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Do-You


I do it to myself - sometimes. I'm always on the road.
Hardly ever home
Always busy this, busy that. 
Can't talk on the phone.

And while I haven't totally found my zen, I'm starting to feel the pulse of it, once again. As expected, life is full of ebbs and flows; the paradigms of falling in love with your Self, your city, your new beau, yourself again. Realizing that somewhere in between it all lies the balance. The truth. The love of it all and the knowing that running free does come with a high price but it's worth it. And so is learning how-to run, while holding someone else's hand.

A stranger told me that you have to be one with life. 

What is it that I crave in every small moment of each new day? How can I be boundless and bound to nothing but my intentions, which are to love.  I'd rather rise with the sun, follow trails that lead to views I didn't imagine existed before, and jump head-first into challenging love to be present in all things around me. I'd like to move in clothing that feels like poetry throughout my home, my succulent garden, my sidewalk stroll. I want to feel and wear everything or
nothing. To unwind and undo my shoe-
laces. To take off the bra I didn't want to wear in the first place and be still on a rooftop.
To really run-away when the city gets a little too loud, when all I want to do is hear his voice and protect our magic. 
Like,
Last week, around noon. When I’d made a smoothie and listened to jazz on the roof. Weekday headaches but it felt like summer, so I didn’t mind. When I wore my sneakers for one full week and didn’t change out of my blue jeans, once. I remembered what feeling-so-free really felt like.
So comfortable in my footing. Blocks that once felt like quicksand, became easier to walk along. Did it start with jazz and new sneakers?
I’d say so. Running free does come with a price and it just might start with your shoes,
after all.
 

Shot by Phil Sullivan. Sponsored by PUMA Featuring The Vikky Platform by PUMA

This post brought to you by PUMA and DSW.

Hot Sauce


Lately, I've been injecting a lot of love into my life.

It hasn't been easy, in fact, it's been intense, and sometimes unexpected. Messy in ways I couldn't have even imagined. Things fall apart, so you can mend your life back together again. Grasp your intentions and bring them in toward your heart's-center.

Put love in someone's hands and tell them to taste it.

Give it one more chance.

When things get too intimate, too close for what we feel we deserve, we retract. Falling into ourselves, reducing our power by shying away from the light. I've

tried every day, to stay close to whatever it is that fules me. Like writing until daybreak,

sitting at my desk, dimming all the lights, and feeling inspired for the first time in far too long. Spending my Friday night making hot sauce and tiny renovations around my tiny home. Realizing that somewhere between this city's shuffle and sometimes it's lies is a place I can call my own.

Home and heart, connected.

What good would we become, if we were to always turn cold-shoulder to ourselves and the lives we're meant to be living.

You've got the light. Where'd your love go?



 Photos by Phil Sullivan Wearing White Crow Featuring illumination thanks to GE C-Life and Sleep 

Time Being



She sits at the windowsill, waiting for the kind of lover who keeps her on the line and on the edge.  Texts read, no reply.  As the sun sets on the west-side, casting the shadows she's tried to avoid she gazes past the pine.  It's a quarter after seven.  Two hours, too little, too late.  Every car she hears in the distance belongs to him.  Leaning her head out the window to send a wave, a wink or maybe, this time a whistle. Still her driveway remains barren, except for the two doves she's nicknamed and sings to. And if that's not enough---dinner's now cold and the tea she infused with wishful patience, longing and mostly love is, too. 

You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. Like a shawl to keep you warm at night. Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.
You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. And now you have your heart all to yourself again. A heart like a stone cottage. Heart like a lover’s diary. Hope like an ocean.

She is and will always be 
Tied to the Moon

Thus she grabs her heartstrings and pulls them deeply, slipping again into new pink lace. This time it's for herself. She doesn't judge the love she craved before. She chooses instead to send her love whirling through New York's impossibly big city. 

She tries again, she still dares to love 

To wear the lace 
To complete herself by herself.

Exclusively Wearing L'Agent by Agent Provocateur Shot by Phil Sullivan at The Tuckered Turkey, in Lanesborough, Massachusetts.

Be That Easy


Easy like;

Waking up late, your makeup still on from the night before. Once, it was because you sobbed yourself sober after a heartbreak you just didn't see coming. This time, it's because you danced all night long with your best friends, and don't exactly remember getting home and eating cold Thai noodles or taking that Uber from the East Village, Uptown, back to Brooklyn, then over the bridge, again
You've lost your wallet, it held your passport, 
bankcard, and a photo of your ex that you just couldn't bring yourself to let go of; it's getting lost, long overdue. Some times, you're not as responsible as you're willing to admit. You don't wash your face before bed, sit on the floor eating takeout, watching mindless television, and doing things like losing your wallet, or holding onto sentiments that are better off getting lost, then found by someone else. 

Then there are the nights that remind you of who you are now. Laughing until sunrise and reminiscing with your two best girlfriends about where life has taken you, so far. Old friends, who know you from the inside-out and can remind you of that time you cried on their stoop for over three hours, just because he didn't call you back. Who remind you of how far you've come, how much you've dared to love and be loved in return. And, although the tears won't ever really stop coming, this time they're because one of us has gotten married, another giving birth to their first baby girl, one of us falling in love for the first time since college, buying an apartment all on their own, as a pair, two-by-two, old flames, or new ones; finally. 

Like a lost bird,
found. Like everything you've ever needed, come back to you. Twice over
No, things will not always be perfect, and the people you love, will somehow let you down. 
You might even let yourself down, more than a time or two. But what won't fail you, is the fire that burns within, whether you choose to feel it
or not.

If you've been in search of something to rekindle your free spirit, you are not alone.  





Film by Phil Sullivan.

Lilith on the Subway




Poetry by Erin Lynn

Lilith on the Subway 
The noon train moans through the valley of ashes
toward the gray skyline, liquid silver in daylight.

In the tunnel her reflection warns of the year
that starved the sex from off her bones.

She serves oysters rockefeller at the dinner
shift and thinks of Montauk, brine and storm.

By night, the other passengers have aged,
having digested and discarded the morning paper.

Another stack of bones is not news,
the bulge in every pocket is a gun or a gun.

Lilith would prefer a train of oysters,
each with his nacre and no taste for chatter.

Eat this dinner and forgive our kind.









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