Why do you fuck me like that?
With your heart out

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Lovely Little Things

From scanning my past few postings, I realize that you may think that I am deeply depressed and dark—this, I am not. It just so happens that I have used this space to free the unmentionables, and you, my lovely readers, have been present to witness such occurrences. If you could see beyond these key strokes you would know that I am actually quite light, flirty and fun. I live hard. I laugh hard. I love harder. So today, I’ve made a list of twelve little things that I love. For they are the little things that move me so. 1. the smell of skin 2. lying naked underneath my warm, soft, faux fur blanket 3. sipping sweet southern brewed iced tea 4. touching the warm spaces of my lover’s body 5. listening to rain fall to the pavement in the midnight hour 6. two glasses of cranberry juice and vodka before a night of dancing and pure escapism 7. road trips with my favorite people and music 8. flirty exchanges coated with lust and the potential for danger 9. candles and Will Downing aft...
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A mix of things...

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My significant other stumbled across my last blog regarding her request. Let’s just say that she, yes she, wasn’t so thrilled. The birthday gift ended before it even began. I have to admit that I’m a bit relieved. I know that the frequency of sexual intimacy is not a measure of our commitment. Pause. Now I can savor the decadence of a spontaneous needy fix. Hooray for small miracles. After some thought, I think way too much, I believe that her request was an attempt to keep me near. She thinks that she is losing me. With great sadness, I ended my internship last Friday. I’ve had an amazing summer. I will miss the incredibly talented lawyers in the public interest field. They are rebel rousers, social movers and change makers—fighters of unpopular causes. Charles Houston was right; lawyers are either social parasites or social engineers. I am no parasite. I will miss my clients, women at point zero, struggling to regain control of their lives. I have faith in their ability to change an...
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TO BE WOMAN

More than any other time, I am spilling into my womynness. Walking down the street today, catching the sun in the locks of my hair—gentle breezes caressing my center to travel down my back and the inside of my thighs. I am so alive and wide, growing into my womynness. The man at the corner winked at me; I smiled back. I am no longer afraid. Time has taught me to appreciate my gifts—subtle curves, tender waist, full lips and warm skin. This is not conceit. This womyness is hard fought—hard won. To be woman is to be whole and layered. I am remarkably woman—carefully made. I see, all the time, little girls who mistakenly believe that because their bodies talk, womyness is bestowed. Womyness is not given, it is earned. I’ve waited so long for this-- fought through harsh realizations and sat with unpleasant considerations—walked through the loss of a marriage and a parent, upset of family and friends—two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the road less traveled by. Zora Neale Hurston wrot...
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