Yielding to the heat of truth
“For someone who loves real ass bitches so much, why am I acting like a small ass hoe.” — A real, unhinged sentence I said out loud to my best friend.
What I admire in other people is their feral one. Loud, intense agitators. People who don’t hold their tongue. People who are dropped all the way into their bodies. People who don’t apologize for taking up space or existing. People who say what they mean without an ounce of sugar to soften the impact. People who ask for what they want with pleasure. Spicy, fire, sword-like intensity. A feral tenacity dripping from their tongues, their body yielding to the heat of truth.
The feral one is also the part inside of me that I have tried to kill.
I have tried to soften her, sweeten her impact, smile, wear the mask of Niceness.
It’s like: I love the loud, intense, unapologetic bitches, but I become a wet blanket to smother it in myself.
I’m sure you know, there is nothing sustainable about this tactic.