life is like a really big tattoo…

The very first person I talked to after I got my very first tattoo was a conservative gentleman wearing a suit in the elevator of my apartment building. “New ink?” I hadn’t even finished saying yes and he had already unlocked his phone and located a picture of his full back piece of a dragon stretched

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What if we were careful with our bodies?

What does it look like to be careful with our bodies? To watch what we say and how we say it. To take into account that it feels the things we throw at it. To recognize that it remembers impact. I forget that words carry heft and weight when wielded at the body. They don’t

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why we need to love in the deep end.

Love is like a swimming pool. You have options. And flotation devices available. You can dip your toe into the kiddy pool. Heck, you can walk in there with your floaties on and splash around a bit. You’ll get a little wet. It’ll be fun. Maybe even feel a little dangerous. But it’s cool, you are a

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how does love move?

What is the anatomy of my story? What moments drape across my shoulders and interweave along my back allowing me to show up with my chest open and upright. What lovers have aided in my asymmetry, pulling me to one side until I have done the work to loosen the tightness around those muscles. What

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do we close or do we open?

People act as mirrors, reflecting pieces of ourselves back to us. They shine light into spaces we’ve kept hidden. Between crevices we’ve been too afraid to explore alone. Under doors we’ve been loath to open to darkness. Some light heals. Gently, softly warming us to openness. And some light exposes. Brightly, harshly threatening to close

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be too big.

We set our capacity to love. To be loved. To be in love. We stake its ceiling. We draw its boundary. We establish its threshold. We must live there. We must love there. We must fold ourselves over and over and over again until we fit. Until we are small enough. We stake its ceiling. We draw its boundary. We establish its threshold.

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a tweak on the standard, post breakup rundown.

My go-to, post-breakup practice is to sift back through the relationship and render all good things a lie. The standard: I am not beautiful. I am not special. I am not different than anyone else. There are few techniques more effective in anchoring one in sadness. Why does something not lasting forever make it untrue? What happens when

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why change happens in waves

when we make the huge and courageous decision of being in relationship with ourselves it feels as though we should be able to jump into all that terrifying goodness. to submerge ourselves fully and swallow wholeness. can we drown in something good or is that why it comes in waves it being the human we know

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what I say every morning.

I say a blessing every morning. I don’t know to whom I make this ask, and it doesn’t matter. The words matter. Their daily repetition reshaping this body that keeps me upright. Give me the courage and the grace to live this life. Words are softer in morning. As if it takes time to build

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we’re not built for (or by) straight lines.

One of the things I crave the most in the presence of a lover are walks. Or rather the quiet collisions that occur as two humans bound by some degree of connectedness, of hearing and seeing the other, pull them together and apart again like a whimsical and slightly rogue pendulum, attempting to move from

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