Because Oversharing- It’s What I Do

Sandy beach. The air is warm and damp.

I walk over to a descending tunnel. The entrance is square and made up of light tan colored bricks. The ways in which the bricks connect and lay atop one another are ridged, but the outside texture is smooth.

I enter. The cave is large, very well lit. The walls are made of large, uneven stone- as if man plowed through here one day using powerful tools with the intent to carve this very pathway. Areas of abstract flowers are present throughout these walls. It is also warm and damp here.

As I walk along, interconnecting images of bright neon purples and yellows swirl around before me.

I reach a large room. From the doorway, there are tiny windows to the left, right, and ahead of me. Through them, I see various clutter in other rooms. From where I am, there is no visible entry or door leading to these rooms. I rest in this doorway a while, scanning the room a few times.

Also to the left of me is a staircase made up of about 10 small stairs. It leads to a broad, circular archway, which leads to another room. I go over to the staircase, sit down on about the 2nd or 3rd step. Here I remain still, experience the purples and yellows once more.

Then I travel up the staircase and pause sideways by the door, facing a wall in front of me made up of the same material as was the entrance to this tunnel. Not yet peering through the door, I examine my expectations for what’s beyond it. All I see in my minds eye is a room with nothing in it, empty and radiating a brightly colored white light.

I turn and go through the door. I find a deep teal-blue ocean. Hundreds of flowing ripples. There is absolutely no land, only outstretched ocean. A large and beautiful sun straight ahead of me, although it is not blinding. The sky is a mix of purples, yellows, and pinks. The temperature is cool here, comfortable.

This room has no walls. It really isn’t a room at all.

I stand here, alone, in awe for a few moments. Then others begin to join me.  Friends, close friends, acquaintances, strangers, and all those in between- come to this water’s edge to stand alongside me. All come in a sort of trance-like state, all consumed by the beauty of what lie ahead of them.

They are not here because of me, had no intention of meeting me here. They just arrived. Perhaps because something outside yet within themselves drew them here, just as it did me.

Goddess Part 1: 2nd Draft

***Side note: I am working on an actual backstory. So for the love of fucking god, someone critique me so I have a better idea which direction to take. 

Amari packed her bags and left for New York, where she would be collaborating with Central Living Magazine on a fundraiser for homeless LGBTQ+ youth. London only had to wait 3 short weeks for her return, but even the short-term absence from her felt like an incredibly long time.

Before Amari left, they decided to play a game. The rules were simple- neither one of them would pleasure themselves while she was away. No masturbating, and obviously no seeking pleasure from other people. Amari vowed to make it worthwhile when she arrived home. London, fully aroused by the idea, agreed.

While London would never even consider breaking a promise made to Amari, the fact that she couldn’t obtain that sexual pleasure and release made her want it even more. It only took a handful of days after her departure for London to find their little game insufferable.

“Leave it to Amari to come up with the greatest tease of all time.” She thought to herself as she lay alongside the empty spot on her bed, giving her all not to obsess over it. She turned onto her side and inhaled deeply; a failed attempt to clear her head. Unknowingly, she breathed in remnants of Amari’s lemongrass shampoo that had, over the course of time, been stitched into the seams of her pillow. It went straight to her head and she forfeited. Thoughts, powerful and energetic, invaded her. Amari’s bare body covering hers, arm muscles tightening as she shifted herself back and forth, her hair falling in London’s face as she traced the edges of her collar bone with her loose lips.

Amari’s mouth, a paintbrush with bristles made from flesh, painted the most profound stories- not only of relentless want and desire, but of the freedom to express and act on it- all over London’s body. She was so in-tune, so precise, so careful to make sure she covered every inch of her canvas with hot, wet paint before moving on. Always so thorough. Always one color at a time. Always setting London completely on fire, burning straight through her skin, and setting vivid flame to the very depths of her spirit.

Dear God, how London had spent 3 weeks in perfect agony, longing to be covered from head to toe in Amari’s stories. Now, she lies next to her lover, wayward in her presence. The air is damp, her skin sticky. The space between her inner thighs is a sweltering mix of sweat and cum. The heat radiating from the side window has her feeling feverish, but she doesn’t want to close the blinds. Bright sun rays highlight Amari’s face; revealing every line, every newest wrinkle and fold, every unruly blemish. She wants to take every delicate imperfection, turn them inside out, and etch them into her brain so the memory of this moment will never leave her.

She’s hungry for Amari… starving. She wants nothing more than to rip her clothes off and feel the entirety of her body beneath her kiss, to taste the salt from her skin, to be completely consumed by her essence.

This view of Amari, spread out in bed with her true and authentic beauty illuminating in the sunlight, makes it nearly impossible for London to grasp onto patience as this little game continues. She knows Amari is the one with the intent to drag it out. She can see it in her eyes, waiting to see how long London can hold out until she makes the first move is bringing her immense satisfaction. She could probably experience an orgasm right now at the mere thought of it. Although there’s no doubt she is just as eager to reach out for London and turn fantasy into reality. This gives London the upper hand; she knows it would take the smallest gesture for their self-contained urges to erupt into every corner of that room.

London studies the ridged, interconnecting pathways of scar tissue on Amari’s cheek; visualizing the process in which each layer of skin formed slowly over time to heal the once present wound. She likes the scar. She rests her forehead against it, internalizing its warmth. Amari pulls herself closer. She begins running her fingers through London’s unshaven leg hair- a delicate, overgrown forest. Such a place is uninhabited- just as raw, just an unkempt, just as earthly as her partner- bringing Amari back into her very own natural state.

Delicia Marie Rush


She was the kind of lost and broken people don’t like to talk about
My family was the kind of fucked up people don’t want to think about

You see, my father tore right through her
You see, my mother chose to discredit and blame her
You see, she made sure no one could ever really understand her

I see shadows out of the corner of my eye
A reminder of the necessities in life
Food, water, oxygen

How can a mother love a child, while allowing a man to constantly invade her?

“Child, you’re lying…
Child, you just want to stir up trouble…
Child, I will not leave him for you…
So child, just stop trying…

When I was a child, she tried to kill herself
Because our mother destroyed her
And she only wanted to be where her soul lie

When I visited her in the hospital, the very next day
I pleaded with her
“Please, don’t ever leave me.”
And when I was grown, she told me I had saved her

And when I was a child, she wanted to protect me
She laid my head on her lap, ran her hands through my hair
Put me fast to sleep

And when I was a child, I used to crawl into daddy’s bed
The form of love and affection he used to show me
Was the only one I had ever known
Until my sister ran her hands through my hair
And saved me

And lately I have been decluttering my life
As if organization is directly linked to clarity
As if I can delete enough files on my computer
Or throw away enough useless shit in my apartment
Things will start making sense

You see, I used to watch her beat her children
You see, I used to lecture her about housing her drug dealers
You see, I told her she couldn’t escape the past
You see, she told me I always acted like I was superior
When I was only trying to help her
You see, she tried to kill me, twice

So I left her alone

And a year ago she called me, I let it go to voicemail
And in the faint cracks of her voice
And in the words not spoken
I could sense her desperation
But I never returned her call

And in a fit of rage, I broke that phone
So I didn’t have to hear her

And three weeks ago I fell asleep, listening to a song that sparked distant memories
And I had a dream-
She stood in front of me
Her face bright, her smile radiant
A version of her, that had never before existed
She spoke to me
“I am alive.”

And I knew she finally met up with where her soul lie

And you see
There is no term for the complicated grief I am experiencing
Because you see, she was the kind of woman
That ought not to be looked up to

But she was my FOUNDATION
A pure heart
Not to be defined by her actions

And I see shadows out of the corner of my eye
And I can still feel her hands running through my hair