I wish I could cheer for Yoga Journal. *puts poms poms aside*
The current issue is breaking my balls though.
Page 88 reads, “Avoid spaghetti straps and regular t-shirts, which can widen the look of your shoulders…”
Burn the book. Let’s meet at the speakeasy.
I encounter men on the bike path at night. Experience tells me I must ‘widen the look of my shoulders’ to say, “Don’t fux with me.”
Lions do the same thing. I wish I didn’t have to.
The light in me honors the light in you, stranger. But, not so fast. Not too close.
In the world, I want to look male gymnast thick. But I enjoy being a girl. I consult GQ.
I cut off a quarter inch of my hair every day. It grows back immediately. Part woman, part reptile.
We gather in a yoga room to risk.
You light a cone.
You split the ocean in half to see who is on the other side to take you in.
What should you wear to practice?
Strip down. Paint the ritual all over your body.