The Type

Racing to the market from the subway

heart mended, lips raw and wordless, hands still sticky from all the nectarines.

Only teaching on Tuesdays,

bookworming in pajamas fresh from the washer each morning.

The kind of woman who shifts bric-a-brac throughout her home, while

floating tirelessly above the baseboards. Trinkets, glittering, match the place-setting’s always reserved for guests, unintended.  

Embroidered pillows delicately rest against ruffled bedding, curtain-less windows left open;

there are no neighbors here.

Paintings of landscapes hung unevenly like the nametag worn home from work. Statues of goddesses adorned with rosaries and sweet water. Books worn to spine, too heavy for the shelf to hold they are amongst

the only things

scattered everywhere; one to help even the kitchen table, others lost between papers or postcards of lovers past. Ceramic tea cups left empty with ashes or coffee turned to stone. One last leftover gone uneaten. There are no clean sheets for the bed. Polish chipped and hands hardened from all the dishes, the digging, the devotion

heels calloused from all the blocks you have walked.

Bathtub, flooded and a refrigerator that has lost all it’s cold air.

You do not rise each morning able to give.

Until

Jazz, your journal, and hot bathing until you prune. White china drying early morning, besides the chrysanthemums;

everything is shining and awakened by the sun.

Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.

Let the statues crumble.

You have always been the place.

You are a woman who can build it yourself

You were born to build.

Remember what it feels like

in this moment

of connection.

Everything that you need to be happy is here, right now.

 Featuring Urban Outfitters Fringe Duvet Set, Embroidered Pillow, Tassel Pillow, Bag. Wearing 7 For All Mankind Jacket. Photographed by @ShotByJessica.