How was it authentic? The shape of her hands, the lily white column of her throat, the shimmer of dark hair all around her. Was she all alone in there? Could you bite through the supple flesh like the skin of an apple–white teeth biting into hot spurting scarlet. Your lust is libido. Your libido is violence. You must abuse, you must bruise, you must tear apart. It’s the only thing that makes you feel real. You must confess it all.
After twenty five years I still must question the authenticity of her love. Things can seem like they are going fine, and then I come across the lies. She is my best friend, but I know that too is one sided. I do everything for her, give her the world I just want her happy. But her selfish nature causes her to cheat, lie, flirt and break my heart over and over again. Maybe I should really question the authenticity of the love I have for myself.
It was authenticity she lacked. Or the idea that she lacked it.. stemming from second guesses, doubt, repression.
Oh to be free from the shackles of uncertainty.
A feirce stomp on the ground for liberation!
How sweet she thought.. to be you.
some seek solace in illusion, but I have found my peace in reality. no more the painted mask, the rehearsed lines. just the raw and real, the unscripted dialogues of my existence, the symphony of my soul.
The word “authentic” has been ruined over the last decade or so by influencers. That being said, I am an influencer. I am living my best life as my true, authentic self. Deal with it.
Like an untouched forest, or the unbroken surface of a lake at dawn, our true selves lie in patient silence. It’s a wilderness waiting to be explored, a silence yearning to tell its tale, a story waiting to be lived.
To embrace your true self is an act of defiance. In a world ever seeking conformity, it’s a testament to the courage of originality. It’s the choice to bloom unapologetically, unabashedly, unreservedly.
How was it authentic? The shape of her hands, the lily white column of her throat, the shimmer of dark hair all around her. Was she all alone in there? Could you bite through the supple flesh like the skin of an apple–white teeth biting into hot spurting scarlet. Your lust is libido. Your libido is violence. You must abuse, you must bruise, you must tear apart. It’s the only thing that makes you feel real. You must confess it all.
After twenty five years I still must question the authenticity of her love. Things can seem like they are going fine, and then I come across the lies. She is my best friend, but I know that too is one sided. I do everything for her, give her the world I just want her happy. But her selfish nature causes her to cheat, lie, flirt and break my heart over and over again. Maybe I should really question the authenticity of the love I have for myself.
It was authenticity she lacked. Or the idea that she lacked it.. stemming from second guesses, doubt, repression.
Oh to be free from the shackles of uncertainty.
A feirce stomp on the ground for liberation!
How sweet she thought.. to be you.
some seek solace in illusion, but I have found my peace in reality. no more the painted mask, the rehearsed lines. just the raw and real, the unscripted dialogues of my existence, the symphony of my soul.
The word “authentic” has been ruined over the last decade or so by influencers. That being said, I am an influencer. I am living my best life as my true, authentic self. Deal with it.
Like an untouched forest, or the unbroken surface of a lake at dawn, our true selves lie in patient silence. It’s a wilderness waiting to be explored, a silence yearning to tell its tale, a story waiting to be lived.
To embrace your true self is an act of defiance. In a world ever seeking conformity, it’s a testament to the courage of originality. It’s the choice to bloom unapologetically, unabashedly, unreservedly.
a song unsung by any other… the unique rhythm of your heart, the distinct timbre of your spirit, that the world discovers its own harmony
this is real
this
blood
this
flesh
we bleed
together
i look to
you
and the
dying
stars