masculinity, men, taste, wisdom, writing

Diet

Most of what we buy and eat is crap.

It is killing us, to exercise the choice of a world’s worth of processed cuisine. All of it available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

There will never be a fat acceptance movement for men.

There are people out there who are proud they cannot cook.

If you can’t see your genitals when you stand up for a piss, if you get out of breath climbing a flight of stairs then how are you supposed to defend yourself?

Defend someone else?

Roll on them.

I’ve been fat. It was easy to get into and I knew what I was eating, dealt with the implications of having a 40 inch waist, and wearing a uniform which required belt and braces. I had stomach issues which were painful and embarrassing. A litany of excuses kept me eating and uncomfortable.

This is where I talk about some embarrassing or life-threatening experience which prompted me to change.

It got too much to live as a fat person.

There was no reason to stay fat. It impacted my health because of my weight, not the other way around and I needed to do something about it.

I don’t have a six-pack but I can take my shirt off and feel good about myself. Food is fuel but with it, an appreciation for taste and texture which makes for interesting experiences and adventures because there is life beyond burgers.

We don’t teach nutrition. I’m not a nutritionist, but much like everything else in this book, we work with principles.

There is a massive amount of misinformation about food.

News reports are scaremongering.

The internet is like drinking from a fire hose in terms of what you should eat.

You should eat according to your goals.

Basic

How often do you eat?

What do you eat?

Do you eat because you’re hungry?

Ask yourself these questions. Apply the answers to your problem.

If you are overweight, then it is a question of where you want to get to to lose fat.

Not weight. If it is all you have as a measurement, then it is fine but your approach should be to lose fat and/or build muscle.

In terms of fat loss, here are the things you can do. Keep to them for thirty days.

Keep it simple.

Meat and vegetables. Find the things you like, learn to cook them. Have a few staples which you return to when it is just you.

Beef

Pork

Lamb

Chicken/Turkey

Venison/Game Meats.

Fish/shellfish

Cabbage

Spinach/kale

Cauliflower

Broccoli

Pulses

Legumes

Root vegetables.

No fruit. Yes, no fruit. It has natural sugars in it, which taste great but get turned into fat by the liver. Fruit is not essential so just lose it as a regular part of your diet. It isn’t in mine.

No calories in drinks. Alcohol has lots of calories, so look at whether the buzz is worth waddling around with a massive belly. Drink water, black tea or coffee. Diet drinks will derail your fat loss above 500mls of aspartame, so you’re better off without them.

Good fats.

Conventional wisdom has it fat is a bad thing. Most dietary advice contained this idea.

There are good and bad fats. You want more of the former and less of the latter.

Fatty cuts of meat. The fat in meat provides flavour which is important because changing how you eat and your body looks is not a chore. Take pleasure where you can and see this as changing your approach to food.

Water.

It quenches your thirst. It has no calories and you are composed of it.

Drink more water than anything else. Rehydration resolves a lot of temporary signals from the brain which get misconstrued as hunger. It keeps your thought processes clear, makes your skin clearer and fuels your body. Ignore drinks with added flavours, as it adds to the amount of hidden sugars in your diet, which will derail any progress you make with changing your habits and physique.

You should weigh yourself and aim for a gram of protein per lb of weight. These proteins should come from whole foods, meat and fish are ideal sources of protein but for my preference, meat is best.

Steak has value. It is easy to prepare and serve, tastes good with little to no additions and is a good meal.

There are carnivore diets available. It is austere, riddled with points and counterpoints but there are lots of people who share their subjective experience and the benefits. Again, as I am not a dietician, it is important to share you must eat and consider your own body. What you respond to, in terms of food, are not the same things my body will.

Eat for Testosterone.

There is a trend with men having low levels of testosterone compared to the previous generation. Testosterone Replacement Therapy is available, but attention paid to your diet and lifestyle can offset this depletion.

Cruciferous vegetables such as cauliflower and broccoli offer vegetable sources of male-friendly hormones. Eat these alongside a good steak and it is a good, clean meal which will make you feel better and stronger for eating it.

Intermittent Fasting.

How do you eat?

Are you grazing on high sugar and carb snacks throughout the day?

Are you eating because you are hungry?

Genuine hunger is rare in the lives of most people, in the west. Seeking it out might be an affectation but there is a strong case for the health benefits of fasting and eating within a window of time.

I practice this as a way to keep things in check. I don’t eat through the day, aside from coffee with a dash of coconut oil as a source of energy. I wait and have one large meal – high protein and fats, such as steak and eggs in the evening. There is no suffering involved once pat the initial response to sustained fasting.

Much like any outlier, there is a lot of information available about the health benefits and practices involved.

Rather than set yourself up to fail, take a day off each week where you indulge all the temptations which crept into your consciousness during the week. The chocolate, pizza and ice cream orgy is a once a week event. It will spike your metabolism so you don’t hit a plateau and also keep you motivated.

One thing I’ve found is that by the end of the day off, I am craving whole foods again. Detach yourself to see the flaws in your diet, and when you experience the sluggishness of a high-sugar diet, you will remain motivated to pursue your goals even harder.

As with any dietary information, do your homework. Seek medical advice where appropriate, but also understand you know your body and lifestyle better than anyone else. Go with whatever works for you and your goals. Take responsibility for yourself.

I do not base these practices on the conventional wisdom of the crowd. If you become an advocate for something unusual because it works for you, expect criticism from those who are unable or unwilling to take responsibility for their own health and wellbeing.

Let them. You are not in competition with anyone but the person you were yesterday. He didn’t have the knowledge you have now, so beating him should be easy and he’s a good sport.

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beauty, love, lust, sex, short fiction, wisdom

The Taste Of Strawberries

chocolate-covered-strawberries_10971

 

The queue stretched out the door of the bookshop. I had gotten here as early as I could, but saw that quite a few other people had the same idea. My stomach lurched at the thought of just being another face in the crowd, made invisible by weight of numbers. My solipsism had weaved so many scenarios for us, and this, the closest to actual reality, appeared to have unravelled before it could come to fruition.

It took me ten minutes to get inside. I was forced to stand, but managed to get myself closer to the front of the room. A small table had been set, dominated by a stack of fresh hardbacks, a jug of chilled water and a glass. Federico, the owner walked through and grinned in disbelief at the numbers.

‘If you all buy something, I might actually make rent this month.’

A peal of nervous laughter snaked through the air. The ghost of online purchases made several people grip their copies a little tighter than normal but Federico grinned, flushed with delight at the amount of people in his bookstore. I glanced around, not seeing anyone that I knew and enjoyed the slight cessation of my nerves.

Federico cleared his throat.

‘So, without further ado, allow me to introduce -‘

He said his name and my heart pounded in my chest.

He walked out from the back of the shop, his caramel eyes twinkling with nervous excitement. He wore a crisp white shirt, blue jeans and a black leather belt. His skin was tan, and he had shaved for the occasion, his head and cheeks gleaming with the quality of the shave and the moisturiser he had applied. I watched his mouth, his lips and went into myself with the force of the connection.

Max glanced over the sea of people, smiling as he put his hands together.

‘Hi, well usually with these things, you know what you want to hear from me better than I do knowing what you want.’

His eyes met mine and he smiled, mouthed ‘hi’ and carried on speaking.

My breath grew short in my lungs as our eyes met. The reaction was immediate, fierce and visceral as my thighs clenched against the hot pressure in my pelvis. He kept glancing in my direction, smiling as he spoke. He offered to read a chapter from his work in progress and everyone applauded as he sat down to read.

His voice was melodic, with an interesting grain to it in person that drew people in. His accent made the inevitable erotic overtones sophisticated and beguiling, and by the end of the reading, I could see my own feelings mirrored in the expressions of the audience. They were mostly women, and when Federico broke the spell by asking if anyone had any questions, some of them shifted in their chairs, resentful of being woken from the moment of connection that he offered.

The question and answer session got quite lively, alternating between technical questions about his approach and details about the books he had written. He was unfailingly polite, earthy and pragmatic about his approach but he spoke about it with such passion that he grew effusive and intense with it at points. By the time it came to the actual signing, my hands were shaking. To be a few feet away and not able to talk to him after all this time was intoxicating and infuriating.

I joined the queue, having brought my own copy of his last book. I was relieved that I had brought it from Federico and when I got to the front, he looked up, flexing his right hand to alleviate the cramp of repetitive signing.

‘Hi.’ I said.

He smiled and set his pen down.

‘Hey, you. It’s really good to see you.’

My face flushed and I fought the awkwardness that rushed into me, the warring emotions that his presence evoked in me. Body fought mind, thought and feeling wrestled within me and I passed him the book to sign.

He wrote something in the front, then signed it with a flourish and handed it back to me. His index finger brushed down the length of my thumb and I shuddered with excitement. I moved away and he held my gaze, evoking a twisting anticipation and nerve that made my eyes damp with a depth of feeling that robbed me of my calm. I left the bookstore, finding the mass of people too sensual and in depth to bear for a moment longer. The afternoon was bright and warm, I lifted my chin to the sky and breathed in deep, willing myself to calm down. I was shaken and sodden by the little time that we had together.

I opened the book. He had written down a room number and a name that he had checked in under.

Spare key at the desk. Let yourself in if you come.

M

The signing was scheduled until four p.m. I went to my car and sat behind the wheel, debating the urge to see this through. If this was one opportunity, then I would run with it and see where it went. I looked at myself in the mirrors, recognising the woman who looked back at me, even though I had not seen her in a while.

I started the car.

2.

My voice shook when I asked for the key to the suite. The receptionist rewarded my courage by barely looking up from the computer as she slid the card across the desk. I took it and walked to the elevator. The concierge asked me what floor and I told him. The elevator ride took an eternity viewed through the filter of my warring emotions. Each floor promised an exit, but I was rooted to the spot until I arrived at his floor. The doors opened and I stepped out, trusting that my legs would carry me the rest of the way.

I let myself in. It was a large suite, with a double four poster bed, a dining table, a mini bar and a desk set by the window. The carpet was thick beneath my feet and I glanced around, surprised by the opulence on display.

I heard the door open and turned. He stood in the doorway, a grin of unabashed pleasure and surprise nearly splitting his face in two.

‘I didn’t expect you would come.’

His voice was soft, tinges of vulnerability set alongside the rough, deep brush strokes of his voice.

My mouth was robbed of moisture and I smiled as I turned around. I wondered how I looked to him, in person. My self consciousness could be cruel and here it had a grand opportunity to stick its claws deep into my soul.

He stepped towards me.

‘Fuck, you really are gorgeous.’

I flushed and looked away.

‘Probably a disappointment, huh?’

He shook his head and ran his tongue over his lips. He reached out his right hand and slowly rested it against my cheek. The brush of his fingertips sent an electric charge through me. I squeezed my eyes shut and gave a choked sob. He lifted his hand away and I opened my eyes.

‘I’ve not been able to think straight since I saw you today. I don’t know how I made it through the rest of the signing.’

His voice had softened and sweetened with vulnerability. I reached up and touched the collar of his shirt, running it between my thumb and forefinger as I gazed into his eyes and nodded.

‘Nothing happens here unless you want it to.’

His voice had thickened. I glanced at him, the broad shoulders and deep chest beneath the tailored shirt and he rested his hand over mine. His palm was rough and warm against the back of my hand.

An eternity passed before he leaned forward, his lips open and I glanced at them, soft and full before I shut my eyes and let every thought go in pursuit of the feelings his words and voice had awoken.

They had never really gone to sleep.

Our lips danced over one another. Each contact was a flame igniting and an electric current charging through me, each pore of my skin opened to him, to all that his words had promised. When his hunger reached his hands, I whimpered and reached to guide them where I needed them the most. His fingers danced and pressed against me and we lost ourselves in the raw, beautiful moment of our first kiss.

He pulled back and grinned.

‘Are you hungry?’

I frowned and he laughed.

He went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a silver tray wrapped in cling film which he tore open with lustful gusto. I caught the smell immediately: fresh strawberries and the dark, rich tang of cocoa. He took my hand and pulled me to the bed. He turned and picked up a strawberry between his fingers and slipped it between my lips. I closed my eyes against the fresh, clean sweetness and the following dark, rich burst of cocoa and cream on my tongue. I chewed slowly and pulled him to me. I kissed him and he groaned with pleasure as he put an arm around my waist.

‘I’m going to feed you, baby girl.’

You had heard him say it again and again but to hear it, in the air then dancing against the tiny bones of your ear, into your brain and body takes you to a place of divine decadence.

‘Yes, Daddy.’

3.

We fed one another, peeling away our clothes as we progressed from playful feeding to smearing streaks of it over one another. We laughed at our audacity, and played things gentle at first, as much to assuage my nerves as to allow us to expand the afternoon into the type of play that I had imagined in the fevered moments where my hands would act in his stead, trying to bridge the distance with the sweet fire of orgasms given up to him.

He ran a slice over my nipple and popped it in his mouth as he suckled me. My hand went to the back of his head as I pushed my hips up against him. I told him how sweet he was, and he looked up at me, circling his fruit-covered tongue against my nipple, feeding me with his beautiful, brown eyes as I fed him.

He did not rush to undress me. He savoured each unveiling as a treasure in its own right, or used it to enhance the stolen, assertive play of it all. When his fingers slipped underneath the waistband of my panties, and his fingers parted me before sliding forward, a raw, wild power charged through me like wild horses. Beneath his fingers, I clung to him as he massaged me, alternating his mouth between my nipples and breasts, making my chest wet and sticky. He covered me in his filth, took possession of me and made me his.

‘Please, Daddy, can I come?’

He moved his lips away from my nipple and shook his head. I groaned and pushed against his hand. His touch made me bold with need.

‘Please?’

He murmured no through a mouthful of my breast and continued to stroke around my clit. Each contact made the throbbing grow in intensity. I fought against it, but his touch was insistent and expert until despite my clenching denials, my orgasm burst within me, sharp and urgent. I clung to him, eyes closed to everything but the power of his touch.

He withdrew his fingers and suckled them in his mouth.

‘You taste so good, baby girl.’

I blushed and looked away but he reached up and brushed his fingers through my hair before he leaned forward and kissed me. I reached to his waist and unbuttoned his jeans, then pushed them down and moved him onto his back. I reached into his underwear and pulled his uncut cock free. I rolled the foreskin between my fingers before I bent at the waist and took him into my mouth. He reached out and took a handful of my hair. The wanton urgency of it made me take him deeper and he gasped as I drew him in and out of my mouth. The velvet hardness of his cock against my lips fed my hunger for him and when he took a firmer grip on my hair, I swirled my tongue around the head and was rewarded with a burst of sweet pre-cum. I gulped it down and looked at him, my eyes wide with the joy of how he moved from giving to receiving without a loss of his power. A crude primacy made me bring my hand and stroke the tight, soft skin of his scrotum, how his testicles were full and the noises he made as I massaged him.

He growled that he was going to come and I nodded, too lost in the ritual of having him in my mouth, under my power and when he pushed his hips upward and grabbed my hair tight, I took in every drop of his vital, masculine self, suspended in the sweet thick fluid of his come. I swallowed him down and lifted my chin so as not to spill a drop.

He pulled me down to him and wrestled me onto my back. He reared back, his cock still half hard as he bit his lip and looked at me.

‘Oh baby girl, you really are something.’

He undressed and came forwards. He kissed me on the lips then began to cover me with them, exploring me with his lips and tongue until he brought his hands under the backs of my knees and pulled me down the bed. A trail of beautiful, burning kisses tickled my navel before he gazed into my eyes and smiled at me.

‘Your pussy is so beautiful.’

He lowered his mouth to me. He used his tongue and lips together, testing and rejecting particular combinations of pressure and texture based on my response to him. I stroked his head and closed my eyes, let his mouth fill me with a pleasure that was both transcendent and entirely physical.

4.

Afterwards, when we had entirely exhausted ourselves, he cradled me in his arms and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

‘What was that for, Daddy?’

I felt his smile opening against my scalp.

‘Everything.’

His voice had darkened. I had nowhere else I wanted to be right now, but the world was calling us both.

‘I don’t know when or if I will see you again.’

The thought lashed across my heart and I struggled to remain lost in the gooey, creamy bliss of his presence.

‘Well, it’s funny that you should say that.’

I lifted my head and looked at him.

‘Don’t make jokes like that, Daddy. It’s not funny.’

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

‘I wouldn’t joke about something like that. I can’t confirm anything yet but it’s part of why I’m here on this leg of the tour.’

He would not reveal anymore. Instead he took me into the shower with him, we washed and touched one another, hungry for one another beyond the recuperative limits of our bodies. He dressed and walked me out to the car. We did not exchange details because we had never really been out of one another’s lives.

I would message him, saying and not saying what I had taken from the night together and then one morning, he sent me an email with a link to a local news site.

It was a press release that the university would be appointing a famous writer to teach a course there that fall. The photo was from his press kit, a head shot that showed his delicious smile and the sculptured line of his jaw. A moment perhaps when he was alluding to happiness rather than feeling it.

I knew though that the smile was for me.

For us.

I ran my tongue over my lips and tasted strawberries

 

 

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nature, poetry, wisdom, women, writing

Silk – A Cocoon Falls.

From branch

Cocoon falls to ground

Empress looks

Threads float

Thought sparks a

Change to a

Empire with

Secrets prized

Holds power to

Trade for treasures

Idea more precious

Than material wealth

Smuggled out

Into foreign hands

Idea loses worth

Empress looks up

At branch

Waits for cocoon

To fall

It

Still

Falls

 

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art, bath, beauty, creative writing, desire, emotion, erotic poetry, loneliness, love, lust, man, masculinity, passion, poetry, psychology, seduction, sensuality, short fiction, short stories, silence, social media, stoicism, strength, Uncategorized, wisdom, women, writing

Reflections in two mirrors

He sent them to be seen by her. That he had tangible proof of his commitment to his purpose and his growth. Each session, each rejection of easy but costly temptation was there in the heft of his pectorals, the lines and striations in his hip flexors and the way that the softness around his jawline was disappearing. He loved the reaction, knowing that she carried the coiling heat of want within her. A talisman against the bland sweep of days. He could not fake the look in his eyes, in a moment sourced in purest expression of his primal, sexual self. Such awareness and acceptance was rare, he had denied it before, but now he was comforted and protected by it.

She struggled with it. She knew the angles to offset the parts of herself that remained distasteful to her. Her body rebelled with the marks of time, but his reaction cast its  magic over her. A litany of informed praise, fuelled by want rather than need. Through him, she saw herself and it rubbed raw against everything else around her. A sweet pain, an eroticized grief that in its rejection, left deep scars that only he would be able to heal.

Now the mirror, the chain of static images connects them both and they pretend it is not there for the sake of sanity.

It remains though, and it would take so little yet so much to pick it up again and feel its comforting, powerful weight.

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anxiety, beauty, culture, dark places, desire, dominance, emotion, empowerment, erotic writing, erotica, experience, fiction, fragile, hunger, lust, passion, pleasure, process, psychology, seduction, sexuality, short fiction, short stories, Sir, surrender, touch, Uncategorized, wildness, wisdom, women, writing

Sir 2.0 Episode 2: Processing.

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You swallow but your throat is acrid with tension. You cannot make out the details of the people watching you, only that they are there. The gown continues to shift up on the back of your legs, adding self consciousness, drop by drop, over the stir of emotions that collide and change within you.

‘To complete processing, you will undergo a cursory medical examination and a bathing procedure. Once those are complete, you will be assigned sleeping quarters and then left to your own devices until tomorrow morning.’

You narrow your eyes against the light. The voice has retreated behind an air of routine and its emotional content is all that you have to go on in terms of figuring out what is going on here. How much trouble, you potentially are in depends on what information you can glean from your present circumstances.

‘The correct response is yes sir.’

Your heart beats hard and faster. There is a low murmur of conversation, and a stifled giggle which rakes its nails down your spine. A hot flash of humiliation bursts in your stomach, a perfect emotional time travel, taking you back to high school again. The spotlight is hot, and you can feel perspiration beginning to teem underneath your arms and at the small of your back. At this precise moment, every sense is sharpened, ready to cut like a theatre of eager surgeons. Whether it’s you or someone else, depends on the response you give.

‘Yes, sir.’

You raise a hand and a titter snakes through the audience.

‘Am I being held here against my will?’

The laughter grows and someone calls out ‘not with those thighs, dear.’ Your cheeks burn with blood and tears well in the corners of your eyes.

‘Don’t laugh at me.’

That draws a series of oohs.

‘What upsets you more, being held here against your will or being laughed at?’

The voice comes through, silences the others in its wake. The way a comet burns up air on its passage through the night sky.

‘Don’t play doctor with me. I want an answer to my question.’

The voice gives a dark chuckle that makes you shiver to be its subject.

‘What if you had already been asked that question?’

You frown, aware that the spotlight makes every expression exaggerated. Another ripple of laughter starts up. It hurts more than the first time and you start to back up.

‘Stop right where you are.’

You jerk at the change in tone and volume and in response, the back of your gown hitches up a centimetre, highlighting the backs of your thighs where they meet your ass. You give an involuntary yelp, which fuels the embarrassment even further.

‘I wouldn’t, there’s nothing wrong with me.’

He pauses and the laughter dies away again. It’s application reminds you of a whip or a paddle and its sting unsettles rather than the pure, stable joy of pain that you enjoy. That you recognise this comes to you unbidden and without import.

‘My point, exactly.’

A wall to the left bursts into brilliant, white light and coalesces into a screen. A series of numbers dance across, teeming in patterns of deliberate complexity before it opens on a woman’s face, smiling.

Your face.

‘Hey, look you’re probably freaking out about now, but that’s kind of the point. I am you and you are me, before all this starts off.’

You watch yourself give your name, date of birth, social security number, mother’s maiden name and that you have paid to experience SIR, signed a raft of paperwork to avoid indemnity and that you should just relax and go with it.

Offscreen, a female voice asks you onscreen how you heard about SIR. You smile, and you recognise yourself, the telltale blink that you give and the bitemark on the inside of your lip that you could probably slip the edge of your front teeth again and find the indentation by instinct.

Your capacity to tear yourself to pieces without cause, a thought arises, might be part of why you are here.

Not that you are sure what here means.

‘I go to a munch two towns over once a month and one of the subs there went. She did not stop talking about it so I looked into it and -‘

You watch yourself spread your arms and grin. A hopeful light twinkles in your eyes. If this is not you, then it’s terrifying in its accuracy.

‘Here you are. Or I am. Sorry, I get tongue tied with things like this.’

The interviewer chuckles and you join in, a little ahead of the beat and the audience in the room follow along. The screen fades into black.

‘We’ve installed a block on your memories. We don’t change anything about you, and at every turn, we’re a bit like the opposite of a supermarket. We always offer choice. You are here because you want to be, but part of what makes this so popular and so important to maintain discretion is that we agree that this is all part of the play.’

Your breath is molten in your lungs and a heat begins to pool in the pit of your stomach, drawn downwards by gravity and you clench your thighs together to make the sensation flare deeper and warmer.

‘So, I volunteered for this?’

A hum fills the air and you experience the interview directly again. The leather chair underneath you, the scent of the Ethiopian coffee that you were offered on arrival and the drive over, calculating how much this was going to cost you. Chrissy had said it was ‘life-altering’ and you knew that your life could use some of that.

Some people went into simulations about the zombie apocalypse, you came here.

‘Does that answer your question?’

You stare into the darkness. The want is bolder than your fear, it puts a leash on it and a muzzle. The courage hardens your nipples, relaxes the muscles between your thighs, opening and transforming the emotions into fuel for the engine of your desire and your fear and your need.

There have seldom been clear distinctions between them and that, you know is part of why you are here. You smile and lower your head. Deferment is part of it, and you know that there is expectation and a responsibility here for you. It is a misconception that the submissive is powerless, and you stopped explaining this to vanilla types a long time ago. Here, you have the power and the voice, the eyes in the darkness are asking you to take it.

‘Yes, where do we start?’

The table is wheeled in with stainless steel stirrups mounted on telescopic stands mounted on the ends, a section cut away in the middle and velcro straps at the top end. A second table is brought in with a bowl of steaming, lilac and coconut scented water and a natural sponge. You run your tongue over your lips, and your heartbeat drowns out the thoughts in volume and rhythm.

No one is laughing at you now. Which is a good place to start.

‘Whenever you are ready.’

TO BE CONTINUED.

 

 

 

 

 

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ambition, beauty, craft, creative writing, creativity, emotion, empowerment, inspiration, love, nature, passion, poetry, process, purpose, sensuality, stoicism, strength, Uncategorized, wisdom, women, writing

Spark

20161128_123452

Trials lie in wait

On every corner

I hold within

A spark of purpose

I am earth, air, fire, water

And all things

Within it

Undefined

By anything

Beyond will

And purpose.

Each quiet hour

Before dawn

Pen makes

Love to paper

Fingers seduce

The keyboard

If you would

Find me anywhere

Find

Me

There.

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