waiting to be treated with a touch only our skin knows. We don't sit in the crowd waiting for the light to tell us to clap until it hurts.

Isn't it terrifying to wake to the realness of some of those nightmarish dreams. Isn't it easier to block the dreams with the comfortable applause. When they clap for you they're so far away they can't see the voices in your eyes. See them even if you have to look in the mirror. Applause breeds happiness only when the 4am voices can clap for you too.

The reflective dreams speak softly. Listen. Your two hands hold thoughts capable of unveiling darkness. Don't let the crowd's numbers smother your fear. They can't learn from it. Dr. Phil, Oprah...hell even Dr. Drew sees 4am every now and again.

If only their scripted wise words spewed with the warm rays could feel the cotton clothed in memories seeking wings or water.

Turn on the fan or turn on the hose. Just don't give up on your dreams because the morning crowd fills the softness left behind at 4am.

Mr. & Miss Time

Time has a funny way of playing tricks on our minds. We depend on it. We give in to the notion he will wash away emotion, pave a grand path, reflect inner desires, heal battle scars and teach the unthinkable. Time promises. Don't trust him. Time can only satisfy his desires if we give him the hand to spin the tiny revolving red lines within.

I use to pride myself with lack of trust proclamations. Guarding voices in my head, protecting the screams in my eyes, blocking others seeking the mystery. 

It sounds so light to give in. It sounds so blissful to attach. It sounds so peaceful to be surrounded.

Time stimulates contradicting thoughts. Time writes pros and cons. Time grounds butterflies. Time grants perceptive wishes. Time applauds the independents so comfortable on their own.


When you cross paths with someone who gets your timeliness, sees your screams, mocks the mystery, say goodbye.

Say goodbye to time's protective pull. The only way to trust is to expose the walls time helped build. Intuition dies with times hold.

Don't give it time. Give the keys to the cage.

Time can only teach those who dare to turn the hourglass, the courageous, the fearless dreamers with strength for emotional dependence.

What do you desire more, his time or yours...