Nights of living awakee

The cool breeze outside is perfect to carry away the beads of sweat
I’ve taken all of them out tonight
The powder, the plant, the essence

These should work
It’s the night and slumber is the hope
Please let it come for I can no longer tolerate without

Here this is, this awake, this mind
It has no mercy
It cares not how I feel
Please, can we negotiate?

I’m not good at this
But i have learned
This time, the last, the one before that

No matter what I want,
I will be told
Despite my best efforts
This will be the one giving orders around here.

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No hairy legs at the gym

The beauty abounds.  Most of them are shiny, bronzed, their clothes glow with an achievement that only effort awards.

They are dedicated, each and every day.  At least most of them.  They know each other, they know everyone.

This is all so literal, it couldn’t be staged.  It’s perfect with a side of smug.  They know they’re perfect.  They’re in the club of perfection.  Even though anyone can join, only these remain.

Entering this womb, the enclosure that protects us from the world, from nature, I find the similarities endless.  Until the locker room.  That’s where anarchy reigns.

Once the exterior is removed, like a skin suit sloughed off periodically, it’s only the vulnerable and vain that remain.  Towels that are too small, or just the right size.  Views that are exhibited but most of them hidden.  Bashful, shy.  No matter the diversity or how cosmopolitan it might seem, there’s no hairy legs at the gym.

The bathe ritual 

Sinking slowly into the velvety warm water from the sea. Initial exhilaration is quickly mused by paranoia, doubt. Not sure if it was safe to venture into the ocean. Knowing it was absolutely necessary. 

The warmth caresses as a geyser left of steam, the drops tickle on the toe. Cold water excites, the warmth soothes and consoles.  Wondering, pondering, discovering, seeing; that’s what this place is for. It comes from within only. It’s drawn out easily.  But never without the reminder of yesterday.