Kaua’i with Rocky Barnes





I’m a vision.

“My pretty doesn’t concern you.
I just want to say it once so you know.
My pretty isn’t what women have fought for.
My pretty means nothing among the women who I call my friends.

My pretty or lack there of, is nothing of meaning, it holds no worth.

My pretty won’t pay the bills.
My pretty didn’t get me an education.
My pretty won’t comfort me at the end.
My pretty didn’t get me where I am.

My face is something to me because it is mine, all mine.
It makes me, me.
It’s not yours.
It never will be.

My pretty is secondary to my heart, to my humor, to my loyalty.

I never wrote in journals that I wanted to be pretty.
I never plotted out my career around my pretty.
I never got a job because of my pretty.
I never wanted to grow up to be pretty.
I never liked being called pretty, by my lovers or friends.

I’m a god damn vision.

I’m a wolf.

If you tell a wolf she’s pretty or not, she doesn’t care,
she’ll still rip out your throat and stand over your body.
Covered in blood, pretty was never a priority.”– Katharine Anne

I want to believe in love again.
A love that doesn’t have to end in betrayal.
That there are not only monsters hiding under the bed at night but angels too.
There are so many ways to hate you. Like the infinite amount of ways there were to love you.
Wash me clean, baptise me. I want to be renewed.
‘Save me!’ I cry. Speaking only to myself.



We are made of layers, cells, constellations – Anais Nin



Sometimes you just die, still loving someone.


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