I love myself as a writer. In the last few years, I've seen my writing change into something beautiful, something I can imagine other people wanting to read. I've written the poetry I've always wanted to write, imagined writing, but never thought I could. This blog has matured before my eyes and I'm seeing myself settle into my own niche. I'm starting to realize what stories I really want to tell and how to tell them. Teachers and professors have always told me I have a strong voice in my writing, and now I'm hearing it loud and clear. It's an incredibly exciting time for me as an artist.
I love my hips.
I love their curves; the way “woman” is stamped on every inch of them. My “child-bearing” hips – there is no mistaking their roundness for a child’s. My hips are mature hips, designed to attract. I love the swing they add to my step, the slight sexiness they cast off making my every move a flirtation. (Ok, there are days when I don’t love this, but the attention can be a wonderful mood elevator.)
I love the way my hips stretch and pull at pencil skirts, just like good pin-up hips should.
I love the way my hips burst forth from the slope of my waist, like petals blooming from a rose stem.
I love the tattoos branded on my back, nestled atop my hip bones, declaring me beautiful in the languages of my ancestors: maganda, la bellezza. My hips are beautiful in any language.
I am beautiful in any language.
--Amanda, Blog for No One in Particular
I like my sense of humor.
--Luke (aka The Boyfriend)
I love that even if I've had a few too many burgers lately and not enough situps, or if I've been sick all week and feel like hell, or (worst) if someone else insults the way I look...I can still look in the mirror every night before bed and think "yeah, I still like this."
Confused? Check out Love 365's introduction.
Won't you join us? Send submissions (single sentences, stories, photos, drawings, poems, videos, etc.) to email@example.com.