i wish that i could tell you about the man i love he has eyes like the sky on a bright Sunday morning his smile is like fireflies and his laughter like fireworks and his hands were made to heal wounds and wreckages i wish that i could tell you about the man i love…
to come to terms with death you first must bargain, beg for every single memory not to be taken away, see them slip through your fingers like sand -that smell, that look, that noise, the softness of that touch- cling to them like they’re everything you have because they are, because you’re in a raft…
Photo by Dovile Ramoskaite on Unsplash. i left my shoes in Queens ‘cause they didn’t fit into my luggage they had walked roads that didn’t take me anywhere they had gone the long distance for no good reason they had gotten unwanted and unwarranted comments about the way i choose to walk through life i…
i took my dress off ‘cause it made me think of you of all your failed efforts to look away that sunday evening of how your eyes kept undressing me with every glance stripping away in your mind that dress I only bought so you would take it off i took my nails off ‘cause…
I tend to justify many of my decisions —my impulsive choices and my mercurial disposition— by quoting Anaïs Nin, who famously turned down a profile on Harper’s Bazaar by saying: My life is not possible to tell. I change every day, change my patterns, my concepts, my interpretations. I am a series of moods and…
The notion that us walking down the street somehow “invites” these comments stems from the idea that female bodies are public spaces, perform a public service, and belong to society as a whole, unlike male bodies, which are private and not a battleground for public discourse.
My favorite dress, not that one, the one that you remember so well ―that one survived for no reason in my overflow bag. A bottle of impossible glowTM that Laura made me buy and that now I don’t know how to live without. A couple of books I took for the trip and never got…
I think I’m more at home in transience than in places, in liminal spaces like airports and hotels, in traveling and unbeing than in the rooted notion of a country with borders and tags and specific requirements. I’m most at home at home, in my apartment that is almost a non-place in itself, made out…
When crossing the street on an intersection that I walk every day: to be run over by that bus that’s rapidly approaching its stop; to die instantly. When making breakfast at home: to put my hand over the hot griddle; to feel the raging burn coursing through my skin, melting it away. When petting my…
The way I see it, life is an exercise in losing. You go around leaving pieces of yourself behind, things you have lost while moving places, while leaving relationships, while changing jobs, fragments you will never recover because going back is impossible. It is my fundamental belief that a person is made of the pieces…
