The glass of red wine sitting on my desk is my best company right now. As for tonight, all I want is me. I want to feel the nakedness of my soul. The rivers crossed by my shapely legs were deep with the flow speeding at each step. A tremendous battle against quitting and allowing the current pulled my body along I faced. You know me, you might think, as I have shown you my flesh and blood. You click on each picture revealing a crooked smile and perhaps, read the caption where I confessed one or two little dirty secrets.
That is but half the truth. However, the truth is profound and vast. What you see is only the darkness when the earth tilts. Youâ€™re not an owl to see me when the light is absent. I, for now, am blooming. I blossom big and tall, elegant and beautiful. My prettiness is not for your lust or her eyes to envy. It is just a mere reminder that through stormy seasons and cold winters I metamorphosed into the spirited woman I now am.
I came from the jungle. I came from the rainforest. I ran barefoot and jumped into civilization. But aka, I am staying wild. I am staying free. Move along or stay away. Come with me or let me go. At this point, I am not afraid of anything. The countless bruises stamped in my tired heart taught me to let go. I am still a pupil, though, I am still in the process of letting those hearts loved by me go. And gone too many of them are. Gone with the wind. Gone burning in fire. Gone wet in countless tear drops.
We must no cry, they say. Cry until it feels good to be awake again, thatâ€™s my saying. Y’all know, I have cried oceans. I have seen them dry and walk barefoot on the salty ground. Here two more dirty little secrets; the uncertainty of being a burden to everyone keeps me awake. Most of my wounds inflicted in the fiercely battle against my demons are still widely open.
Nevertheless, I keep swimming. I keep running. I keep grabbing whatever I can to no fall further.
My wounds, those questionable injuries, those that raise eyebrows, those that make eyes curious, my wounds. Each of them is a story not suitable for the hard-hearted. They are beyond xxx.
Sitting on the floor with the wind of autumn whistling in my windows, I feel entitled to my nakedness. Entitled to wear magnetic kissable lips. My lips that speak the truth. A truth that sometimes can only be heard by the deaf. Entitled to my moaning mouth and the allurement of my anatomy. This body which is mine only, yet in occasions I crave to share.
The mirror hanging on the wall reminds me of my imperfections, and today, at least for today, I embrace them all. Let me curve and get into a fetal position as the night is hitting hard.
No starts tonight. No moon. Let me get naked once again soon.
Happy belated birthday to myself.
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