Lovely Little Words

White Noise

When they put the handcuffs around his wrist, he realized for the first time that this was the most painful sensation human beings could live through which had nothing to do with how tight the officer in blue tightened the metal, click after click.

He could smell the smoke in the humid air and liked feeling how it wrapped around him as he sat on his simple porch which he had built with his own hands. Trees, greenery, lush surrounded him on all sides. When the wind picked up the green slowly shook, and he thought about how his daughter use to shake when she was cold in the night until he would bring her closer to his body between him and her mother where she felt safe and he felt his purpose. A bird above him pecked away at an insect in its claws. It was getting colder than usual, but not cold enough for him to go inside his little hut where his family waited. He stayed on the porch and smoked a cigarette that he had rolled. Everyone else on the island stuck with cigarette cartons prerolled because they were ready to go and easy. Light, inhale and forget. Not him. He liked taking the time divide the tobacco, carefully placing it inside the delicate sheet until it was ready to be tucked in and secured. He wet his fingers and sealed his work. Slowly he admired his creation and wondered if this had been better than the last. He lit a match and brought it to the tip, slowly inhaling once the burning began. The first hit was always the best. He wondered whether his last cigarette would be the worse. 

His belly started up again and he remembered he was hungry. The papaya and banana trees around him dimmed one notch when he remembered that he couldn’t pluck a single fruit from their leaves. Quickly he shut the hungry away and focused on the smoke that surrounded him. It came from leaves burning in the garden next door and from his tobacco burning between his lips. He wanted his wife’s lips, just like he always wanted her lips. But she could wait. They would all have to wait. He looked beyond the green and saw the sky. Overcast but bright. It made him think about the time when he walked on the beach and how much darker the overcast made him compared to when the sun shined in full force pushing everyone back inside their homes or in the waters. Overcast wasn’t so bad he thought. Rain was nice too. 

He wished it rained hard so he could walk outside and feel the drops fall on him. He would pay better attention this time. He’d open his mouth and close his eyes. As he imagined himself soaking in the rain with a smile on his face, one drop shed from his left eye in response to an emotion that welled up deep inside of him which he fought off with all his life, as if it would make everything better. He brought the tobacco back to his lips and focused on inhaling the smoke that curled inside of his lungs lovingly.  

He admired a large Monstera Leaf that shined like silver in the overcast sky. Water dripped from it’s pointed tip. He thought of his grandmother who loved making the Monstera Quilts which she had wrapped around him when he was a child. His favorite had been the blood red and white. A good child. Now he was an adult, maybe not so good. His wrist hurt and he wondered if they would hurt forever. He exhaled a smoke cloud and for a second his vision blurred. Smoke was beautiful in its transparency. It could never be contained or captured. It was simply there and then it vanished. It did as it pleased, and then it went free. He wished he could vanish and that his wrist would stop hurting. He wished he couldn’t feel the hunger. His wishes were neverending these days. 

He looked back into the sky and saw that the sun was finally starting to come out. If it had been a normal day he would take his babies to the beach and hold his wife’s hand. It would surprise her because he never held her hand, but she deserved it. She deserved more than what he had brought into her life. The trees around him started to shake when he thought about his gratitude for the people who had never left his side. He shook back and concentrated on his tobacco. One last hit, long smooth, deep in his belly. 

A baby started crying somewhere in the distance. He wondered if the neighbors had finally given birth or if a child had been adopted by a woman who made it her life to take care of others. He wanted to call his wife and have her sit next to him. He would have just stared at her and her beautiful thick black hair. The dark mole above her lip that gave her face so much character. He wanted to hear her voice when she laughed and sang. He was tired of hearing her cry. He was tired of the cries, and all the yelling. the wind picked up and shook the green surrounded him. He started to feel like he was sitting in white noise. The tobacco in his lips slipped and disappeared. He could no longer smell the smoke but instead, the smell of urine underneath some type of sanitation came back to him. Hunger overcame him and all he wanted was silence, sleep. Everything was too loud, too bright. He wanted darkness. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them again. Nowadays it pained him to wake up from the few hours of sleep he had. He prayed for peace of mind with his eyes closed. When he opened them he saw a dirty eggshell white wall. He felt his hunger more than ever. 

Shibasan kept a close eye on number 1098. He didn’t like how he spent his days staring straight at the wall without noticing his meals or medicine checks. That was usually the first signs. Shibasan could tell that he would be another prisoner lost. Some of them just couldn’t handle the isolation. That wasn’t his fault though. He would never feel pity for the people that ended up in here. They were animals who deserved to be locked up. He was just here to give the order when these types finally lost their minds. He’d give 1098 another month. Then they’d start the punishments to make him eat. Right now a little weight loss might be good for him. As he passed the cell of 1098 he wondered what was going on in his mind to make him smile at the eggshell white wall carved with initials and markings from past prisoners. This one’s a goner. 

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

© Ivan S. Harris Photography
© Ivan S. Harris Photography

Just Because

Just because today I’m feeling rather sentimental I just wanted to say,

Don’t give up. 

Even when you think you’re cornered, if you keep pushing forward, I promise a trap door will come out of nowhere and you’ll see that there was a choice, a plan, something that will save you from sinking to the bottom, all along.

But if you give up, you’ll never know. Even if the answer comes to you in 5 to 15 years. It’ll come like the first sunset. Like the first kiss. Like the taste of a cool strawberry on a hot day. Like looking into the eyes of someone and knowing for once, they’ve been looking for you their whole life.

Don’t give up.

Things get better. Only if you keep pushing forward. Be the train that carried on despite war and weather. Be the heart that loves despite its cracks and floods. Be the hero that save with nothing in return.

Be good baby, and don’t give up. 

xoxox,

Lindsay Reva

© Ivan S. Harris Photography
© Ivan S. Harris Photography

Give or Take

The world is a bright place if you take away the dark shadows that are cast down behind human beings. I think about this because of all the times I’ve been used. I believe we’re all users in one way or the other. Your soulmate, for example, you need him or her. Why is that? Because of how they make you feel. Happiness, love, hope, all those good things bundled up in one complex creature of mankind. The boss you admire and adore? They lead you in the right direction, they bring something out of you which you never knew you had. They make you feel respected. We are using these people to better our lives and in return, you are bettering their lives since you bring something of equal value to them. Whether that’s an equal amount of love or dedicated work force.

And the other type of users?

Those make me sad, tired, drained from deep to shallow. Even if they haven’t touched my life, I feel them sucking the life out of others. These are the user that take advantage of people without giving energy or anything in return. They live off of kindness. They feed off of the givers. They are the neverending takers.

Which role do you live? The givers or the takers? Is there a fine line between the two and why would it matter which side of the pendulum you end up on? Let me tell you, if you’re a giver it doesn’t mean you’re never the receiver. In your lifetime you will receive a monument of A LOT. But if you’re always a taker without gratitude for how people bend over backwards to make you happy, just know that your heart has a hole in it. the sands of the times are slipping out. Each grain represents a piece of happiness and content. You may not notice each output but at the end of your life, you will be filled with only foolishness.

Empty,

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

 

Lifer

The guards opened the door and a man walked in with the same terrified look, a look worn every time he came to visit her in prison. He tried his best to hide the stress behind his eyes. But she had a gift of feeling him. His best days, and especially his worse. 

She smiled and hoped he couldn’t feel her like she felt him. He smiled back. 
Nice to see you again, handsome. 
Beautiful. It’s my pleasure.
They took a silent moment to take each other in. the smallest details that those who’ve either spent a lifetime together or who’ve only met for a single minute became apparent. She still loved looking at him. He had started to grey at the temples and she would never get tired of studying his aquiline nose and clear honest eyes. “The most beautiful man in existence“, she had said like a damn fool to her girlfriend after she’s spotted him waiting for his drink to fall from a vending machine. She needed nothing, not a drop of courage or push, to go straight up to him and ask with all the weight of the world, “won’t you come out and play tonight?
He looked at her and tried to block out the plexiglass that separated his hands from her soft skin and saw how pretty she looked. He had thought that she would disappear from the women who he had fallen in love with after the judgement, but every time  he came it was as if she was being preserved back into the dark hair girl who would have never let him say no as he waited for his Coca Cola to drop from a machine in a dark hallway. He could feel a shift in his life the day she took one step forward so close to him that anyone watching would have thought that they weren’t strangers at all, but longtime lovers. He looked at her light eyes and saw warm whiskey, gold flakes, dark honey. She had gotten pale in prison and lost all the weight gained that comes with just the comfort of living. Young and refreshed was the only way to describe her who he wanted more than anything. He missed her. He missed his wife.
You cut your hair? 
She touched her hair in response and for a moment felt embarrassed that he had caught her in a shameful act of trying to look good for him in a place like this. After that she placed her hands firmly in her lap remembering that this was the life of a married women in prison. They must try their best to look good for a man who can only get a glimpse of you through the shadows of a prisons reflection.
Do you like it? 
I love it. 
He didn’t love it. but he would have told her the sky was red if it had made her feel better. He remembered when she lay sleeping in their bed and her long aubern hair fanned out on the white sheets and pillow, a mess of spun gold and a sleeping angel. She slept so quitely it scared him. He couldn’t resist leaning down to bury his face in her hair and kiss the line of her jaw and neck. She had cut it all off. That was okay, some memories stayed locked in the memory. Days of her long silky hair would expire only after forever.
How are you, sweets?
When someone asked her “how are you?” she wanted to punch them in the face, give them a slap, or pull their hair. Depending on her mood, of course. When her husband asked her she just wanted to cry. When he asked her if she was happy it was even worse. Happy? She wanted to tell him that all she wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up and that the only thing that was keeping her away from the blades she could get from kitchen duty, was him. She wanted to tell him that he should find a wife who deserved him. She wanted to tell him to get lost. Not because she didn’t need him anymore, but that she hurt more than anything to know that such a beautiful human being like him could love such a thing like her. He deserved more.
I’m happy. Always, happy. And you? 
She always told him she was happy but he could see the hate shine brighter than a full moon in the blackest sky as she pronounced each syllable. Hap-py. Ha-te. He didn’t blame her though. He didn’t know what she was going through because she had never been the one to complain. She dug it out, made it the best even though everyone said it was the worse. But still the stories he heard about this place, the way the guards carried themselves left him uneasy knowing his angel was stuck in quicksand. He felt sick when he saw his lovely intelligent wife buried inbetween these walls. He dreamt of the day she would come out. How she would feel and how he would feel. It’ll be far from now but it won’t be never and that’s one thing that wouldn’t escaped his consciousness. One day she would be his again. One day…those two words brought him paradise and torture at the same time.
I’m great, beauty.
She felt so ugly. The uniforms were as bad as she imagined and the underwear she wore could have been a parachute, the bra two sizes too big. Socks would be forever stained. She fantasized about the day she would walk out of this hell hole. Just another 4,837 days to go. But she would walk out. She would run right in her lovers arms. Her family would be there and she would thank god for making her see what life was really all about. For now she was stuck with an imagination of her first day of freedom which ran over and over like a broken record, skip and repeat.
Have you been working out? 
He had started working out when he met the other women. He remembered the first time he came to visit his wife after he had started the affair. He was worried that CHEATER would be written all over his face and body the moment he walked into that tiny room with a plexiglass covered with stains and nicks from other prisoners visits. But she hadn’t know, and he hadn’t felt bad. Because he still loved his wife and would do anything for her. This side thing was exactly that, just a thing to do in the mean time. Of course he wished things had been different… The other woman would eventually find someone else and fade away like smoke in the air. She was small time. His wife was his lifer.
I started doing Judo again with some of the guys. You look like you’ve lost some more weight. They’re feeding you enough?
She was sure he was fucking someone else. He would say little things that could only have came from another women. And she just knew it… but never once had she spoken one word about it. Let him live. She was in prison, not him. It didn’t help when her brother had sent her a letter in the mail saying he saw her husband bowling with a blonde who looked half her age. She couldn’t eat much after that. It was hard to eat when you had to compete with a younger, more beautiful, and freer women. She also knew that as long as she was locked behind these walls, bars, and authority, she would never be able to be a wife or lover to the one person who she had made a lifetime vow to. Vows meant nothing in a place like this…
I’m eating all the food I can get.
They looked at each other and without saying a word thought about the first time they had sat down at a table in a park barely knowing one another and  knowing without a doubt that the person sitting across from them was extraordinary. He fed her a brownie. She played with the palm of his hand. They talked, not a single beat missed.
One moment passed and then before they knew it the next came and they stared at each other from opposite sides of a plexiglass. She brought her hand to the glass and he pressed his palm against hers. 
I don’t want you to leave. 
I don’t want to go.
…Anything to feel your lips on my neck.
…Prettier every time I see you.
You’ll come back?
Have I ever not? 
After their 30 minutes of visitation was over they both walked their separate ways to completely different lifestyles. But in all the differences the rhythm which their hearts beat to never strayed from one another. The same stream, the same frequency, the same chemistry that would keep them as one when the rest of life tried to make them two. 
At the moment, all they had was time. Even if time was an enemy, it would only last for a little less than an eternity.
Xoxox
Lindsay Reva

Stargazer

Do you love me? He had asked because he could no longer stand it. This woman had stood by his side for years, looked him in the eyes and told him the truth while the rest of the world lied to him. Sometimes he couldn’t shut her up. Philosophy, controversies, content in every shape or form blurting out of her mouth like her life depended on it. Yet he could never figure out where this women’s passion came from. When she felt, which was all the time, she sang, she spoke, she whispered. Fear of a topic was unheard of. With one exception. Never once had the word Love spilled off of her satin painted lips. Before she answered he wondered if the word no would feel like sitting at the base of a fresh avalanche or whether his heart would burst with lightning bolts if she said that lovely syllable; yes.

Do I love him? Do the birds look to the heavens before they take their flight? Do the priest hear their callings in the rhythm of their pulse or the devil in a thunderstorm? Do the lost never get found? Does the light never illuminate the darkness? Does the deep swallow the shallow? Does the whole devour the halfhearted? Her mind thought about that first question followed by a thousand more and wondered what it would be like if she loved him, and him only. Would she strike him down in his tracks and use every reason known to man to love him, to just be a woman, his women. That’d be nice. His woman, just like mama said I would have to be when I was all grown. But what mama don’t now doesn’t hurt. And what he doesn’t know will stroke his tenderness lovingly. Maybe I do love him… 

I love you just like I love the stardust and eclipses from my past planet, she said as she looked him straight in the eyes. Neither blinked.

She was always saying weird shit like that. But that’s why he loved her. The way her mind worked, like she came from somewhere else, far, far away from any being on earth. Otherworldly. When she said she had loved him like the stardust he pictured white sand placed in the palms of her hands slowly running through the cracks between her fingers into the space of emptiness, nothingness and black. He wished she had said she loved him like she loved the sun or the moon. But he was stardust and an eclipse.

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

silhouette photo of man leaning on heart shaped tree
Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com

Catch & Release

The order to release number 1041 finally came. When the message was received from the top ranks, officer Kanto couldn’t believe it. 1041 had been one of the good ones in a place where everyone was bad. He trusted none of them however because he saw like he could see the sun shining in the sky that when you dig deep enough, bad was waiting for the opportunity to show itself. That’s why these scums deserved everything they got. But Kanto had spent many times examining 1041. Something was different. He had never snapped, not even risked talking back. Even when the Chief Commander had kicked 1041 in the ribs for slipping in the shower, he hadn’t cried out like some of the cowards would have done. He simply picked himself up and stared at the commander’s shoes. Kanto could hear a thousand accusations in the silence. Somehow they weren’t pointing at 1041 but instead, the Commander.

Please God, help me forget how cold this world is. He missed the sun like he missed his mother. He missed homecooked meals that his wife use to cook after long hard days in the office. He missed hearing a good song on the radio. He missed feeling like he was alive. He missed and then there was nothing. Meanings had all changed the first day he walked into prison. 30 years was the number tattooed on the back of his brain, the remainder of a sentence given in exchange for one second of a mistake. He didn’t regret anything though. He was too far deep in his misery to regret. All he could do was accept and walk the tightrope of choosing life over death.

Kanto walked to the cell which was the cleanest in the prison. Probably even cleaner than the officers quarters, which didn’t say much since it was cleaned by the prisoners themselves. As he went he passed the bottom floor which was full of lifers and those on Suicide Watch. Some type of shadiness was always happening with these folks. Throwing shit on walls. Skin and bones refusing to eat. Animal noises all throughout the day and night. This was the floor that made the ranks grow cold in their hearts. Years on the first floor would change a man straight into a maneater. He thanked his ancestors for the luck of being a floater instead of a babysitter for these crazy crooks. Kantos mind wandered to the many times when they opened a cell door to a dead body suffocated with clothes, bedsheets, or smuggled plastic. Sometimes he wondered if his brother officers had any influence on how that plastic made its way inside those cells. But that was just one of the unspeakable topics, and there were many… He reached the 3rd floor and went to the room of 1041.

Sometimes 1041 couldn’t remember what it was like to be free. The other day an officer had asked him if he had a wife waiting for him. Wife. Did I have a wife? He said yes, but with all the mental effort going on he could not remember what her face looked like. Neither the smell of her hair or if she had been soft to hold or an absolute bitch. Yes, sir. I have a wife. She’s waiting for me and she’s beautiful. 1041 carried on doing all his choirs and duties all the while putting together the image of a woman who might or might not be his wife. When he was stressed or sad he liked to clean. He wasn’t supposed to be cleaning all day, but the guards were tired of beating him for something they couldn’t quite justify. So instead they let him clean and only gave him a few licks when the higherups were in site. Although he cleaned like his life depended on it, he always felt dirty. He could feel the stink and decay deep in his bones, surrounding him on every single surface.

Kanto looked into the cell of 1041. Spotless with not a cup or plate out of place. The bed could have been a perfect example for any military barrack. The floors actually shined as if he had used a cleaning product instead of a simple rag and water. Sadness overwhelmed him and for the first time in his career, he wondered if he had lived his entire life wrong. He thought of the thousands of times he had made this trip to an inmate who was about to be released. Sometimes he felt disgusted because some of these animals didn’t deserve to be pardoned. They’d be back in a heartbeat once they got caught stealing food to survive or cash to get high. Other times he actually felt happy. Last week he had given the good news to a young kid who was in for Grand Theft Auto. He wasn’t a bad kid. Misled, but he had the potential to go out and start a new life for himself. It was really unfortunate when less than a week later that same young man’s body was found in the Shinano River. He had hoped things would be different, but no matter how much you hope, fate happens.

Nowadays he couldn’t remember much. The only thing he knew was that he was a dirty person in a dirty place. He was 1041 and he had to clean. Sometimes things would flash in his head. I remembered. He remembered things that could have been from books he had read or it could have been his life. Beautiful things that made him cry and hope that he had been so lucky to have a family and times which would always be greater than his hardships. These remembrances were random but when they hit, they hit harder than any storm mother nature could throw at him. When they hit, he lost it. My lady. How lovely she was with her dark brown hair and light almond eyes. She used to sing while she took a shower and we use to walk our kids to the park every Friday. But they stopped coming and then the letter came. Dear Frank, I’m sorry but we’re starting our life over. We love you but you should also do the same. No. When I remember how she use to touch me and how my kids use to smile, how the hell was I suppose to start over? No. No. No. But I’ll forget about them tomorrow. Then they’ll come back and haunt me. I’ll rot here from the inside out, and always they will haunt me. 1041 thought about whether life was really worth it. He remembered that he had many, many years to go and the number 30 burned like blue fire on his brain. I won’t let these bastards have me. They might think I belong to them but I am free. Free in my mind. I am not an animal. I would rather kill myself than let them kill me. It was a very bad day when he remembered his name because he remembered everything else. He also remembered that eventually, he would forget. And the day before the commander released his number to the officer Kanto with orders to be brought back to his country and freed, he realized that he was done walking the tightrope. 1041 was no coward. He was no sheep. When he remembered, he also remembered that he was a man who lived above the influence of others with core values that could be traced back deep in the roots of his family tree. I’m a good man. I’ll die the best man I can be. 1041 stopped cleaning.

Kanto looked at the floor and stared at the pale face of 1041 who was looking straight ahead. He wondered how long he had been dead and what kind of reaction 1041 would have had if only he had been alive to receive the news that today he had been giving a special release because evidence had been found which had brought light to the real killer. A man who was already on level 1. He was sad and after 45 years of working for the prison, he decided that today he would put in his resignation and live a life that had more meaning than seeing dead bodies pile up in prison cells.

1041 was named Frank Tam. His last thought was the skin of his wife and how he loved when she kissed him on his neck. Before that, he thought of sunshine and the smell of the sea.

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

hallway with window
Photo by Jimmy Chan on Pexels.com

 

My Don

Before her mind wondered off into sleep, he came into her thoughts…

He looks at me when I’m trying to hide behind my hair and I know no matter how long it grows, his sight will always see farther. When he wakes in the morning his arms automatically reach for me like my body is his alarm clock. That first touch, his first prayer. That first kiss, the first sunray. When I drive us in the night with the city lights bright and the moon big, he’s sitting beside me studying my silhouette as if I  was a star in a constellation. I can feel his satisfaction in the darkness. The curve in his ears, the shape of his neck. Not an inch too small, neither too big. You heard me, I said, perfect. No push and shove. How does he know exactly when I want my hand to be held? Suffication isn’t his specialty. He is my love, and still, my love has given me freedom. Side by side our bodies fit. Just right. Not like a puzzle, but like a pretzel. One into the other. Do people see the symmetry when we’re walking down the street? I can feel it in my heart, regardless. The reflection of my laugh can be seen in the apple of his eyes. I’d rather look at those than 42 rainbows dancing in the sky. Fruition, shine, mine mine mine. In his presence, I’m home. Safety is resting my head on his shoulder. Luckily, I snapped the wishbone. How lonely “Hello” sounds when he misses me. How much I can tell he cares when he speaks with his soft voice. Strong grip, sweet kiss. One look and I can tell, he loves me. How much I’d do to keep it that way. How far he goes just to make me smile. How much I smile just so he knows. He’s doing things. Things that excite me.

Yvonne lay in her bed and tried to imagine a lover that would be good for her. She saw the silhouette of a man next to her thanks to the imagination. He wasn’t real. But he’s real enough, she pondered. Which only made her sad. He smelt like a charm and dashed words at her ego full of promise, poetry and especially big worded bullshit. He would patch together the ravished heart that had been stepped on, pulled and tugged at from all sides by all types of maniacs. He was real, maybe not in real life. But as she finally fell into the dreamland of Sleep, REM reached and prayer done, she started to imagine the one person who was out there waiting for her, like she was waiting for him.

One day…was the last conscious thought before her fantasy and dreams took over.

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

 

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Photo Cred: Ivan S Harris

 

 

Hi Beauty,

She hated when he commented on her looks, only because it made her feel different when she looked in the mirror. The first time they had lunch together he had walked her to her car to say goodbye. As she turned to open the door he spoke one word barely louder than a whisper. Beautiful. She didn’t dare stop in her movement but instead pulled the handle quickly, push start and drove away. Not even a single parting glance. But as she reached the 5N freeway she paid attention to the feelings swimming in her stomach and dangerously pulled down the mirror to get a quick glance of the face which she had looked at her entire life. Driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic she realized for the first time, indeed, she was beautiful.

The second time, he came so close that she wanted to stop breathing. Instead, she took one deep breath hoping to inhale his scent and keep it in her memory forever. Leaning in, he brought the tip of his nose to her temple and again, that one word slipped out of his mouth. Beautiful. As she heard each syllable she closed her eyes and wondered why no one else thought so.

Each time was a new time. Each time he says the word, she smiles. Each time she wanted nothing more than to believe. Her transformation truly was beautiful.

Why hadn’t the other men ever told her she was beautiful? What about her parents and family? Why didn’t they see what her lover saw? She was everything and more, even if it had taken a lifetime to learn it.

That was just how she felt. Before he started beating her. Before the other women started calling him late in the night and he whispered into the phone, Hey, Beauty. 

She was beautiful. The blackeyes would never take that away from her.

xoxox

Lindsay Reva

lindsay (193)

 

 

Go Flex

Ever had a day where you just didn’t give a damn?

I looked in the mirror and felt it coming. Looked out the window and even though the sun was shining stronger than hades fire, I felt cold inside. People always ask me if I’m trying to die of heatstroke. Yeah, I’m the weirdo who wears turtle necks in summer, who wears a ball gown in the desert, who looks like an Eskimo in winter. I live in San Diego for chrissake. I get it. Still, I don’t give a damn. I like hiding my skin because I’ve gotten used to how the hardships of my life have kept me pale( yes, that’s my own inside joke that you almost certainly wont understand). I like being hot because I know what it’s like to be cold. The cold makes everyone harder. Warmth is happiness in my bubble. Don’t even think about poppin’ it. In death, I will leap into the fire instead of placing one baby toe into frostbite.

Cold to the bones. Have you ever felt so alone that you no longer want to feel the touch of another human being? Most people haven’t. I have. That doesn’t make me special. Regardless; I am special. I put that on my mommy.

I try to keep it classy. Every day is walking down the Victoria Secret runway. Grocery Outlet ain’t got nothin’ on this. My Angel wings are rose gold, and my nails are dipped is crystals. Except when I see chocolate chip cookies. Then I lose my shit and go into destroy mode. Little red darts shoot out of my eyes. Have you ever been hungry? Sometimes I see pictures of little kids who go beyond malnourished. They look like little fragile birds, but they make me think of very, very old people. Can you come back from that aging especially when you’ve aged a thousand years and haven’t even reached a quarter of a lifetime? But I wonder, do they feel hungry? Or is it just how they feel… Sometimes I’m hungry. But not little bird or old women hungry. There is no emptiness in my tummy. Only in the heart. As long as my hunger doesn’t reach the brain, I’m fine. But I’m lucky. I’ve had more full than hungry and I’m not ashamed to say it.

I’ve had more bliss than blizzards and when I see the rainbow in the sky. The arch reminds me that I better take advantage while my rays shoot up. Eventually, They’ll shoot right back down buddy. Will you be ready? Or does the thought make you get a nosebleed?

I’m talking Sh*% to the ones that will listen. I come with the Heat. I’m still the same and I ain’t switchin’.

#GoFLEX

📸 @ivansharrisphotography

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