contentment, embracing yourself, existential crisis, lessons, life, love, ramblings, thoughts, woman, words, writing

Finding My Ways

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I am at once so many different versions of myself. Yesterday I loved the way my hips swayed and the way his fingers pressed into my sides in heat and passion and love. Today I scrub a little harder under the duress-ed pressure of the hot water gushing through the shower head lost in thoughts of reprimanding. I may sometimes question your judgement a little bit, but I promise to be the one sitting across you in my Swiss wool socks ready to consume and comprehend the words you will spill in hatred and anger, or those lighter ones said in joy and pure innocent glee because I will completely understand the need. I will some days willingly guide you through the web of life the best way I can, and some days I will ask that you find in yourself the solutions to your problems you have always known but refuse to accept. Some days I will be angry. Some days I may smile. Other days I will be at once the fiery orange in my curly brown hair, wind-blown and unkempt, and yet press feather light kisses on your cheeks and your forehead in my summer peach lips to let you know I am here, always. Today you may find me voraciously reading guides on how to get ahead in life because I say that the go-getter in me needs to be nourished, forget contentment. And tomorrow I will wake up to prayers in praises to spirituality, to learn and practice compassion, to be simple and want simple, accepting that less really is more. Because, I am at once so many different versions of myself. Tomorrow I will love you fiercely, that overwhelming kind of love that leaves you dizzy like you’ve have one too many mint juleps on a hot summer southern morning. Balmy, dazed and incomprehensible in pleasure. But maybe I will be the ice, the winter gush pushing you back because foolishly I will believe I am no good for anyone. Some days are clear days. Some days I am lost.

Everyone talks about being true to yourself. But we are never just one version of ourselves to be true to. There lies within you and me, many different us, so which one do we choose to be true to. We are all at once givers and takers, of responsibilities, of dreams, of hopes, of support, and of love. Some days we need more than we can give. Other times we are happy being the one giving all we can. Circumstances have over the years created many different versions of myself. Yesterday I promised myself I will try to keep the light burning for them, to be the flicker of hope of what could be because I know what is right, I know what is best. Yet today I find myself committed to yesterday’s goals but frantically searching for the hinge on which I might peg my own being so I do not find myself lost in the same darkness. Because, some days are clear days, and some days I am lost.

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Which Woman

Image by Anka Zhuravleva

Image by Anka Zhuravleva

There is something in the way that she moves. There is always something in the way she half smiles before every single sentence. Or when you see her swallow before speaking, like you make her nervous. Or the sparkle in her eye, and the way they squint before she uses her words. Sometimes when you feel like life has been hard, or you wallow in the guilt of your sins, you simply find comfort in the strands of her hair. The fragrance of the so many lives sheltered under her age old ways providing a distinguished sense of support and protection. They say shes been around the block, but her effect on you isn’t in any way diminished. With every single life she decides to be with, her beauty intensified by that additional length. No amount of visitors coming in and going out leaving any kind of taint on her unprecedented purity. She feels like shes built for you. Her arms shaped to fit your form, to embrace you close to her heart and join in her breath. Every inhalation and exhalation your vigor, your strength, your vice but also your elixir. You forget her sometimes when you get caught up in yourself. But then on a down trodden day, a battled you will remember the shape of her almond eyes and her lips. The way she will always anticipate your return and remembrance. Unselfish in her ways of accepting you in any of your brief and inconsistent visits and remembrance. The porcelain skin across the nape of her neck, your portal to disappear into a space so much greater than yourself. There is something in her unselfish ways. She loves you always just as much as you selfishly love her in your desperation. 

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