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one hundred thirty nine.
a 365.
all pictures by me.
all pictures by me.
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one hundred thirty six.
it is ok,
it will be ok,
you cannot miss the things you are afraid of, Ana.
at least,
you shouldn’t.
not anymore.
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one hundred thirty four.
it took a long time for me to
protect my honor.
when I was finally strong enough
to do so
I scrubbed away the trickles of defeat;
polished and shined the tiniest of parts
and let them linger down my spine,
my arms,
the intimate skin between my fingers.
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one hundred thirty two.
sometimes all the “fuck you’s”
seem like soft syllables out of your mouth.
they caress my skin
and stroke me like a butterfly would;
a tickling expletive
that brushes the hair on the back of my neck
and sends me quivering to my knees.
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one hundred thirty one.
you,
darling,
a beautiful strumpet made of mixed signals
and ivory skin.
a tower of uncertainty blooming out towards
open windows and
catching sunlight in the gleams of your hair.
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Theme: Linear by Peter Vidani
