Another set, another rep, another mile. — I am in an identity conundrum stepping in-between fandoms of the curvaceous and athletic self-acceptance and aesthetic. The perspective gets complex. I see nothing wrong with self-love when it’s not at another’s expense but if love means feeding n addiction then the answer becomes “it depends.” On this journey, every bite is a rep in the other direction processed foods trying to kill my discretion. Push and pull until I feel the burn fighting to love this skin in return.

Original Poem Title: “No Backup Plans” —

Original Poem Title: “King Us.” — We’ve our ducks in a row and we’ll raise you another thousand defeats before we ever choose to throw in this towel. Luck be on our side, although without it think we’ll be just fine to fight tooth and nail. Breathing hard at the home stretch where thought and behavior connect banking on the trust of a realized dream ambition is not a want, but a need. I hope your heart yearns for more and opportunity ding-dong-ditches your door, just enough for you to get up and see it running away so that you must chase after it.

Anxious, dehydrated, and full of thought. — It’s 4am on a Saturday morning. I’m rudely spurned from sleep by dehydration, and after quenching my thirst, I am forced awake, because… that’s what happens. I drink water, and I wake up. I’m 21 floors up in the air and I am lost in thought about digging my heels in a concrete…

The stories leading up to my vulnerabilities. — “Don’t get any ideas,” I whisper to him after a day of running him in circles, knowing full well I struggle to commit. I don’t deserve someone as good as this. “I won’t, promise,” he swears. “You do snore,” I sneer after he shakes his bed because he fell in his dreams…

Sleep to me is the equivalent of being willfully knocked unconscious. — It’s 4 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I’m rudely spurned from sleep by dehydration, and after quenching my thirst, I am forced awake, because that’s what happens. I drink water, and I wake up. I’m 21 floors up in the air and I am lost in thought about digging my heels in…

“They say if you write in a journal, you can be more in touch with yourself. I really don’t wanna be.” — This afternoon at the pier I had my choice of vice in one hand and nothing in the other. I left my feet dangling in the water airing out my mental laundry They say if you write in a journal you can be more in touch with yourself and to be honest, I really don’t…

My home is no place for rodents like you. — I had rats in my space. I kept you around for what I hoped would have been a very long time. But rodents don’t live very long. Despite always giving you life you bite the hands that heal you, feel you, appeal to you. And how you gonna tell me you…

It’s 12:26 pm, yet again. —