If I’m not sad enough, it never taste as delicious. The amount of sadness equates to the amount of love I need to put into my soup. This recipe came from a Pinterest page about a year or so ago. I was working long hours at the hospital and not tending to myself. Working to live and living to work. The mundane routine of the psychotic in a plain world. My world had nothing. Sadness and desperation to make sure I was able to take care of the roof over my head. The world was much simpler than as opposed to now. Simpler in the sense I had nothing to motivate me to want more. I learned that self love comes in many forms. I had only focused on selfies at that time for validation from a world that could careless about my dire need for survival. Self love came to me in the form of a kitchen, where I learned how to nourish myself the right way. I learned how to tend to myself, my needs, my emotional needs. I was careful in the way I cleaned vegetables and chicken. Tenderness playing a key role in being mindful of the cleansing. No need to rush. Be thorough and be gentle. I paid attention to the flavors against my tongue. I learned that love is created in the kitchen. And there’s nothing better than making sure you take care of love. This recipe came out perfect the first time. Coconut milk and red curry perfection. I mean, I even accidentally added in coconut cream and that mixture of sweet and spicy became everything to my tastebuds. And I learned that sometimes when you think you messed up, you find out new ways to improve yourself and your dish. The discovery in the kitchen helped better me when I lost myself on days where gray skies were never ending. Some days I just can’t manage the sadness. I cry and cry and cry some more, never able to pinpoint where all the confusion comes from. I credit my hormones most of the time. But making this soup makes me remember to center myself and put myself first. There are so many ways we continuously forget about ourselves through work, relationships and school, the back burner becomes a comfort zone and what’s comfortable is rarely ever changed. If it works, why fix it? But time is a teacher and later the body realizes everything ain’t meant to be carried. So the soup remains as a reminder for me, to take care of myself even on days when I would rather not. When I had nothing to push me forward, I learned that in the kitchen we can create magic and find something worth savoring…
I got tired of upping the ante. Needing more vibrations. Deeper vibrations. Different vibrations. Different wavelengths. I wanted to feel dizzy and euphoric. The body needed to be twisted and tested. There was a necessary sense of pain that was required to convince that the mind was not creating another fantasy not within reach. Each new level brought less and less satisfaction. Rolling around in an empty bed with my hands between my legs. It just wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t fun. There were tears of frustration that formed even when the body climaxed. A few seconds of intensity and no warm kisses to prolong this feeling. My body was no longer reacting to the thought of self love. My body was tired of itself. Tired of the ins and out of AA batteries in the middle of the night. What a bore. What a sad tired bore when thoughts of masturbation just don’t do it. Did I stop loving myself the right way? Did I love myself too much? Too often? I know the love wasn’t intense. It was temporary. For the moment, you know? Just to take the edge off of not having a warm, muscular, sweaty hard body next to me. Did it really take the edge off though? Did it? Mornings would come and I, still in the heat of my own thoughts, would rise angrily. Annoyed. Irritated because I can not do the one thing my body needed. What the body needed was out of my reach. So the decision came in the middle of another exhausted session of dissatisfaction. I grabbed my phone, forgetting my chain analysis bullshit, I needed to feel something… something strong. Solid. Thick. And I needed something, well actually someone, to feel me. To explore me. To kiss and devour, to make a meal out of me. I wanted to serve. Offer my body to a very hungry mouth. My body wanted more than another night of AA batteries and a quick cheap way to achieve a subpar orgasm. I was tired and growing very restless. Phone in hand, the decision was made and 3 words contributed to my body becoming your favorite meal ….
Artwork:Solo by Kevin A. Williams
Why are there boundaries? To..keep..us… stagnant? To keep us in line? To keep us? I think back to years ago in high school (I can literally say years ago because my 10 year reunion is coming up in July smh) all these “journeys” I would go on to find myself. To center myself, to find some type of connection that I knew was missing. My living situation wasn’t the best. I mean, I had parents. I had what any child needed. It was just a bit more complicated than what this post needs to be about. In high school you had to kinda learn to ‘fake it till you make’, pick at yourself before anybody else could. Beat them to the punchline so at least you could laugh with them. The typical bullshit. Behind closed doors was something different. Something that’s not easily picked up on. Since the complications of my little life began so early, the issue of accepting this delicate, petite, beautiful body became a nightmare. Nausea would set it. The reflection became torturous. A young woman in her early twenties can’t bare the sight of herself? There are certain milestones everyone must hit when it comes to understanding oneself. Currently reading this book “Towards Awakening” and the letters etched into my skin just make me relive and realize that you must question everything. I mean everything. I had body issues, how do you solve the fight between mind and body? You push the boundaries of your comfort zone and begin to live freely. I hated what carried my spirit, what carried my heart. I couldn’t figure out how to love my body. I can’t even say how to love my body again because the innocence was never there. There wasn’t a chance for innocence. So from the dirt left behind I had to find a way to come clean. A way that allowed me to begin on my own terms. It was the day I really took ownership of myself. Took ownership of my sexuality. My body. My art. My life. It was my declaration that I want my body. I want to love my body. I want to feel body. I want to be ok with living in my body. So I made a very bold move, a very out of the comfort zone move and became art. I posed in front of 25 art students without any bondage, without any material, just me. My face, my body it was written all over, I was no longer ok with living so ashamed, so scared, and so unforgiving towards my body. Everybody heals differently but the goal is always to heal. I sat there on a crème colored chaise and remembered feeling like Rose when she posed for Jack on the Titanic. My body became art. I became me. I was there naked and unafraid. I was tired of the boundaries. So very tired. The day I turned my body into art was the day I realized you are your thoughts. Your thoughts are your boundaries, push yourself and watch what you become. Stop limiting yourself. You are beautiful.
So maybe worrying about such trivial things should just fade for me. I see everyone else out here just living or appearing to live and I am here. Just here. Listening to his dreams feeling foolish for my own. I’m finding it harder to resurrect my once free spirited self. Life’s ways have an undenyig process of stripping you of everything you’ve believed in and fought for and loved and lived. It’s hard. Mornings I rise and repeat “can I start again” within just five minutes of the sun blessing my skin. Nourishing me and bathing me in the glow, in the hands of the most high but although I have risen I never really feel that I’ve fully arrived. Am I making sense? Are my words breaking through to you? I’ve only lost my way yet again and again and again. I watched the moon grow last night and became jealous of just fast and full and big she became in my night sky. And I felt a wave anger and rage and slight confusion come over me as I questioned why can’t I be just like the moon… Arrive and just shine. Be bright and big. And just rule someone’s night sky. I see everyone just living or appearing to be living fully, and I wonder if their mind ever trails off as mine does on nights when I realize something ain’t right, something is going undiscovered… I’m just jealous of the moon…
Written: September 21,2013
With me turning 27 in another month or so, I have a few things I wanna work on: 🎈this year was about keeping my word. If I say I am going to do something then I stand by it whole heartedly. I’ll leave when I say I will and ain’t no turning back. I made sure my girls held me to my word. I had a tendency to not stand strong with my words. That resolution forced me to chose my words very carefully and be more mindful of my actions/behaviors. I was dealing with situations that kept going in circles, mainly due to me not taking action and being firm and believing more in the power of my words. But I’m so much better. I feel so much more in control. 🎈this is year 27. I wanna also make this year about over coming my fears. Making things happen. I used to believe in myself much more than I do now. I think because I was just full of myself and there was a time when I didn’t find comparisons to be so harmful to my spiritual and mental being. I wanna be full of myself again. I don’t care. I wanna indulge in myself and not feel ashamed for doing so. Not feel less because I can’t write or look or express as freely as others do. Or because I’m scared to love myself. I wanna be less fearful as the rest of this year moves on. I do. I honestly and truly do.
This is year 27.
Written: May 25,2016
Side note: still struggling with a lot, but I’m getting there. I am.
I kept saying something wasn’t right. Couldn’t put my finger on exactly “what” wasn’t right, but the feeling was there ya know? That weird 6th sense feeling that either my equilibrium is off and I’m gonna fall… or the gravitational force just became less and I am about to float to the sky ( I don’t even know if that’s possible lol). I could not for the life of me figure it out. So, as any sensible woman would do, I combed through my life where I am currently at. I picked apart my relationship. I fractioned in my old lover. I even invited the ideas of maybe I’m just crazy and nothing is off. That wasn’t acceptable because I’m not crazy. I am unsure if other women feel that force or push or anything that sets of the alarms that something just ain’t right. So all day I calculated what could be the damn issue. Mentally exhausted myself, I gave up. Went to the gym, eye caressed a few candies and came home to shower. Decided to shave and start fresh again. Slipped into my satin sky blue robe and laid on the bed as the fan blew soft air kisses between my thighs. One quick touch and I was suddenly realized what the hell was so off. I hadn’t masturbated properly in so long. I mean a full on soul searching session with no fears of interruption. Lemme tell you what my senses was trying to tell me: girl you better play with yourself before you catch a migraine. Listen, sometimes the feeling is just a simple way for the body to say: I NEED TO CUM.
So I came.
And I came with so passion and so much strength I thought I was going to pop like a bubble in mid air. But the benefits? My head is clear. My thoughts are organized. My mood has changed. I feel more relaxed and at ease. I guess the idea of me being just a little crazy wasn’t too far off. I don’t care, after the other night I doubt I’ll allow my body to go that long without a proper intense orgasm again.
Artwork: Derek Shockey (American based, Omaha, NE) untitled painting