My body has grown soft. Soft and brittle, hard to move, easy to bruise. Skin that shifts a little too freely over fat, pulled loose and drooping. My skin didn't toughen with age, but instead grew soft, like the peel on a rotted fruit.
Tag: rambling thoughts
Quarantine, mi quarantena, my "forty days" as I begin the next forty years, a day for a year, a story for a stain, a shoe for no one
This is the year I'm choosing love, so I guess that goes for myself as well. Hail, Mary, hale and weal, it's time to forgive myself.
It's time we stop victim-blaming the Eight of Swords, y'all.
I wish I knew what to do with drafts. Unfinished, half-finished, all-but-finished, basically done, rough, unpolished drafts. …