That Kind Of Woman

1. I have been working for Maiyet since March, it seems like such a short amount of time.
2. I also have been riding the bus again. I sometimes think I will meet an interesting and amazing person but most times I am tired, and agitated like every other commuter who hates the people talking too loudly for us to sleep. 
3. Everyday in New York is a challenge to being comfortable in the outfit I choose that morning. It’s not always a battle I win.
4. I wish I could afford a sublet up here, so that I could eat real food during the day, and sleep in the same state where I work.
5. I love being in the thick of it. For now at least. 

You make me want to be woman.

Pure woman.
Curve of the hips, soft skin.
Silky hair, parted lips.
Dark eyes, slip of the tongue.

We’ll lay in bed in the morning light,
me breaking and mending my heart
to every characteristic of your face.

I’d talk when you’d want to keep silent.

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

I miss the playing. That’s one of those things a relationship brings into your previously single life. The playfulness that doesn’t come as naturally with others. It’s the need to reach out and touch. It’s the eyeing up each other over a court, table, or field. It speaks for me wordlessly Are you ready? A nod, or just the first move from him is answer enough. 

Next it is the challenge. The need to not only keep up, but push further, past if even for a moment. If you are lucky is fulfills each level, intellectually, physically, and emotionally. Three levels that help you be a better component, or partner.

No matter what you want to do, you will only get better if you are challenged by those who are better at it than you. Playfullness also means there is a need to have fun. Just plain old goofball fun. 

I miss want the playing. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

 I am terribly nostalgic. I am forever remembering. I like music where the singer’s voice sounds like their heart is breaking. I cry, readily at moments that I succumb to the greater beauty, or fear or just the overwhelming circumstance. I would rather be in rural Ireland staring out across the landscape. Sometimes, I imagine that I am. I abhor when people say my full name incorrectly, even though it’s just the difference between rushing the name out of their mouth or taking their time.

I enjoy intimate spaces. My apartment is welcoming, with a distinct feeling that is is not just a room, it is a home. I give myself and my possessions to the people I love. I have been hurt more often than not because of this. I always sample the food I make before I let anyone else taste it. I cook emotionally. Because of what a wonderful mother my mother is, I cannot wait to have that same affect on my future children. I am overly sensitive. I am extremely romantic. I get scared of things, and usually decline politely if I am uncomfortable with situations. If a polite decline doesn’t work, I am able to stand up. I have been bullied, I have let it affect me. Then, I move forward.

I love the softness of dog’s ears, and the swish of a cat’s tail against hardwood floors. I love flowers arranged to look chaotically beautiful. I like the way basil leaves leave their scent on your fingers. I prefer to be photographed in black and white. I wore braces for 2 years, and now I don’t wear my retainer and my front teeth have shifted. I worry at times that this bothers my mother. I know it bothers my sister. 

After 30 years my dad is clean shaven and it is a shock, and it worries me that he sees the shock each time I see him. I am very much like my father, as I share my adult fears and problems with him, and he shares his worries with me, I see how similar we are. 

I enjoy pressing paper fresh from the copier against my cheek. I enjoy bending back the first pages of a new book, and running my finger down the page to settle into a read. I despise ball point pens. I enjoy felt tipped black pens instead. 

I purge with my writing. If the day has been long, or short. If my heart is heavy, if it is light. I work out my words, to find out how I feel. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)

I fall in love with the city each time I go. When the light takes paths through the high-rises, or through the trees in central park at sunset. When you are literally caught off guard by the beauty of someone’s appearance. When you walk through the MET and clutch your chest because the beauty of a piece consumes you for several moments. 

When you walk down streets and across avenues. When you order a drink and it costs you an arm and a leg. When British men chase you through the Lower East Side professing their attraction. When you walk through empty pathways of a park and you sing melodies under your breath.

When you remember the first kiss you had in the city, or the last kiss you had with the man who kissed you first. When you remember his face, your confusion and the warm sake that you shot with new friends in a swanky place. 

When you remember the summer you spent dutifully walking from port authority, down Broadway to 28th then across to Park Avenue 3 days a week for 3 months. When you make flirty eyes at boys you know grew up elsewhere. When you quick change your outfit in secluded areas, or when you dine greedily on fruit sold by street vendors who fidget. Gulping down water as you walk 40 blocks.

When you climb 10 flights of stairs in an apartment on East Housten, only to collapse in giggles with friends. When you catch a glimpse of Emma Watson, hiding in plain sight as she walks through the MET. When you follow her to make sure. Only down a hallway or two.

When you make friends with people you bump into, or stand next to. When you share a sympathetic smile with someone else stuck in a line. When you meet a friend of a friend who changes the perspective you had on your life. When you make new memories on the streets, rooftops, and subways. 

I fall in love with the city each time I go there, but until I can call it home, it’s nice to sleep in a bed, in a quiet little town in rural Pennsylvania. 

(Source: thatkindofwoman)