Diary entry: 10/16/17

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It’s been jazz all evening. The skies changed and the tempo stayed the same. Deep melodies playing from a third story apartment with the balcony doors wide open. I guess I’m tryna erase a few memories tonight. Do you remember that movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? Certain scenes replay themselves and I can’t help but think maybe they were really on to something. I hate the way you preoccupy my daily thoughts. How I think of softer ways to tell you my desires. It’s terrible when we can’t get what we want, don’t you think?

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Diary entry: 10/15/17

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Because I alone am not able to replicate your abilities nor your performance, I am left in agony tonight. Why do you give so much when we’re engaged? Is there something that the lips are forbidden to say? Must I continue to read what’s written against my thighs? I want to be nothing more than simply yours. Why can’t you see this? I’ll halt on another journey of pointless words with you this evening, I am a lover but I am no fool. I should have called this morning but what good would that be if I’m still alone at night?

My lover, I am tormented. Come save me.

Diary entry: 10/11/17

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Photographer: Michel Perez

I just need to stop. Un-learn the desire to want, to want for more. Detaching from the notion that the sweat accumulating between sheets somehow correlates to the intensity of more than lust. We are no more than our selfishness. No more than the flesh we wear. We are no more my sweet, sweet lover.

Diary entry: 10/10/17

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Photo information: Anais Mali in “Bienvenida, Cuba” by Benny Horne for Vogue Spain, March 2016.

Anything I can do to keep my mind off of it. Working overtime. Writing overtime. Drinking till I can’t hold back. Drinking till my words mean more to me than ever so I bite down to keep them from spilling. I’m doing whatever I can find to keep my mind off of it. Sitting in a car outside of my yoga class trying to find my center in a 2009 Mazda 3 with the music thumping. I’ve always liked a lot of bass in my songs, so the windows are shaking and I’m trying. I’m trying not to think of why I feel the need to keep explaining to ears that won’t listen why I need to keep my mind off of it. A lot times nothing ever makes sense and we keep moving. We move through life hoping to connect the dots. The last time I made a connection I used my tongue. What are we doing again? Is this feeling good to you? I’m tormented. I’m focused on making sure to keep my mind off of it but you’ve been with me all day.

I’ve bit my lip twice reminiscing on the excitement of pain.

Why do we live this way?

Diary entry:10/9/17

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It’s warm tonight. Bare feet against the heated pavement. I love watching the sunset from the third floor. Nothing but a t-shirt that barely covers my breast and cheeky boy shorts on this evening. Maybe a few stars joining in on this show. I feel good. I feel full. I feel sexy again. And it’s on nights like this I’m convinced I need to get away from you.

But I remember those lips. They feel so good. So soft.

And I’m stuck.

I wanna taste you again. Does this ever end?

Diary entry: 10/8/17

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Can we still call it being selfish or blaming it on just poor behavior on our parts? When do we begin to own all that we are doing? Laying across your chest, listening to the melodies your body conducts, I feel alive. The pulsing. The throbbing and moving of a heart I want to hold. Not just in my hands but I want to walk around knowing that it’s always with me. There’s feelings underneath these sheets. I hate these games. I spy with my naked eye a man who wants the same thing as I. Whenever you’re ready….

Lemme know.

Diary entry: 10/4/17

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Artist: the-philogynist

I’m supposed to stop. It’s about control right now. I can bring myself to the tipping point but not allowing the full moment to take over. It’s sickening in its truth but there’s formation taking place. Building. Allowing for the space to be filled. I’m waiting. Still mouthing every letter of your name. I’m waiting.

I care to share this moment with nobody else but you.

Take me, I’m yours.