Blowing Bubbles

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These rad bubble gum pink pants bring back my childhood. Cue nostalgia. The past few days I’ve been practicing mindfulness while hiking Griffith Park. The birds above and scratchy grasses of forging my individual pathways have been calming and inspiring. The pull of bright fabric amidst the force of nature. This abundance. This happy and carefree person that views herself in the sky.

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Now available on my Depop Shop

https://www.depop.com/the_muted_owl

stay free, mute style

sun bathe

ripe skin on dry dirt. i turn my back, sit with my spine. sun bathe some deep sighs. befriend the afternoon lizards and spy on the happiness of leaves. the hello sway. transiently unfold my heart in the subtle heat and number the forehead wrinkles smiling in the pathways. i become a repeat offender of not brushing my hair. letting the tangles whisk in the brass ground. red hair dye and fingernail gunk. arriving slowly. meeting you in my mind was a mistake.

fervently, mute style

24. hush hide

DSC_0058DSC_0093.jpgDSC_0077.jpghush hide. kiss the tide of cadmium. mustard doors. leaning on spokes. trespassing the tender circulation of inner organs. pushing blue blood and blah blah words. “love.” the delicate petaled touch in our mouths. polka-dotted minds with many-hued days. the breathless wind wound on the tip of our tongues. pallid eyelids surviving the placement of warning signs. pretending they aren’t there. overwhelming. landscapes whispering tender bewilderment. “love,” i remember when you almost said it.

xoxo,

mute style

21. siding with the river

held in the arms of spring. a coil. curled loosely around my ankles and sweeping my saturated and dry hair. sweat swims in the canyon alongside the rabbits. the loaves of bread baked and climbed as the sun grins wider. clicking through the machine at union station for the early ticket. riding in the dark until the first signs of day appear through the window. the shadows of palms, the morning traffic, the peach sky rising in the east. dribbles of juice in my eyelids. more steps. more strangers. lemon donut filling and strong coffee. mothers and children dressed in head to toe green. celebrate irish heritage. contortions. finding myself bent from daydreaming of somebody. limbs slouched and extended. wondering if he is ever thinking the same things. pressing wild flowers to my face. loving the decision to disappear for the day. until next time, riverside.

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xoxo,

mute style

19. summersaulting

*as you crunch down the last cinnamon apple chip you realized you love him. the sun on the floorboards warms the thought. your toes curl the wood as you rise on relave. the numb dust on the window pane sweeps the idea of a boy with a bear hug of hair at the end of these words. feelings are all hot air anyway. breathes better (released).

the last person to hold scissors to my hair was my south korean friend on my dining room floor. newspapered ink on my knees informed me of the politics of homecoming royalty. i rubbed the mistaken popularity from the ridges of my skin. and then i trimmed my hair in the fourth floor sink darkness with art scissors. rubbed my eyes raw and bloodshot in the mirror. a man died on the train less than twelve hours ago.

so i wound up amongst sleeping commuters and reconsidered thoughts. the fondness whittled at daybreak. a finalized disappearing act. lungs of lies. breathing breath. the perfect combination of solar and sea. struggling against an intimate stranger. desist debauchery. a whirlwind now within me. summersaulting rocks and other dangers of youthful heartbeats.

maybe it is because i didn’t cut the shoulder pads from this button down; with the pinstripes arranged as the memory of my family in our dining room with stenciled menus slurping  ice cream. maybe it is because the lighting is vampire dim in this restaurant; the fixtures swirled like a tim burton illustration. maybe it is becuase i am having trouble spelling because. the reason. the one that has a name. needs to be effaced.

xoxo,

mute style