The pretty ones

Spreading wings for paparazzi

Bedazzled bed parts

Vying for cheap significance which is safer than risking failure at being loved for who we are

The emptiness stuffed with Sephora

Bingeing

Too Faced Innersense Tarte

Drunk Elephants need First Aid Beauty because Earth’s Nectar is drowning in Urban Decay

Free People! and yet their attempts remain Limited Too infantilized words on distressed organic cotton

GRL PWR

Some get degrees to some degree

Convenient debt free connections

Million dollar minority, baby

Forging identification brands from a color wheel and a free quiz

Personalities constructed of hashtags with short shelf lives stolen from invisible masses within the depths of whom the secret to a life of substance is hidden

The Body is Not an Apology

Works’ evolving definition

Get on your knees

The chronic obsession with

pursuit of perfection

Paula’s Choice is balayage berry juice, Lululemon leggings, Tough Mudder tutus

What a challenge that would be

And for them, it’s never enough

The collapsing towers of Cabrini Green Fore! caged children abandoned in favor of in-vitro fertilization and 7:30 Reservations at the bested Table Rock

Orthorexic t-shirts pristinely cut maternal attachments

Maximalist

Minimalism

Matching low lives

High weight freighted

by an Underground Railroad

Ain’t I a woman?

American royalty

Offer dismissive waves

behind tinted windows and frosted roots

I really don’t care do you

You’re not ugly

You’re just pour

In love, spirit, courage, mercy, truth, wisdom, cash, credit, car, bed, shirt button

Button

Who’s got the button?

It’s not my fault

She flew into the windshield

I was just a passenger

~

We drove to the mountains this past weekend and our truck was murdering butterflies who were out en mass. I felt helpless, cruel for existing; trapped in a world system I didn’t design and don’t know how to escape. Seeing their wasted beauty smashing on the glass made me think of other life that never get to fly because someone or something bigger comes along and thoughtlessly plows over their dreams. Wow huh? I promise I’m filled with joy like 80% of the time.

I also feel sad when I’m rinsing berries and one falls down the drain. I think of how long it took that little guy to sprout from a seed, push through the soil, grow on a vine and become fruit. Then I think of the worker who picked and crated it; the long, probably hot journey it made on some truck, only to be jostled around on a supermarket shelf by gropey hands, shoved into my shopping bag and allowed to carelessly roll alone into a dark abyss.

We should probably play Candy Land now or something. xo