And some times

I want to climb over your head and stare down at you.

Observe the way your eyes move in their very sockets.

Letting the curtain of your eyelashes reveal the dirty windows of your soul.

It makes me think of feral things.

Watching the function of your limbs.

It allows my imagination free roam.

Your finger tip crushing the thin fiber of my muscles against one another.

Palms fitting perfectly against the flair of my hip bones.

Digging into the soft flesh you find there, manipulating my tense core.

Pulling me back to crash into you.

A meeting of bodies, souls, desire.

I’ve always loved you.

And some times

Selling my soul

We have all done things we aren’t proud of.

Right?

Things have been scary for me lately. Single woman, paying rent alone for the first time (home and office), running a business alone for the first time. Big huge, better-hope-these-wings-work steps. And I’ve fallen, like right now I’m flat on my face hoping to charm my way into my building tomorrow. Late fees at $10 a day are fucking killing me and I’m going to have to borrow money. It makes me so anxious I’m nauseated. Seriously, thank the green Earth I’m so good at vomiting. I have no net, seriously. None. I’m hanging onto this tight rope with my fingernails.

Not to use that as an excuse.

But I’ve been making decisions I’m not proud of. Relying on parts of me that shouldn’t be … I just.

Fuck.

I’ve been making choices that have been eating my soul. I was selling valuable parts of me. Giving my sanity away for a half marked price. Last month I made the choice not too. And while I’m stuck up here, a breath away from falling. From losing everything I’ve been working my ass off for. Everything.

I’m scared. But, I would rather be scared. I would rather be what I am now and able to provide healing. Than sick inside and sitting on a pile of money.

Selling my soul