A collection of words I enjoy...
words thathave inspired and informed my world
moments I was aware of my sexuality & her erotic powers.
Toothpaste running down my face… my chin. skimming my bare budding breast, landing just above my navel & continuing its journey… leaving a chalky white slobbering trail down my body.
Lollipops. partially why i always bit them. shattering their shards, in an attempt to stifle the potential of a projected fantasy.
Rewatching lolita. owning lolita. in general.
Bra straps over collar bones.
Full coverage briefs. that i sandwiched between my cheeks.
Matching pyjama sets.
Hip bones.
Childhood chastity
sitting in a ball on the shower floor, snipping away at your hair, to then watch as the water carries it away down the shower drain, you gently guide, with your fingers, the hesitant strands.
have you ever pondered where your barrette runs off to, had she been flushed down the drain, perhaps the toilet. had she floated down the river sene & been nicked by a strange girl…
The sene
someplace below your shower drain, where strange girls wander…
sewher!
my mother had a toe ring. i was always enamoured by it. there was something so erotic to little me, about having a toe ring. something so hidden. concealed. sacred. an erotic marker of a tamed feminine.
Toe ring
A little girl again. In a play of dress-ups. She retreats. an internal world. escaping herself. she flees. the one dancing princess. in her internal world. the sound of her music begins to drown. overflow. silencing her mind. an empty concrete theatre, some place behind her eyes. she’s somehow, here. somehow, still there. The sound twirls around her. It dances. escapes. in and out of the porous concrete walls. smooth to the touch. a beating beneath her fingers. so beautiful. so free.
SOME PLACE BEHIND HER EYES
Dear Diary,
I followed my burgunday strands… & now I find myself stuck someplace below my shower drain. Someplace where strange girls wander. Someplace where strange girls dance a entirely peculiar dance.
sewher!
HAIR CLOG
pulling on the strands that lie over a silver grate. bracing yourself for the monster that is yet to emerge. hair knotted with sludge. its long limbs concealed in the pipes. knotted with filth.
Dear diary,
i lost myself. i had been trying so hard to escape her. to escape that side of her. she no longer haunts me. she escaped me through a collection. now i am the one chasing her…
that girl i used to be. the one who followed her burgundy strands down the drain. i frequently ponder where she ran off to. did she wander the dark, damp sewhers. did she emerge someplace unfamiliar? someplace new.
does she long for me, the way i long for her?