Days like these
We worship it,
Not for its perfection,
But for all the moments we wish we could have taken back.
For all the words we should have inhaled instead of spewed.
Days like these
We sit on our thrones alone
Because power comes at a mighty lonely price.
We practice our goodness but never quite get to genuine.
It’s days like these that remind us where we are.
Who has come before us
And how we will pave the way for the others.
Days that are long,
But worth every hustling minute.
We will remember the glory of these days
Not for its perfection
But for its purity.
Collect my love puddles and recycle them back to me
Puddles from the sweat behind my knees, praying you and I will be.
Clutch the emerald rosary
between our fangs.
And that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Sink them deep, my crimson cabernet is yours to keep
Slackline on the silverlining to the highest star
Bring me back to my body
The keeper of my puddles, my crimson, my heart.
-Words by Jasmine Duran and Luiz Castro
Build a legacy.
For the women who created this body deserve recognition
The women who rendered this mind deserve rights.
They created art. They created a dream.
I saw you crying once.
Outside of the bedroom late at night.
We had washed up after a party and dragged in the same old, bitter fight.
Who was I to you? Why couldn’t you show?
So here we are:
You on the livingroom floor.
Me, peering through a crack in the bedroom I wished wasn’t ours. A hallway of mirrors fall between us and we cannot reach each other through our own reflection.
We would only see ourselves.
When you get there you’ll know it.
You’ll know it like your mother’s perfume or the taste of your ex lover’s sweat.
You’ll know it.
I did it.
I finally did it. I made it without you. 695 days, 9 hours and 30 minutes, but I made it.
Months washed in regret,
Bathing in forgiveness.
Minutes rinsed by the moon and the sea.
Wet clothes on my back from fighting the tide and thinking you’d reach out for me.
I’ve made it to the shore.
I’m happy on the beach.
I just thought you like to know.
I made it.
But most importantly, I promise to be wild, unpredictability romantic, and to love you silly.
You belittle me with such delightful song.
I missed a spot
I laughed a lot
Judged upon the life I made
Blamed for all the steps I take
How dare I live a happy way
Spin the timer on my back
And watch it lead me off the track
Catch me as I drift,
And pull me back a little bit
Be prepared when I may wane
But even more for lovers slain
I love the movement and the might
get it right
He brushes his hair with the rough palm of his hand as he surveys the room over the brim of his glasses.
With one raise of an eyebrow, he unbuckles his jaw and lightly licks his bottom lip.
Surveillance is his key to survival. We are all pawns to his purpose — and believe me, he has control.
His survival instincts are different than yours or mine.
He can never be sure who is a threat. He doesnt know you yet,
but he will.
He subjects himself to submission just to facilitate the flow. Unwinds the bait and reels in your ego. Keep your enemies close.
Keep them wanting more.