August 7th, 2013

The people I have loved, and the people who have loved things about me…

I told you I loved you the summer that left the freckles on my back more prominent than any before. 

I told you I love you in the summer that I was in between 23 and 24.

I told you I loved you in the summer that I fought with the majority of people in my life, being battered from one direction to the other because i never knew how to communicate with them.

I told you I loved you the summer that distance was like a great chasm.

I told you I loved you under my breath the summer that felt more like a summary of all the summers I had had before.

I told you I loved you every time I got off the phone with you, just like every other time in the 23 years I had been alive. 

I told you I loved you and meant it when I was drunk off fun, and the music and the carpet under my toes and the way I looked at you and just got it.

I told you I didn’t love you back the way you loved me over the phone the summer that I worked in women’s fashion. 

I told you I didn’t understand myself, and instead you just told me things about how disappointed you were in me the summer I only saw you briefly. 

I told you that I loved you, but i didn’t like the people we made each other around each other the summer where you and I screamed and screamed at each other like feral animals from different species not understanding any word that was said.

He told me he loved me in a dirty bar on a crowded night when he was drunk, and missed who I was for him the summer I worked on things about myself I didn’t like.

He told me he loved me in a facebook message stating that he was going some where far away the summer that he missed his hometown and I was in mine.

He told me he wanted to hold onto me as long as he could the summer before the summer I rode the subway alone at 5am when I should have slept in. 

He told me he loved how beautiful I am on an empty street as I was closing my front door the summer I didn’t want to be like the summer before it.

He told me how much he liked my laugh in a bedroom in philadelphia when I woke up fully clothed and told him a story of how I broke my foot.

He told me he liked my glasses as he sipped his beer and stared at me in the corner near the pool table the summer we’d been introduced by a friend of a friend who always carried a camera.

He told me he liked my smile the summer I had burned myself badly at a dinner party when I was too nervous no one would like my cooking.

He told me he liked my blog the summer I went on my first roof in Brooklyn.

He told me we’d be friends forever the summer before the summer I tried to throw away most of my clothing and couldn’t. 

He told me he liked my body because I had long legs and my stride kept with his, and that summer was the summer I felt dwarfed and petite.

He told me he loved all these things about me, but those weren’t things that were important to me the summer I lived on a murphy bed and had no air conditioning. 

December 24th, 2012

I find myself staring at tall men who are unforgiving in their character.
They saunter into rooms only to charm each person occupying it.
Smiles reach their eyes, and handshakes never cut you off at the knuckles.
They don’t use bottle openers on counter tops and tables,
but pull some magic from their keychains and pockets.
They sneak to surfaces, while holding conversations,
and balance caps then the swift palm moving downward.
There goes the cap.
Then they continue.

I don’t know how to approach these men, don’t know what to say.
I mention the occasion which draws us together.
Or I go rogue, asking them what place,
if they had unlimited funds,
would they go for 4 days.
What would they do?

I wonder who these men are,
what music they listen to,
and how they found me.

These types of men are rare,
but even rarer is that they are truly what I see,
because really,
who ever really sees the truth of what is going on.  

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

December 7th, 2012

I like men with flaws. 
Too big hands, scars on their legs, and wonky smiles.
I don’t like men who are too pretty.
Give me some unruly hair, a crooked nose.  
Give me a deep rumbly voice that doesn’t match his mouth.
A patch of beard that won’t be tamed.
Give me two different color eyes.
I want to see what makes them different.

What sets them apart by my senses.
I want to touch the faults that make you up.  
I want to see the imperfection. 

I want to categorize each one to someday write down and remember how I became so familiar with them. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

October 29th, 2012

I pulled all the cushions from the couch and all the pillows from my bed and made a nest. Sweatshirt and scarf, and closed blinds. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

March 21st, 2012

So, it’s midterms, papers, and stress. That’s why my posting has been low, on another note, this is me, in the Library, just before class. I look snooty, but this is just my face today.

Also, Saturday is the Madewell event, I am sad to say Sora, Amy, Sam and Joy had conflicts last minute and they can’t make it. Fingers crossed Folu can, if not. Saturday you have me all to yourself Philadelphia.

November 29th, 2011

so, what would you like me to talk about in a video tonight?

August 11th, 2011

Me, just as I am, a lot more than a little tired.

Second day on antibiotics, fourth day with strep throat, first day in four days I can move around without having fever sweats and chills and swallow food and water without extreme pain. Yay! Also, I am moving. Thus the boxes. 

I missed you tumblr. Thank you for all the get well notes and messages you all are sweethearts. 

A website dedicated to the things that inspire a young woman with a good head on her shoulders, an overactive imagination and a constant question on her mind: what kind of woman is she?