“Repeat after me:
I am not a problem
to be solved. Repeat after me:
I am worthy I am worthy I am
neither the mistake nor
at what point do I get to call myself a “music photographer”? at what point do I get to call myself a “photographer”? it still feels weird when the word leaves my mouth. I feel like the title hasn’t been earned, but at what point has it been?
Whatever title you prefer, it has been earned already.
he’s cute but i’m not liking his selfie because i want him to know he ain’t shit
How long have you turned your back to the sea that nibbles your ankles offering you his mouth? How long has it been since you forgot the smell of salt, the black-green rust of his seaweed, the dark invitation of his groans?
I see you from a hill. As if trailing a shipwreck, your wooden planks rot on a grey beach full of dead shrubs and shells.
When will you rise from your sadness, Providence? When will you respond to the insistent smile of the water that barks at you?”