These are the words that keep me up at night.

These are the thoughts that never leave the back of my mind; they whisper to me as I walk down the street, in the background of lyrics of songs that I listen to, from the train tracks, from the rooftops, from the swish-swish of coats as the pass by me, the tap-tap of canes and walkers, the clickety-clack of stiletto heels, the whine of jet engines and the revving of an F1 beast starting off at the track.

These are the primal things.

I will never be able to say them aloud. My voice wasn’t meant to utter them–I am not brave enough. But I hear them. I feel them. I think them. These are mine and they are of me.

They are me.

In my rawest, most unrefined, and purest form.

These words are me.


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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

August 2017
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