Come to me
with all your glamour and cruelty
There was a one and only time I went back home for a family wedding. I wore a slim dress and wet-looking and pointed dark red stilettos. It was my little faggot wink to serving Dorothy; post-tornado. It was all so fitting.
I've been thinking a lot about the audacity of being oneself. How angry people can get about it. [Why are you wearing that tie? Where are your children? Are you a boy or a girl? Why don't you hate your job? Who do you think you are telling me no? Why don't you react to the mean things I say to try and bait you? Wah, wah, wah. Don't these people know that the spanking they crave isn't free?]
It may be the one thing in common with all of the friends I have had for multiple decades, now. Whether it's brazenness, confidence, neurodiversity, or some wild combination of all of it, the thread that runs through them all is their uniqueness and unwillingness (inability?) to give a fuck enough to hide who they are or give you what you want unless (the brilliant unless)...
wait for it...
...they want it, too.
be well; be loved,
k.
[Italicized words and title credit: From Art Pop by Lady Gaga]
[image credit: porcelaine Tumblr]
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