brutefemme

[brutefemme]

here’s what i’ll say...

a manifestation for the valentine’s days to come. 

i want to love someone so wholly, viscerally, reciprocally and abundantly that it doesn’t feel weird to write about them later, but instead feels like a kiss to a memory that served me well.  i look forward to the years to come and how i will live and love differently and deeper from now on. i have to, i’ve changed too much.  from now on, this isn’t really happy valentine’s day.  it’s hauʻoli lā hoʻomake iā kapena kuke // happy death of captain cook day today is a good day to kill your colonizers, especially the one that lives in your head. 

[brutefemme]

five years of valentine’s

pandemic sometimes feels so seeped in loneliness. this last year has been a deeply personal journey for all of us whether we recognize it or not. 

if anyone says they haven’t felt lonely in this time, they’re either lying or lucky. maybe a little bit of both.  we teeter back and forth on this spectrum, experiencing varying degrees of grief and isolation. we have to, we have lost so much.  i do love to practice gratitude in these times, and as always, i am absolutely grateful and as always, i feel complex. today perhaps more than usual. i wrote my letter to myself five years ago a little under a year ago, in april when the pandemic was only starting to take shape. again, a beautiful reminder of how time can change everything. a time before i knew what would unfold, where i was excited to see. less than a year later, everything has changed completely. i have changed completely.  in that letter, i reminded myself of that valentine’s day in 2016 when i told myself that i’m falling in love with myself. and as i sit here on valentine’s day 2021, realizing that that moment happened five years ago, something stirs in me. 

this realization has asked me to look at all the other valentine’s days since then and take stock of what i’ve learned and how i’ve grown. (i guess that’s really all i do. honestly, i’m good with that.) looking at photos in my phone of past dates, trying to piece together what happened on those days, i find some good, some randoms, and memories that are now just memories.  2016

i was in an improv group with too many white guys and one who i had the most ridiculous relationship with (honestly, it’s a pattern for me... that i am actively ending hopefully). it was intimate, platonic, with a lot of underlying sexual tension that was never dispelled, sound familiar? (i told you, it’s a pattern). and we had improv practice in my backyard in echo park. i honestly don’t even remember what exercise we were doing or if we were playing a game, but all i remember is that we had to say something true. and without any forethought or hesitation, i found myself saying, “i think i’m falling in love with myself” and it was true. i was 23 years old then, about to be 24 and i had never been able to say that out loud before, let alone have it be honest.  i couldn’t remember how the rest of that night went so i looked at that white dude’s texts and saw how i spent the rest of the day with him. the text is so unbelievably simple: 

him: What are you up to? me: just at home, did you get off already? him: Yup. Can I head to your place? This day blows. me: yeah for sure, I’m just in the hammock him: On my way.  we ended up laying in the hammock in my backyard listening to the Living Sister sing about love, laying there and looking into each other’s eyes.  he slept over that night, he slept over a lot of nights. never had sex, just laid there, in each other’s arms. he was never my boyfriend, the relationship lived outside of heteronormativity because i exist outside of heteronormativity.  also, i have always held this weird space with men where they want to fuck me, they love being around me, but they cannot/will not partner me.  i find myself there more often than not and it is utterly frustrating and devastating.  it’s taken me a while but i’ve realized that it has so much more to do with them than it does with me, but damn did it take so long to just realize that.  here’s what i learned about me tho: i want to be a home someone wants to return to. i want to be a safe place in which someone feels like they can belong.  at the end of it, it was a sweet valentine’s, sure. i’m just glad that the thing i remember most vividly is falling in love with myself. i love that in my memories, i still take precedent. that’s important. 

2017  there is no recollection of this date in my mind or in my phone. literally nothing at all. maybe i was working at philz, but other than that, nada.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

2018

this is one of my favorite valentine’s days ever.  i spent the school day in Dr. Joy DeGruy’s lecture on Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome. bleak and grim and also the most important lecture i’ve ever been to. i am not joking when i say that this lecture changed my life. 

one for the books, truly.  2019 this one was interesting. from the pictures, the only thing of significance is that i told my best friends that i was trans and i was changing my name. they were the last people i told and it took almost a year for me to do it. idk why i was so scared, i think it’s because they knew me the longest and when i told my high school best friend, she had such a difficult time with it.  but they supported me in a way that was so loving and i felt so crazy for not believing they were capable of it. the picture that i have is a screenshot of them changing out group chat from a tribe called queef to a tribe called kali <3  i felt so loved and seen. another good valentine’s day. 

2020

honestly, it was good. i looked hot, felt hot, did a bunch of queer stuff, hung out with people i liked and people i loved. i love being in a group of hot black and brown queers doing their thing and living their lives. i guess it’s still hard to think about realizing that it’s been a whole year since. so much has changed.  maybe i’ll write about it in another post, but right now it feels too much to look at the pictures, to watch the videos. i’m not ready yet. 

i think the big thing that this realization has pointed to is that i have had to admit to myself that i am heartbroken. that i am still heartbroken.

and i am trying my best to move.  and that’s okay. tbh this valentine’s day wasn’t bad, not one for the books, but it wasn’t tragic.  i enjoy the life i have and i make choices towards my happiness and joy everyday. that’s sick and i’m grateful. 

i’m gonna do ketamine and listen to bjork tonight. i know how to love me and that’s the most important part. 

All that you touch You Change.  

All that you Change, Changes you.  

The only lasting truth is Change.  

God is Change.

[brutefemme]

friday the 13th // scorpio new moon

mars went direct at 15° on friday the 13th.

when i woke up, the world was different.

a time of sex and death.

kill the narrative, cut the losses.

[brutefemme]

I’m composting my shit.

[brutefemme]

libra new moon pt. II

The strong live in the storm without worshiping the storm.

Aries & Aries Rising

Whatever this moment wants to teach me about connection, I will be a student willing to learn. I know that there are most likely many crossed wires in my system, setting me up to push away what I really want. I know that being defended against life doesn’t make me wrong, it just makes me human. In the process of healing, I practice the fine art of laying down one shield at a time, one disruptive behavior after another, carving paths to deeper connections slowly but surely.

Intimacy begins with me.

With this New Moon, I commit to healing the parts of my heart that otherwise get neglected. I no longer need to suffer in silence, seek out relationships with people that have different priorities than me, or sacrifice my integrity to try and fit into a situation that isn’t meant for me. There are some fights worth giving up. I gather my strength to face the battles that can shape my life into a meaningful one.

I honor the obstacles in my path by observing them rather than burning out trying to force them in one direction or another. I welcome the transformations that are taking place, trusting that they will bring me to the places meant for me. Cancer & Cancer Rising When I’m unsure, I pull my energy in and go back to my base. When something doesn’t seem to be working above ground, I check my root system. I need to know what I am working with at the most fundamental levels of my life. Without fertile soil, nothing will take. There is no use planting seeds in inhospitable conditions. Better to let the earth of my life rest than overwork, deplete, or demolish its soil. Even when it’s not what I would have chosen, I trust what is showing up. I study what is off kilter, make note of what sends me spiraling, and meditate on what I have no control over. Somewhere amidst the chaos, the answers are calling me. One of my most important jobs is to learn how to be the best listener of my life as I can be.  Understanding the relationships dynamics that leave me feeling disappointed is key to my current evolution. When I want something from someone that they aren’t offering, I place an obstacle between us, preventing what we could be. In truth, the last thing I want to do is waste time being in a fantasy. Instead, I want to build what I can with who I can. Any other way only leads me into resentment, depletion, and unnecessary despair. With this New Moon, I remember to listen to people’s actions, believe what they are telling me, and seek to accept the changes for what they are: a gift waiting to be unwrapped.  

[brutefemme]

Libra New Moon.

[brutefemme]

happiness in solitude.

[brutefemme]

28.5

It’s my half birthday today. Wow.

thinking back on the last 6 mo is weird, and tiring, and also so just impressive? 

six months ago... the pandemic just started and we all thought it was temporary

six months ago... i lived in oakland and that still felt really good

six months ago... i still loved my job 

six months ago... my boo and i started to have sex despite not expecting to

sex months ago... 

i loved my birthday this year, despite it being so emotionally charged. 

my boo showed up for me in so many ways that made me feel really special. it’s honestly, the only thing i want for my birthday - is people to wholeheartedly invested in making me feel special. it’s a gift.

my birthday is a very complex day for me - always has been.  this year was no different. 

six months later... we know the pandemic is here to stay

six months later... i live in hawaii and this feels so much better

six months later... i hate my job and am going back to school

six months later... my boo and i are... 

sex months later... i am still working really hard to unlearn and rebuilding a world that is deserving of me and my power. 

pivotal moments: we are on fertile ground. 

i am forever devastated at the loss i have experienced, and i cant wait to see what happens next. 

[brutefemme]

this is how my mind works.

The work is pivotal and I am tired. 

I want to say the grieving never ends but I know that’s a lie. 

This is healing… and I know it. 

I’m trying to be the kindest I can be and also the moments that hurt really hurt. 

I know I’ve hurt worse… had less control, felt more alone, but for some reason I am still frustrated. 

I am frustrated that when I feel a really good high, it feels only like a burst and is followed by an intense sorrow - sometimes fleeting, sometimes not. 

Again, I know this is healing - damnit. 

This is temporary. This is temporary. I am temporary and also infinite. 

Damnit.

[brutefemme]

Sun square to natal Mercury

It's been difficult for you to pay attention to things other than the way you attach meaning to the world. You may notice a feeling of frustration. You're going to have to take action to address the way you articulate yourself.  Don't stop thinking and communicating the way you usually do—your feeling are facts. If it isn't working for you anymore, stop doing it. 

These frustrations will arise due to circumstances in your subconscious in conjunction with the new ideas you've been craving. Be patient and ready to work on experiments with drugs, vulnerable communication, or therapy.  You will have to do something you don't normally do or that you've never done before. Your best bet is to roll up your sleeves and do it.

****************************************************************

Well this is fucked up. 

[brutefemme]

Well... here we are again.

Did you miss me? 

I guess I’ll always come back here. I’ll always be just a sad girl on the internet, and honestly, I’m here for her. (Although, I do use they/themme pronouns now.. wassaaaaap post-binaarrrryy!) I always come back here when I need to speak in a way that feels good; a way that I constantly ignore because I still think people don’t care (but here’s the secret: it doesn’t matter if no one cares. It only matters if I do.) Also, I haven’t had a working laptop in over a year because Apple really has all of us by the balls. I digress. I’m rambling to avoid as per usual. My mouth is always too fast while my fingers are painfully slow. My mind is a cosm traveling in no direction in particular. Well, maybe it is traveling in a direction... inward, toward itself. 

I have a lot to say. No one is surprised. 

It usually takes me a while, but I always find what I’m looking for by looking back. I would say it’s a cool little trick, but it’s not -- it’s kind of fucked up. 

Ehhh, I’m working through it. 

I did run into this post though and really fell into it. 

So... five years ago to my five years ago. Here we go. 

Hey Kirsten, 

You actually did change your name finally. You found it so beautifully too, like it was made for you. You’ve emerged into this new world you’ve built for yourself as kali diwa, and it fits in every possible way. It was right after a free POC Yoga class at the East Bay Meditation Center (Yes, you still do yoga, yes, you only do it with other brown folx around, and yes, seriously fuck yes, you live in Oakland. And bitch, you fucking love it.) where your teacher chose to honor Kali Ma, imploring her to burn all things that no longer serve you. It struck a chord, a strong vibration of both nostalgia and enlightenment, then you went home to watch Bourdain go to the Philippines again and that fool showed you exactly what you wanted to see: Kali - the ancient Filipino martial art that is intrinsically tied to the resistance of your homeland and your blood. How you could say no when revealed itself to you. And the best part? It’s yours, fully. 

You’re in Europe now, you as in 2015 you, and I know you feel so many things right now, but it’s okay. These are lessons you need to learn. You’re always exactly where you need to be at all times. You say that a lot now in 2020 and people kind of hate it, but they also love to hear it so... you’re gonna keep saying it. It’s a good reminder. This trip will be unpacked over and over and over again. So keep those eyes wide and that heart open - it will show you truth. 

After Europe, you come home with nowhere to go, but back to LA. You lived in a hostel again, which you didn’t want to do after living at that atrocious AirBnB situation, you know the one where there the host used a completely different name than what was given to you on the website, where you were told to tell people that you were “just a friend staying,” where there was no doorknob when you moved in, where the upstairs roommate had to walk through your room to get to theirs, where you only had a broken hot plate and lived off of sardines, and the windows had a privacy film on them that was made entirely of scotch tape, and that weird landlord that smelled homeless wouldn’t stop asking you if you were a lesbian (FYI, you kind of are so that fool clocked the shit out of you -- also never do that again). But after that, you lived with a slew of equally, if not more, horrible roommates that made you really question what the fuck you’re doing in LA, being unemployed, doing comedy, and generally just end up feeling like a loser. 

It’s okay. People find you and it's very kind. You end up dedicating a few years of your life to Philz, yes that Philz, New Manhattan Philz. It’s amazing until it’s not. They sell out hard. You didn’t even know what a Mint Mojito was before you started (which makes sense, there would be no reason for you to have ordered it before) but bitch bet you know what it is now. 

You finally dump stop talking to Colin, but then you tie yourself to some weird men. It’s gonna suck, but you do this a lot. You needed to, they were important to your growth and how you relate to your self worth. You’re also just horny as shit so, fuck it the fuck up. You really lean into being sexually liberated in a different way. It’s still really hard and confusing. 

In a year, you’re gonna spend Valentine's day realizing that you’re falling in love with yourself. Amidst the chaos of your love life, you find you. 

You find good homes that teach you so much care and kindness that it makes you want to scream. You and Yadira (one of the best roommates you’ve ever had) spend a wild summer together and then both end up living in the Bay - she inspires you to move back. She literally just texted you back right now so you can FaceTime tomorrow. It’s sick. 

You spend a year listening which doesn’t make sense now, but it will. It saves you, creates a new world for you that actually feels good and real. People hold you here, hold you how you needed it then. It’s as full as you can muster and it feels good until it doesn’t. So you do what you do best, you move.

I know right? Again? This is the part where you go back home. It’s the best decision you’ve made so far. 

Honestly? Honestly. 

You come home to go back to school. City College of all places. Wild, I know. But you know education has always been a pillar in your life. One of your favorite feelings of all time is actively feeling your brain take in new information. Learning is like magic and you want to experience it constantly. Also it’s free, which makes it socialist as fuck. You dive deep into social justice, a place you never thought you’d be, but honestly after Europe, after that last year in LA, it all makes so much sense. You are supposed to be here. The classroom is a fucking stage and you live for it. Nothing makes you hornier than a good debate and the sound of your own voice. Everything just feels better when you do it with your mouth. You join the sexual health educator program, end up being a healthy relationship counselor (I know - healthy relationships - this is where you do that learning thing), and working in sexual violence. It’s like Law and Order SVU, only not at all. It’s healing, it feels like good work as a survivor. You realize that comedy was never your girl, sex was. (Honestly, it’s both - it can be an “and” statement; you’re very complex. You also say that a lot now, again still annoying, but good reminders, so people can’t really get mad at you… right?) You also dive deep into gender stuff, racial stuff, all the good things. You start to become full. 

You feel yourself becoming a whole human being and then the world rewards you with a sweet lil queerbb. You’ll like them, they’re from Hawaii and came back to SF by way of Portland. It’s gay af and you’re into it. It’s kind, the healthiest relationship you could muster in puppy love. You feel how young it is, how it’s mostly about sex and suddenly, it doesn’t feel as good. It didn’t have the longevity to match you. You break it off kindly, and you’re thankful for it. A gentle experience for your first relationship ever, at 25. But then you spiral a little. The queer scene in Oakland is good but also a complete mess, but so are you. You go back to Spain, it feels like torture. You run into that pub crawl dude you fell in love with (read: made a fool of yourself in front of by getting ostentatiously drunk and throwing yourself onto him. Remember? It would have had happened like… last week) and it is sufficiently awkward. And you cry. You cry literally everywhere. 

26 is the year that you definitely just lean into tears… and it won’t stop. *insert thumbs up emoji*

You get a therapist, you lose a best friend, and you find yourself again and again and again. You only take what serves you. 

You realize that sex, your favorite girl, has deceived you for years. She has told you that this feeling is the one you crave, but it’s empty, housed in the desires of men and nothing for you. You have had enough. You have had a taste of what healthy sex can look like and nothing else is as sweet. It’s unfair. After 12 years of having sex, it’s only at 26 where you know that this is true. It’s so fucked up. So you stop. 

Really. 

It’s the most rewarding and devastating journey you’ve ever taken and it’s still. so. fucking. hard.

You create bonds with people who live close to your soul in a way that has never felt as real as it does now. You find connection everywhere and it’s electrifying. You feel powerful all the time. 

Once, you had a full moon ceremony in your backyard in Oakland (this is what you do now because you’re so annoyingly and unbelievably queer) and your friend Tiara, who you instantaneously knew you needed in your life, looked you in the eye and said “You’ve spent your entire life being fire, it’s time to become ocean.” It changed you. You listened. 

You have your dream job, working in the gayest place on earth, besides Disneyland, cause you already did that one. You work in a queer sexual health clinic, fully tied into the make up what makes San Francisco great, but also so fucking complicated and it feels good. Your job is driving a huge RV bus and  swabbing buttholes all over town. It’s brilliant. You’re on the precipice of change. You feel more alive than you ever have in your entire life. You feel in control. 

Everything has felt so special and complete, growing every day. And you’re just so goddamn thankful. You feel lucky, which I bet is super weird to hear considering you drunkenly just considered having sex with that short German guy in a suit who wants to be Barney Stintson. (Do you regret that? Yes. You do.) 

And in the face of all this gratitude, the world is still so unbelievably hard. 

We are in a bizarre time where you’re currently stuck in a pandemic quarantine with the funniest roommate and some kid who walked on to your bus one day to get his asshole swabbed. You just spend your 28th birthday in lock down. It was weird, and beautiful, and kind. You cried like you always do on your birthday, but it might be one of your favorites. It was complex, just like you. 

And you currently feel like your body is betraying you in ways that you did not at all foresee. And it fucking hurts.  

You’re reckoning right now. You’re doing a lot of reckoning with things you thought were done, things you thought you’ve laid to rest years ago. Things that felt fine, but they surfaced in spaces you didn’t expect. It’s unkind, but you don’t have to be. You are full like the moon. Just because you can’t see her wholly, does not mean that she isn’t always full. You are always full.

Authenticity is the key to being taken seriously. Remember that one, you’re gonna need it. 

Love you, boo boo

kali diwa 

P.S. You don’t bone as hard as you did before, but there’s more days to be had... it’ll find you.

[brutefemme]

[brutefemme]

Looking back on old documents, I found a few scripts I had been working on in my TV writing days. 

I categorized my femmes by dress size and I feel sick. 

[brutefemme]

Damnit, Dagger

This is a story that I tell at shows... when I do shows:

So, I don’t know if you guys are aware, but tattoos are permanent. Like once you get one, it stays on your skin - forever. It’s a very crazy concept. So when you get one to match someone else’s - it definitely does not wash off the next day. Trust me, I tried. 

I mean Valentine’s Day can make you do crazy things right? Honestly, I’ve never really cared about good ole V-Day. I’ve been perpetually single my entire life and I’d much rather spend the day pampering myself, rather than wallow in that desperate loneliness that TV always assumes women are doing. But this particular Valentine’s day was different. you see there is this one boy, a Chicago boy who I kind of use as a crutch. He was always that kind of pseudo-boyfriend. The one who goes out drinking with you, comes over gets high and watches tv all day with you, and then falls asleep, cuddling you? But neither of you ever dare kiss or make a real move, because you guys are just such good friends. Yeah, that was him. Young and underage, we spent our weekends chain-smoking, drinking bottles of Jim Beam, tossing them out in the street, then lightly cuddling each other at night. It was the lightest form of punk rock we could muster because we were both such sensitive creatures. There were times where one of us would try to seize an opportunity for a relationship but kept missing each other somehow. He would suddenly get a girlfriend who wasn’t me, or I would feel like I wasn’t ready to actually be in a relationship, or both of us were just scared. So we just kept it platonic, despite having hearts in our eyes for each other. And then I moved back to the West Coast and he stayed in Chicago. But we were still bonded by our love of drinking, the internet, and pop punk music. Living in suburbia, I was sad, domestic and desperate for anything that reminded me of my former self. Whereas he had gotten a serious girlfriend. We sent the occasional text message, like each others’ posts on facebook, or a send the quirky snapchat here or there, but only use that to keep fueling mutual like we had of each other. Two years had passed since we had seen each other, I was still very sad and depressed in Orange County, and he had suddenly broken up with his girlfriend. The text messages became more frequent, the likes on facebook flooded my notifications, and the snapchats became a little more suggestive and I loved it. We spent more time facetiming each other, after a night of drinking, talking about how we missed each other. This went on for months, using each other as this substitute for love or maybe trying to cling on to this love that never quite got there. And then suddenly, I found myself asking him to come visit me. “You can come for your birthday,” I said, “won’t that be so much fun? We can drive up the coast and see San Francisco!”... “Wait, actually I think our favorite band is playing in SF on Valentine’s Day, it’s only a few days after your birthday. We can have a rad day in SF day drinking then see our favorite band that night.” Evoking my 13-year-old self, I coyly ask, “Do you wanna be my Valentine this year?” “Let’s do it.” For the first time in my life, I have legitimate Valentine’s Day plans with a boy I actually like. There is literally no way I am not having sex that night, right? I was very confused but manically excited. I started planning our perfect day together, where we would have brunch, and start drinking, the coffee shops we would visit, where we’d have dinner - I wanted to pull out all the stops. He gets here and everything is perfect - the trip has the perfect itinerary, organized logically in google document just for him. We drive up to San Francisco, taking Pacific Coast Highway, the water is beautiful, the sun is bright, we’re listening to Fall Out Boy and reliving our teenage infatuation. It’s his first time in California and he’s loving it hard. In San Francisco, we settle into our AirBnb and lay down for a bit on the bed to unwind. Suddenly we hear the soft vibration of his phone go buzz, buzz. He checks it, and a dopey smile spreads across his face. 

It’s Anna - a girl he met on Tinder back in Chicago. Buzz, buzz - he checks it again, frantically replying giggling to himself. He really likes her he says, she’s really cool and dope. Buzz, buzz - She kills spiders for him, he says with a twinkle in his eye. Buzz, buzz - I’d really like her, he says. We would be really good friends. With each buzz, buzz I saw this trip coming apart at the seams. “BUT WE’RE STILL CUDDLING AT NIGHT.” I argued with myself, “I STILL GET HIM ON VALENTINE’S DAY.” I brushed it off, they only started seeing each other, and he was here with me - we have history - things can still be perfect. Our Valentine’s Day started out pretty strong, starting off with our morning coffee, strolling along the bay water on the piers. I kept telling myself that it was all very sweet and adorable, despite the occasional buzz, buzz from his pocket, despite seeing all the flaws he had, that I had forgotten due to the distance and my sadness. Eventually, we ended up in the Haight walking near the tattoo shop where I used to get all of my piercings done as a teen, and to our delight, we notice that they’re doing Valentine’s Day flash tattoos, essentially cheap tattoos from a sheet. My small, youth brain and sad, sad heart felt like fate and serendipity had been smiling down on me.

This seemed like the most romantic, last-ditch effort to solidify this weirdo semi-love that I felt was slipping between my fingers with every flaw and buzz from his goddamn pocket. The last effort to try to prove to each other that we were still just as cool and reckless as our nineteen-year-old selves, which seemed so far away, now that we were twenty-two. We sign our names in and they tell us it’ll be a four-hour wait and that we should stay in the area. FOUR HOURS? But we have reservations for lunch, I keep thinking, but then those thoughts get interrupted by thoughts of how this matching tattoo will be his first, I’ll be in his skin forever - take that ANNAFROMTINDER, DO YOU GUYS HAVE MATCHING TATTOOS?! He’s really excited and for some reason, I let him pick which one we should get and he picks the very basic, non-love themed dagger. It was decided and now, the entire day was thrown for a loop, my itinerary had been burned by my insistence to get a forever sign of our weirdo friendship inked on my skin. We spent most of that time, exhaustingly looking for a place to eat that was just as good as our original plan, walking around wasting time in a neighborhood we had already explored and then him coming home to meet my sister and grandma - not as romantic as the waterside restaurant I had already picked out. With each passing hour, I kept realizing how truly different we had become in the last two years. I found myself getting annoyed with every little tick I had forgotten about him, the ticks I left in Chicago with our compatibility. We were completely different people. He was not the Chicago boy that I kept in my head and my heart, but a different person altogether and here I was clinging on to it, getting a tattoo of it, hoping it’ll all still work out as the needle tore through my skin. The ink was new and fresh, just like my perspective on this relationship. You can have him Anna from Tinder, sorry we have matching tattoos now - hope your relationship is still healthy. We eventually made it to that concert, which was amazing live, and slept on opposite sides of the bed that night, refusing to let any parts of ourselves touch the other. At the end of the trip, it was this weird feeling of seeing how different you were only a few years previous. I only wanted the 19-year-old version of this boy, and he only wanted the 19-year-old version of me - something that I couldn’t feign or recreate, nor would I want to honestly. 19 year old me was an impulsive idiot, who was too sad for her own good, swaddled in blankets of insecurity. 

(OLD ENDING: But now, I have to see this tattoo every single day, which is fine - it reminds me to not be an idiot on a daily basis.)

I wish I could tell you that after this trip that I never saw this person again, and if I said that, that would make me a smart person, but it would also make me a liar.

I went on two more trips with this human, but that’s another story.

Oh, and if you’re wondering about that tattoo, I covered it up. Sometimes tattoos don’t have to be permanent.

8min.

[brutefemme]

circa 2016; circa now.

I feel unsettled. Anxiety ridden. Bizarre.  This is a familiar feeling, but still very unknown. (2016)

_______________

(2018) I always come back here, to this feeling. Everything is cyclical. 

Kindness is ahead of me, so is gratitude.

[brutefemme]

Hello, I’m not dead yet.

I find myself here again, with 20 rough drafts saved of stories that faded into the background of my narrative. They’re all from at least two years ago. It’s interesting revisiting them, seeing how my perspective changes, remembering that my perspective will always change.  I think I’m gonna finally finish some of them. We’ll see. 

[brutefemme]

still hot, jsyk.