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You are allowed to not participate in Christmas. For real. To opt out. In all the ways. In the ways that matter to you.

You are allowed to say no to invites. To parties. To meals. To conversations. To events. To gatherings. To criticism. To meeting others expectations. To touching or being touched. To buying presents. To pretending to be happy if you are really sort of crushed and crashing inside.

You are allowed to go eat the French fries with extra salt you really want and turn the heat up in the car and drive with all the windows down until your voice is scratchy with screaming.

You are allowed to grieve and to go into hiding. To not put up lights or to put up lights and stare at them for hours on end, numb and nameless and disbelieving. To swallow and spit out. To curl up and claw out.

You are allowed to say yes and no and have both of those respected.

You are allowed to eat jelly sandwiches in bed and make more tea and not talk to anyone.

You are allowed to still be angry.

You are allowed to go lose yourself in good work. To feed people. To forget you once thought this day was for something sold to you as necessary that turned out to be not at all true for you. To build a house or to buy a coffee or to tie tinsel in your hair and say that you no longer believe in Jesus even if you still somehow love him.

You are allowed to hurt and be sad and to wish something were very different and to want what you want.

Do you hear me?

You are allowed to want to what you want. To be human.

You are allowed to remember. To forget. To close the vault door. To fall in love.

You are allowed to surprise yourself, to be unknown to yourself, to be both in awe and terrified of the mystery that is you.

You are allowed to hate your secret Santa gift and to drink too much and to deeply regret it and to not care about it. You are allowed to not get along with others. You are allowed to want to be liked.

You are allowed to wear fishnets in the cold winter and to still miss smoking and to wonder how everyone else changed after your own change meant not returning.

You are allowed to kiss for as long as you want and to not cry and to be a proud atheist who puts Christmas sweaters on small dogs and takes pictures and feels happiness.

We are not all having the same experience.

And, we are allowed what is ours.

I’m here with you, separate and also alongside, saying let’s make these days so spacious that we all get to find the space where we can love ourselves and stay human, together.

I’m with you.

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I Want You

I want you to moan. I want you to whisper in my ear, pretending like you were trying to hide the sound, like you’re trying to smother it but I still hear it.

I want your fingernails to dig into my skin and your lips to move faster and harder and deeper against mine.

I want your eyes roll back into your head and your body to push into mine until we are sticking to each other skin.

I want to feel the heat radiating from your skin.

I want to feel your muscles shake against my flesh.

I want you to beg and I want you to throw your head back stuttering for more.

I want your neck to be exposed for me to bite and your chest to be bare so it can be skin on skin and flesh on flesh.

I want my legs wrapped around you.

I want us to grind on each other so hard it makes your muscles clinch and your jaw drop and your face to tense up with pure ecstasy.

I want you.

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How Does Death Make You Feel?

In the midst of the times that I have tried to take my own life, I had no fear.

I was not afraid of dying.

I was not afraid of pain.

I was just not … afraid.

But today I find out that my health is really not that great. A couple of days ago I was diagnosed with pneumonia and sent for blood work and then today I get a phone call and I find out more bad news.

And now that a sudden death is a very real possibility, I am scared.

I’m afraid of dying.

I’m afraid of pain.

I am just very … afraid.

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When I am home alone in my house all day I find my thoughts often get a bit crazy. I think about such strange things that are completely random and I can’t help but wonder where on earth do these thoughts stem from. The mind can be a complicated thing sometimes.

At least mine does.

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A Dose Of Cuteness

My brother’s 9 week old beagle puppy. I had a mini photo shoot with this little cutie yesterday and just had to share this. If it doesn’t make you smile then there’s truly something wrong with you 😜

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When you’re a plus size woman, people like to say “yeah, she’s cute in the face”, as if being full figured is such a disgrace. Honey, I’m cute in the face, and I’m thick in the waist. I look good whether I’m in cotton, leather, or lace. I’m beautiful, vibrant and above all, smart! And there’s more to me than my weight, I also have a heart. Yes my clothes maybe a bigger size, that just means you have access to a bigger prize. We all are not self-conscious about our weight, and we never have a problem getting a date. I’m a hot, sexy, curvy woman with a figure that’s full :o)

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