A snowy, peaceful day in Central Park.
Me, the clouds, and other pedestrians who just want solitude.
All I can hear is the quack of the ducks and the soft whispers between a couple walking behind me.
This is bliss.
“It is disgusting. We are told to love sex but never masturbate or fool around. To love our bodies but we have to be hairless, thin, have boobs, and to never wear make up to cover our flaws. We can like sports and watch them but we can’t play them unless they are toned down and pretty enough to be oggled at. We can be nerds but we can’t be TOO smart or we forget our place. We are told we need a prince charming and to seek him out by constantly changing ourselves and being perfect for him. We are given the message that outside beauty is what matters the most but if we have it and get successful it was because we have a pretty face. We are told we exaggerate and should just go with it when we complain of being objects and property. We are taught that being a woman is worthy of an insult… WE have to fear walking at night. WE have to go in a group if we need to use the bathroom in a strange place. WE have to be cautious of where we are and who we are with. That we are told to hush and get over it if we are assaulted because real life isn’t like the crime shows and it is harder to convict the assaulter. That female artists are degraded and yelled at in artist alleys. That you are judged just by how you wear a t-shirt.”
“Don’t kiss me during the fireworks. Kiss me after and give everyone else something to look at once chaos has passed. Don’t kiss me when you don’t know what else to say, kiss me when that’s all that needs to be said. Don’t kiss me at all the right times, kiss me mid sentence because my lips were moving, and you were jealous of the air because they weren’t moving on yours. Don’t read up on old fairy tales I don’t want a fairy tale. I want real and in the moment. So kiss me when you’re up in flames and about to burst. Kiss me when the tears are doing all the work. Kiss me hard and kiss me good.
theres nothing better than sleeping with your window open & the cold air coming through
Mikhail Vrubel, The Artist’s Left Hand, 1882-83. Black chalk and charcoal on paper, 18.6 x 26.8 cm. The Russian Museum, Saint Petersburg.