I wish I lived with more chaos
Like the untamed wild feminine archetype, I wish I had been more untamed, more demanding, more problematic, funnier, more vocal, more chaotic when I was a teenager — I would’ve found inner peace later.
I’ve walked on eggshells for decades, people pleasing — Eldest daughter and being scared to bring shame unto her community. I look back on experiences now and wish I had taken more risks, romantically.
I should’ve shoved my tongue in L’s mouth on that one summer night I was wearing a jean short, and a green hoodie and I pulled my locs into a slick ponytail so he could see my face and he was wearing an adidas tracksuit and red t shirt, his melanin skin looked so delicious under that orange streetlight, in fact I should’ve thought quick and grabbed him into that corner near the church and kissed him so hard I moaned, and bit his tongue so his lip would sting on his walk back home.
I should’ve grabbed R by the neck and allowed him to grab my waist on that stairway even if there was a risk of being seen, I was a senior and head girl of the school — it would’ve been quite the risk, but I reckon it would’ve been worth it, he smelt like a baby, vanilla base notes and he was so fair skinned I’d leave a little hickey on the base of his neck just so I would burn myself in his memory, just those few short minutes to spare.
I should’ve smoked that joint near the dam even if I was paranoid I wouldn’t be able to make it back home. I wish I hadn’t screamed in a pillow but screamed out loud till the back of my throat felt scratchy.
I shouldn’t have planned every more I made like I’m playing chess.
The kind of chaos that’s not toxic, not even emotionally depleting, just pleasure and presence.
Chaos that embraces the lovers that walk into my life, chaos that sticks with you like bonfire smoke
This month, I am cultivating more offline, more board games with my best friend more chaos, more physical intimacy, more hot chocolate, more vanilla and cocoa butter tissue oil around my vagina and my inner thighs, more mono toned erotic sentence deliverance, more eye contact, more anklets, more moaning when I’m having pizza, more complimenting strangers, more twerking, more putting one leg on the couch and being devoured from beneath while I struggle to keep my balance, more flowers and boxed chocolates, more impromptu money being sent to me for existing as the goddess I am and laughing.
To being slower, and the slowest in my lovemaking, so slow there’s no other option except to feel each and every little caress, hand press, swirl, slurp, stroke, smug smile on my neck, tongue suctioning at my neck, on my inner thigh, more goosebumps, to hear the scratchy groans, pressed fuucckk’s, be more erotic in secretive and wear the glow in public.
From psyche analysing and being over cautious, it diminishes the gift of life which is the element of surprise. Surrendering to the unknown, which is the Now has always been scary, no more controlling the outcome, just basking the presence.
I am not ordinary; I embody chaos in a disruptive way — I’m quiet but deadly.
Heaven Sent Honey,
it's ironic how chaos and slowness actually pair up