The woman who raised me is not my mother.
The woman who raised me is not a mother.
This woman has a tiny heart, and a smaller spirit.
I have learned this the hard way.
She was always too busy to read me bedtime stories but never too occupied to later point out the adolescent acne that spotted my face.
And now whenever we meet, she laughs and tells me I’ve gained quite a bit of weight.
When I was younger, there used to be times when misguided little birds would accidentally fly inside the house.
I have a new mantra for you.
Over-feeling is not a bad thing.
Going through the world with your heart on your sleeve is not a bad thing.
Feeling others’ pain as you would your own is not a bad thing.
Taking things to heart and hurting is not a bad thing.
There are people who will ask you to toughen up, brave the world, grow a thicker skin. These people feel the world’s pain on a daily basis, and…
- 1 month ago
What do you see when you look in the mirror?
Do you see you?
You have bumpy bits and wobbly bits and parts of you you wish you could photoshop away. It doesn’t work that way.
To throw some ideas out there, for example: What do you need for the perfect bikini body?
Why, a bikini, and a body, of course. What more?
You are not your waistline, or your pores, or your thighs, or your forehead, or all…
Have you ever loved someone so much that it takes over an entire city?
The walls of your home have sponged up bits of the love you had. And now they’ve turned on you.
Every street you walk on, each corner you turn, it’s there. The love, it stares you in the face. The rain coaxes it out of the ground; it crawls up with the writhing earthworms.
The love has taken so much of you, there’s so little…
- 2 months ago
You know those people who walk around with their heads high and look like they’ll slap you if you say hi?
- 3 months ago
I bought an umbrella from China. A frilly edged, white and pink parasol with a neat wooden handle, glossy and polished.
“Class consciousness.” Never been truer than for the middle classes.
Now I grew up in nine different houses. Sometimes I got to put candy in the grocery cart, and sometimes not. There were vacations some summers, and some summers were spent under a lazy ceiling fan at home. I didn’t grow up with the security of a trust fund. And I never missed a day of school.
But little rich girl, yours is a…
- 4 months ago
I trail my fingers down the leather clad spine, ridged and looped with gold thread. The pages are a buttery yellow, smoothed and soft. There’s a clinging delicate scent, of old ink and new desires. The tale remains the same and yet, it makes some laugh, and some it makes sigh.
Ah, old friend. We meet again.
A book is so many things. It can be a best friend, a comforter, a confidant, a safe…