Starved.

Hunger is a passion. It sears and claws and begs… Feed me… touch me… consume me… Take this part of me that wants. It is dying to be free. Feel it, smooth and soft, and jagged. Breathe in the scent of discontent. Embrace the folds of tenderized skin. There is beauty somewhere here; it is dying to be seen. Stoke the flame, stroke the shame, bring me to my knees.

15

Compress a life, zip it tight and send it to the cloud. Be wary of exporting it; it may be too much for you to handle. Save it, though. Save it so that you can unpack it when you have cleared up the space you need to view it properly.

A Painful Softening

My vulnerability is vicious. Covered in thorns, it whips around me like a crusted bandage stroking open wounds. Once, when I was someone else, it was buried deep where I could not go. It hid under cold black blood, waiting for me to remember. But memories are cheaply made, and mine always arrived broken. How … Continue reading A Painful Softening →

The Place Where I Belong

She calls me, breathless. "It was amazing," she panted. "I loved it. I was made for this, Ima. I need it." Patched up by the threads trailing behind her gathering into a seam sewn with every fall and knotted with each triumphant rise, my lungs fill. My hands slow their spasms. My head sweeps the … Continue reading The Place Where I Belong →