You’re digging holes in your heart and tearing your soul to shreds and sucking the dreams out of your eyeballs, with vacuums you made out of old knives. And you’re asking everyone else and everything else but YOURSELF, to bridge those gaps and stuff the pits of your belly with coal, when what you really need is intimacy and fire and hot steamy sex with yourself that makes your soul wet. If you try sucking what you need, out of the people and places you go, you’re a vampire.
You’re drawing the vitality out and pulling teeth out of bodies that cannot be what they are because they are not you. An agenda in every interaction. A big sign on your head that says ‘I need you to complete me’.
You make the air taste desperate.
How are you still confused as to why you are repulsing the things you need? Actually scratch that – the things you WANT. The things you *think* you need are not a need. You need you. Fulfil yourself. Fill yourself.
Women – looking to forever to fill themselves with dicks, and babies, and bullshit. So eager to fill themselves with anything but themselves.
It’s as if we are anaphylactic to our potential. How do we justify this? Are we allergic to being happy? You’re pushing every ounce of happiness that is your birth right / further and further and further away from you. Reel it back in.
Fuck the vision board. Put a photo of yourself up on the wall, create an altar fit for the worship of a goddess, make a shrine out of the SHINE you are manifesting into your reality.
Watch the wounds you forced to fester, seal themselves and become new again. Watch the light come back to your eyes. Watch how fast you ditch the disguise.
Watch how every self-imposed self-limiting strategy you had in place crumbles to the floor and is replaced with limitless potential, with a ladder dripping in gold leading to the places dreams are made of, with a sky perfumed in the revelation the bud makes when it feels brave enough to bloom.
Here you are. Sisters in solidarity. Sisters in bloom. Like sunflowers inching their ways to the heavens, oblivious of how beautiful their are, oblivious that their simple existence is not just enough – oblivious that their existence is the sunshine every cloud of grey doubt needs to keep going.
Keep growing. Keep going. Keep glowing.