@4allweknow

I say I don’t give a fuck a lot. But the truth is I do. I give a lot of fucks a lot of the time over a lot of things.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, when I go out and I haven’t shaved in a month, and it’s 106 and I’m wearing shorts. Seeing the hair on my legs gives me pause before I get out of my car in the parking lot. That little fuck shows up like “maybe you should have worn pants..“ but I shut the fuck up looking at the temperature gauge in my car and see that body hair as the part of me that it is. It is not disgusting like “they” have told me. It is not to be ashamed of. If it wasn’t meant to be there, it wouldn’t be.

I feel the fucks rise when I put on a pair of shorts and my inner thighs bulge out a little. That one small “fold” on my left leg that everytime I look at I throw the shorts to the side and opt for yoga pants. I do it to myself. I give the fuck myself. I put myself in the shoes of a stranger and I turn and look and angle myself in every way that I know I stand or how I walk and I fixate. Fixate. Fixate. I stare at it until that tiny fold turns into my entire body and I try to find the biggest teeshirt and the most loose pair of jeans I own or just not go out at all. After I see the mess I made trying on different pairs of the same shorts I laugh and fold the fucks I gave, up in the boyfriend jeans that are 2 sizes too big for me and hang the fuck up with the men’s XL dress of a shirt. I look at my body and I give thanks. Thank you. Thank you for giving my the strength that I have to laugh these fucks away. To hold this love that I’m learning to give unconditionally to myself like I do for others. To have given me so much already without ever taking. For having the intuition that you do. For enduring the trauma and loss that you, that we, have. And that fold shrinks, is no longer my body, no longer my fixation. The shorts go back on. I appreciate the fold and acknowledge what it means for it to exist. It means that I exist. It means that my body has grown with me. It is a really reminder of the battles we fought. It’s a reminder of strength. That I’m a human and my skin suit is not the meaning of who I am and does not tell my story, but is there as a reminder for myself. It’s the human condition, I think, to give a fuck about things. I think if we don’t then how could we truly claim humanity? How can we claim one emotion without its counterpart? I like to give a fuck but one just enough of a fuck to matter to me.

•Venus Return•

I put on the dress. Intoxicated. I danced.

Full of stardust.

About to go spend a few days in the desert..

Everyone thinks I’m dumb for going alone, but I do everything else alone, why not the fun, the crazy, the beautiful things?

inkskinned :

sometimes it’s like. i’m going back to my house. sometimes it’s “let’s go back to…” and you don’t know which word to use to sum up the building. sometimes you wake up to a text from your mother and have to shift all your plans to run home and sometimes you wake up and you are home. two nights ago i was confused about which bed i was still in. i sleep upside-down still, like i do at the house where my parents live. i don’t have as many nightmares as i once did. 

sometimes you’re in the car and you’re wondering - where the fuck am i going? what am i doing? why don’t i just go do anything else?

and sometimes you’re in the car and you’re wondering - how did i get so lucky? how is this real? am i grateful enough for all that has been done for me?

sometimes you type the text you shouldn’t send and you send it. and sometimes you don’t send it but you do have a full conversation with your dog about it. and sometimes you aren’t really sad yet but you can feel it percolating under the surface, hissing like it knows it will overcome you if you let it. and sometimes you aren’t really happy yet either but you get the same kind of something; a beautifully fine edge like the hair on the back of her neck. like if you reach out you could brush against a meadowed life. and sometimes quiet is just comfortable and sometimes it’s what isn’t being said and sometimes it’s a horrible exit. 

and you want to tell your past self - we made it out and we found a home! but you know she wouldn’t understand, because she doesn’t know what home is yet. and besides, you still say “im going home for the holidays”. you mess up and call the hotel home when you mean safe. sitting around a campfire, you find a warmth inside of their laughter, you mess up and call that feeling lovely when you mean belonging. 

and sometimes you’re like - wow! i’m really glad i’m alone for this. and sometimes it’s like. fuck thank god im not alone anymore. and you aren’t alone anymore. or if you are alone, you’re okay with it, because you are someone else now, and can be alone and happy about it. 

and sometimes it’s like. my childhood ended. i don’t know when. but i’m about to go close another part of it. i am aging, or i did age somewhere and forgot to notice it. the spoons are where we keep them, but the back of my hands have new scars and my sense of time is different.

i type - hi! i’m sorry to reschedule. i have to run home for a moment - and then go back and type i have to run to my parents’ house and then type i’ll be out of town. i don’t know where i am or where i’m going. i write home in the fog of my windowpane, and watch as snow starts falling.

I found it. A place I didn’t think I’d find. A place where I can finally settle. Where I can come for safety. I’m not in control, and the more I give up that control, the more I receive in return.

This place that I found was always there, I just had to stop looking for the external escape. I had to go within, to return home.

Last night I was alone. I found myself going down the rabbit hole. Mind betraying me, telling me awful lies. Panic would be setting in soon. But why? The thing about growth is that it is uncomfortable and sometimes can be mistaken for panic. I have grown so much, accomplished so much. I thought about how far I’ve come from a place where I thought I’d never get through. And not just once, but over and over again. So I got out of my own way. I slipped on the most comfortable night dress I own, put on a primal playlist, and danced around my room. I danced for myself, slow sway, eyes closed, focused breath. As the playlist picked up, my body rolled with the new beat. I kept my eyes closed, if I opened them I knew this feeling, this letting go, would leave me as quickly as it came. After four songs I was out of breath, pink cheeked, and wanting. Back into my slow sway my hands travelled the length of my body like an explorer tracing river lines of a map, through a mountain range, into a valley..

Getting lost, to find myself

How disappointing.

Men, who speak as if they know what they’re doing, then prove that they don’t. Men, to which I say “try me, if you think you can get me there. Be warned though, I’m not an easy one to get off.” Men, who think they are so mighty with a stick they seldom know how to use correctly. Men, who’s tongues are as useless to me as they are to bullshit they spew, the things that never should have left their heads. God knows the hands of men who have touched this body were undeserving. God knows the next pair of hands that do have the audacity to come my way….

They will not disappoint.

Letting go and accepting an ending that is not ugly, that I have no control of, that left me with nothing to be angry at. But I instead left in its absence a gift. A love for myself deeper and more intense than I thought I deserved. And now I hear the whisper “you deserve that, and more”. Now I know if that is what I had for a fleeting moment, somewhere, someday, there will be that and more.

Did I want him, or did I want the way he touched me. The way he held every inch of my body like it was the first and last thing he ever wanted to touch. The way his mouth found mine like finally finding the last puzzle piece you thought was left out of the box. Did I want him or did I want the excitement I felt knowing that every picture I found a flaw in, he adored and “saved to camera roll” was all the confidence I needed to send the next. Did I want him, or did I want the way he made me feel about myself.

-rb

Sometimes you just have to take the entire bottle of framboise to the shower..

Waking up at 4 am wasn’t what I had planned today. The magical light drifting through my window tickled my lashes begging me to wake up and play.

Fine.

Magic for the Pisces Moon. I’m sure it’s been gathered by now that Pisces Moons are my favorite. Being able to completely submerged yourself into what you’re feeling; mind, body, and soul. It truly is magic.

I added a blindfold to my practice today and dropping into my body was easier than it normally is. Taking away one sense to tap more into the others. Letting go, to receive.

I woke up alone in a beachfront suite. Surrounded by large, plush pillows. Waves crashing just outside the balcony window. Refreshed in my sleep from the adventure I had the day before.

I had a really good dream but these dreams leave me wanting. This is the worst part of being single and having too many rules to go to bed with. Even when the dreams let me orgasm, it’s really not the same.

Something about knowing these luxurious rooms still have thin walls do it for me. The eyes trained on me when I leave the room in the morning, knowing that they could hear as i have my ass wrecked.. fuck me.

I wish.

I’ve been struggling since I’ve had to return to “the new normal.” During the stay at home order I did just that, stayed at home. I ate when I was hungry, rest when I was tired, played in the garden, lay in the sun all day.. I listened to my body and I found a new light to see myself in. I found that self love. I didn’t weigh myself after I ate many, many homemade sourdough waffles. I held my hands to my heart and felt how happy it made me instead. I was able to breathe. I was able to hold space for myself. I was able to slow down and really reevaluate what I wanted in my life, and what I didn’t.

Now I’m back at work. Now I can’t breathe. I’m clenching my jaw all day, dealing with rude people, scared people. The amount of protective equipment I have to wear all day makes me claustrophobic. I feel every semblance of peace I had gained over the past few months, quickly fading away. And with that, the love for myself and my body.

I stepped on the scale and “Ew” came out of my mouth without even thinking about it. I feel good in my clothes, in my body, why did I feel the need to say that? I put on the same pair of shorts I wore a month ago and stood in front of the mirror with a look of disgust on my face while looking at every bit of cellulite on the back of my thighs. Every stretch mark on my hips. Every bit of extra skin I gained from my loss. From my loss. And that stops me everytime. It brings me back. It reminds me of what I’ve held, what I hold, what is all possible with this beautiful body. I love me. I love you.

Who wears black in California sun

Please excuse my bathroom, it’s being remodeled.

Theres a lot of shit going on, but it’s been going on, people are fucking tired of the insanity. There’s no more asking. There’s no more room for empty promises of change. Be open to learning and accepting. If you’re offended by the term “white privilege” or if you deny it’s a thing I encourage you to take a moment with yourself and really think about it. That discomfort and resistance you feel, it’s change tugging at you, begging you, to use that privilege and make change happen.

Isn’t it odd? How we ask for something and if we’re open to it, we will receive it? How magic is real, but only when we accept it?

I asked for and I received. But I wasn’t clear.

I wanted to be alone. I wanted to work on myself, find my truth, my tribe, my self love. And there he was.

There he’s always been, coming in and out of my life, like the adorable Pisces he is. Like the boy I’ve always adored. 12 years and an entire country between us it was so improbable that there would ever truly be a universe where we could meet, be friends “IRL” as we would say. Now there’s only 600 miles and a virus between us. But I’m getting ahead of myself, our jokes about being soulmates have burrowed their way into my chest and scream in echos through my head. We’re both doing the work, neither of us looking for anyone but ourselves..

Last night I dreamt of our meeting and how silly is it that all I could think about this morning was how soft your shirt was?

lsleofskye :

Denver, Colorado | dburkephotography


Hey hey How are you ?

I’m doin okay tuttyfruttyfrenchy 😊 I got distracted for a moment from where I’m going but that’s all over now.

Loosing my way down a road that never took me anywhere good. Not caring of the consequence that would come later.

Tracing your flesh with electrified fingertips. Unsure of where the drive would take us.

The “no” was as silent as your hand coaxing me to face you.

Silent and present. Bringing me back home.

“By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.”

🌬💥🌛🌿🍦🖤🍑🖤🍦🌿🌜💥🕊

https://4allweknow.tumblr.com/">butts-boobs-and-caviar:

“By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.”

🌬💥🌛🌿🍦🖤🍑🖤🍦🌿🌜💥🕊

https://4allweknow.tumblr.com/

New moon in pisces tonight. Perfect for silence. To turn in. And the retrograde to reflect. This body has been through hell and back. This body has failed. Hurt. Loved. This body has known growth. Has created. Has suffered incredible loss. This body is beautiful. Strong. Resilient.

I hold this body, thank this body, am worthy of this body. I see the light in this body and love the way it shines. I love you. I love me.

Dirty feet in a home I lived in for two weeks. How did three short years make me forget the minx that I am? Fuck you. Here’s my ass for the internet. Here’s to finding myself again and here’s to many more like this to come.

#notfuckingsorry #eatme #validateme

Funny. You find a poem you like online, it has no credits on who wrote it…its just a screenshot picture of the poem. You write it on a cup because you really like the poem and the author gets upset (rightfully so, but not like it was my fault) so you unsource your own damn cup and it gets 700k notes.

Officially divorced. ✨