my own breast

I looked down and liked how my own breast looked, where my shirt shifted and exposed part of its roundeness, up against my fat upper arm.

You can also see a hint of my leg, and a hint of my tummy, with the blue clothes covering parts of me.  Do you think it’s pretty too?


I was riding in the passenger seat.  Sleep deprived and more uncomfortable than usual, yet more creative than usual with hypomania.  I can feel myself use language differently and see beauty differently in the world.

Honestly, I like myself a little hypomanic.  It’s a middle place and not sustainable.  Any more manic, and it will become dangerous.  I need rest, movement, delicious foods, to reduce my stress / deescalate myself, and to be kind to my body.  Please Mother God, help me sleep tonight.

Hypomania is not good for my health, and I wouldn’t want to live there.  But the quicker brilliance is fun for a change.  I’m grateful to find new truth, with different mentalities.  I take these lessons with me into more stable times.


I was thinking about challenge and what’s popular.  Talking to my spouse about instagrammers I’ve been seeing lately.  Some thin white abled person does a thing and has thousands upon thousands of followers.  I think–yeah, maybe there’s something cool about what they’re doing.  But where’s the challenge?

Nothing against thin white abled people.  But I’ve had enough of the same old thing.  I’d rather learn from people of color, people with disabilities like mine or different, people who are fat.  People who have more at risk and something different to give.

Culture’s values can be so boring.  Do we really need the same stories repeated, that I heard on TV as a kid?  The format may be different, but I need art that’s way more surprising.  I want art that helps me think something new, a new articulation of reality no one else was alive enough to mention.

Dominant culture’s self-sustaining nonsense seems unnecessary.  Haven’t we had enough already?  Do we need another superbowl?  I guess so–money is king.  But things that are easy to like feel like a waste of time.

We’re going to die soon.  Please help me find something more healing and authentic than repeats of what I’m supposed to enjoy and never did.

my own breast

My own breast is easy to love–my breasts are always with me.  Might as well enjoy my body and experience life through the lenses of my own eyes.

Unconditional self-love is my favorite liberation.  When I stop struggling with self-loathing, I can pay more attention to everything.  That includes the curves of my own fat and how there’s nothing to hate.

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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