the anticipation of him; rabid moths in your stomach attempting to vacate.

but you open the door anyways.

his breathe like a single sunbeam on your neck

his body envelops you in a comforting embrace

each contact of his lips sending you somewhere kinder than the home you’ve made in your psyche

the swollen nature of his manhood against you, untamed and unforgiving

the thin grey fabric; a barely visible barrier to your personal heaven

inhales becoming heavy and desperate, like you are pleading for life and he’s more fertile than ever, happy to save you

his hands are large and used, escaping themselves onto your chest

calluses dancing soft circles on your rosy buds

his tongue swirling, your body like soft serve

his eyes can’t stop looking at that pretty fucked up face

the vulnerability provokes you, exploiting your need

saturated and heavy, he invades. sending a jolt down your spine

every inch of your body churning with titillation

every thrust like a lion feeding on prey

an overworked finger trickles down your cupids bow into your gasping mouth

assertive paws cage your throat, muffling your pathetic whimper

his tension coils like a loaded spring

you drift off into a dream, head on chest, pacified by the rhythm of his heart

a heart that doesn't want a keeper

trish taylor

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I write about love in all its forms - the beautiful, the devastating, and everything in between. Subscribe for more and feel free to comment for a response. I always appreciate your feedback ♡

Sometimes I can hear her contagious laugh in the delicious scent of starflower and amber. Made home in the fifteen-dollar bottle of bath and body works mist. Neglected yet admired, like an old polaroid. Hiding in the back of my cupboard. Last used at our girl’s night out, when forever felt like certainty, not a dream.

Sometimes I can feel him, before the moment steals me back. For a split second I'm home in his lap. My neck still warm from the menthol of his mouth. His forgiving fingers gently tracing my iliac crest. Inhabited by a television show, a scene I had forgotten. A piece of media that meant nothing to my brain, until you poured into it.

Sometimes you find the love that you knew to be lost. The vessel that embodied it, no longer with you. But the love is. In an object. A scent. A feeling. An experience. The soft flutter in your heart or the electric current seizing your veins when they touched you. He isn’t here to kiss you but you still taste the freshness of watermelon and mint on his breath. You don’t remember his aroma but you can remember how one whiff of his t-shirt made you feel welcomed.

I may loose a friend or possibly a lover but I’ll never loose their love.

Their love still keeps me warm, like a gentle ghost that tucks me in at night.

~ trish taylor

I write about love in all its forms - the beautiful, the devastating, and everything in between. Subscribe for more and feel free to comment for a response. I always appreciate your feedback ♡

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your palm on my face felt like a kiss and your lies became foreplay

every man I meet is nothing quite like you. in fact, they are much kinder, gentler and inadequate.

nothing makes me wetter then the consuming passion of your torment

the beast welcomes me home, he knows I earned it

I'm expected to thrive in stability, longing for peace but every interaction feels like poor blood flow

yet your every action causes nociception, like a shot of heroin

‘you are worthless’ bringing me to climax

I let you steal me, gratified in your perfectly curated chains

whimpers, cries and contusions like love letters

tell me im nothing but yours to keep

and you will hold my heart forever

~ trish taylor

I write about love in all its forms - the beautiful, the devastating, and everything in between. Nostalgia, longing, melancholy and the darker corner’s of our mind. Subscribe for more and feel free to comment for a response. I always appreciate your feedback ♡

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I haven’t been touched in two years.

Nobody has clutched their undeserving hands around my waist.

No tongue sweeping in to steal what’s left of my sanity.

More than that. Nobody to lie to me, to tell me I light up their universe and feed them life.

Lustful eyes searching for carnal pleasure cosplaying as love. Pushing me a tad closer towards self admiration.

My thoughts sit somewhere in-between longing and depravity.

.. To indulge or to isolate? Will the taste of him on my lips the next morning fill the void or tear it open?

I always find home in others. Every crevice of my mind is somewhat cold and uncomfortable. So why not forget my distaste and insecurities and cuddle up warm in another. There are no mirrors in there. I don’t have to look at what I created. Instead I can lay in his arms and just become. Become A softer version. Someone who was never hurt, someone who doesn’t deserve punishment. I can be a child again, not yet stained by realities out of my control.

But looking for a warm home also means ignoring the red passes. Like asbestos in the walls, slowly killing me.

All I care to notice is the pretty paint and the perfectly curated lawn.

But it’s okay.. I think maybe some undeserving hands on my waist will guide me home. In a year? maybe two more?

~ trish taylor

I write about love in all its forms - the beautiful, the devastating, and everything in between. Nostalgia, longing, melancholy and the darker corner’s of our mind. Subscribe for more and feel free to comment for a response. I always appreciate your feedback ♡

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I treat you like a lifeline. sucking out your oxygen, unaware that your tank is almost empty.

I am gasping for air, so I steal from your lungs. I am entitled to it.

It started when I was little. I can easily blame my upbringing, a neglectful mother, a step father with a lot of money, giving me a credit card to purchase endless feel-good foods or to go the movies whenever I wanted. I had zero concept of earning something for myself.

I do believe she was a selfish person. I mean I think inherently, humanity is selfish at our very core. We need to prioritize ourselves to survive. But she used human beings for financial gain, to have a comfortable lifestyle. And at her core, she was never happy. She later would take her own life. And I'm terrified to become her. To embody such unattractive traits. And most of all to die hopeless, unloved by many and alone.

Don’t get me wrong, she gave me some beautiful memories too, she would hand make all my school costumes, bake cakes and try and put effort in when she could. I felt like she was always proud of everything I did, even if it wasn’t up to higher standards. But sooner than later the cakes and costumes would end, her mania being locked away behind her darkness, leaving her paralyzed, in the blink of an eye. I’d come home from school. Shades drawn, lights off and the bitter scent of YellowTail Shiraz, spilt on the carpet, accentuated by the aggressive glow of the tv screen. She sat on the couch for 4 days once, inebriated and sobbing, crying out for someone to save her. But nobody, not even her supportive husband could. Alone in her own mind, tortured by what-ifs and wasted youth.

This has led me down a confusing path, good and evil. We treat people like they are naturally bad or good, missing the grey area. I don’t think her wrong doings should be forgiven, I don’t believe they are warranted. But I also don’t think the joy and love she attempted to share should be wrote off. I don’t think she was purposefully neglectful or toxic. I think her mind was against her and I think she tried every single day, self medicating to avoid her regrets and transgressions. Until she couldn’t handle what she saw in the mirror. She realized she couldn’t go back in time, she couldn’t be young, beautiful and filled with hopes and dreams. She was stuck, deserted on a dark lonely dirt road.

In her last moments, her only confidant was the cold high-carbon steel that would glide across her wrists, freeing her from herself.

I’d slowly start to see her in myself. My mind becoming too much, splitting on someone I love. One second loving them more than anything in this world to being disgusted by them, wanting to see them in a casket.

Vivid memories would flood in. My step dad, soft, supportive and kind. A tv remote hitting his face and my mother shrieking, the words becoming muffled white noise. White noise I’d find comfort in.

One day my life shattered me. The toxic man I lived for, the job that offered me consistency. All of it ended. Leaving me to start new. Something my mother did many times before. And I couldn’t take the anxiety, the panic attacks and feelings of emptiness.. Night out with the girls drinks became drinking alone, every single day, alone in a dark room. Reminiscing about old friends, old lovers and my old life. I saw myself in the black mirror of the tv screen, wine glass in hand and tears rolling down my face. I became her and suddenly I saw my entire future flash before my eyes. I haven’t had a drink since.

Although I’ve changed one possible trajectory in my life. No longer self medicating, I find the burden of myself too be far too much. Being selfless sometimes feels performative. Am I a good person or am I acting like one? I genuinely do care about the people around me, but am I showing it enough? Am I helping them enough or checking with them making sure they are okay. I like to think because I am trying and self aware enough about my flaws that I can somehow beat the odds and be a girl someone can love. A friend you can rely on. A daughter who doesn’t disappoint.

Is that true? Or am I inherently unloveable? passed down from one sick mind to another. My future inevitable, alone soaked in red on my living room floor. I hold on to hope and nothing more.

~ trish taylor

I write about love in all its forms - the beautiful, the devastating, and everything in between. Nostalgia, longing, melancholy and the darker corner’s of our mind. Subscribe for more and feel free to comment for a response. I always appreciate your feedback ♡

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I don’t know your favourite color or what keeps you awake at night. I don’t know the way you adjust yourself in the mirror before you submit your confidence to the world.

But what I do know, is the last hand that held mine — the last that mattered, robbed my essence and self-possession. Whereas you gifted new spirit and an unfamiliar sense of safety like a child’s teddy bear I’m anxious to loose.

I allow you to perceive my every flaw, my instinct is to vomit, but instead I let you kiss me, hard. I’m apprehensive with arousal and oxytocin. Your tongue like a life raft, saving me of worry. Your lukewarm lips like a wave crashing into my seastack. I am completely flooded with thoughts of you and what we could be.

It should be casual. It shouldn’t matter. Not quite yet.

But I am a romantic and a writer after all and you make me feel like a joyful child, not in delusion & immaturity but in  freedom, play and innocence. I feel brand new in the cordiality of your bulky biceps.

I ask myself, how can we be technical strangers? When you feel like cool aloe on a sunburn.

I must surrender to the uncharted. Maybe you will become my home and i’ve captured us in this moment forever. Or just another lesson, one that will imprint aggressively on my impressionable brain.

only time will tell.

trish taylor

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“Lets grow old together and our husbands will just be our side pieces”

𖤓

I never really believed in soulmates, I think I romanticized the idea for years but I realize there is multiple curated partners in this world that can be a compatible option. Until I met my best friend. I didn’t realize it up until now but that girl had the ability to break my heart in a way a toxic ex boyfriend could only dream of. Platonic heartbreak hurts much worse.

“Bitch you’re my soulmate”

𖤓

We met in high school and this may be insane to say but it was love at first sight. She had brand new black sneakers, a huge black purse with gold trim and hair down to her waist. She had a shattered iPhone 4s, but it didn’t give broke girl, it gave 2012 Tumblr. I idolized her. It wasn’t just her look, it was the way she seemed unbothered by her surroundings and the way her laugh threw me a lifeline, filled with relief and appreciation.

Years briefly drifted us apart, both of us were busy appeasing our femininity in a volatile relationship. For far too many years. When we reconnected it felt like zero time had passed us by and it was still just us two cackling down the pale blue hallways. She would be the first person I texted when I woke up and the last before I slept. People would often judge how close we were, because I think to a certain extent we were madly in love with each other, just couldn’t ever figure out the sexual disconnect. We’d laugh at how liking men sucked because we could be something special.

Her excitement to see me made me feel on top of the world, the way her hug would temporarily take all my pain away. She did more for me than an entire six years with a man whom I called my soulmate. Her scent felt like coming home after a long day. Her genuine laugh would feel like a breath of fresh air whilst bringing tears to my eyes. She was magnetic. Her heart was so big she truly would give the clothes off her back to anyone who needed it. She’d keep her demons in the shadows, in the back of her mind, just to help you with your own problems. She would put so much effort into plans, spend all her money and energy on the people in her circle. And I am so lucky to have been one of them.

“You’re more than a best friend to me.. you’re my sister, my family <3”

𖤓

It was 12am, and we decided to take an impromptu Monday road trip to our favourite small town where we spent long days at the beach making memories. The world was asleep, no one but us two. Windows down, the soft waft of wind in my hair, the movement complimenting our shared music taste, on full blast. Slightly sleepy yet more awake than I’ve ever been. She is vigilant and full of energy, singing the song intensely, shining light on my internal shadows. Music was always part of her. I’d hear a song and could feel her in the rhythm, like her pulse in every beat. And just like music she makes you feel something. A reminder of life inside your soul, elated and untroubled. Her friendship was my favourite melody.

Our friendship was like the romance writers yearn for. I don’t know if a man would ever come close to. She saw me, every single secret, every thought, every tear shed, every ugly laugh. The masks we hid behind to the world were peeled off, there wasn’t any performing or people pleasing. We could be complete bitches, we could act gross and look hideous and still look at each other and see the most beautiful human in the world. Even if it didn’t last forever, it had significance, it mattered. It still does. Because to be truly seen, even one time. That memory carries so much weight. It’s a possibility, you can be seen by someone and one day they will stay.

“I wish you could see what I see. You are so loveable.”

𖤓

I think I’ve been drawn to quote-on-quote “Broken” people for as long as I can remember. I think the whole normal thing just irks me? Human beings are chaotic, messy and imperfect and I trust the people who can show their unhinged side and confess their mental health struggles. It’s out in the open, easy and somewhat comforting to know you aren’t alone in this thing we call life. In no way am I stating she was actually broken, to me, she was perfection. But I think she understood my darkness and I loved her for it. I think she started to understand it too much and that same darkness would eventually be our downfall.

My mental health definitely came into play, undiagnosed of course but I have noticed endless traits of Borderline Personality Disorder. My self medicating didn’t start off ass an issue for those around me. It felt manageable to me, I thought because I’d remember memories of our outing and was self aware in every movement, that it couldn’t hurt people. But I often times would miss the little moments, the little words you vomit out, lost in the euphoric bliss of a blurry mind. I was careless and didn’t live everyday with intention.

When we first reconnected I think it was easier that we were both wounded by men. Attaching ourselves to each other, trauma bonding over our pain. Going to bars together to get male validation, taking shots and spending the next day in bed together, ingesting endless amounts of fast food and laughing about the night prior. We were in the same place, temporarily aligned. She achieved the beginning of her healing journey long before I started, probably highlighting my flaws and transgressions in a spotlight rather than in passing. Now 6 months sober and still going, I can reflect on the parts of me that were toxic and unloveable. I’ve seen it with lovers, family members and friendships. But I never thought she’d let me go.

Now before this becomes a victim story. I have to preface it takes two people to make any relationship function smoothly. I think it takes hard work and communication. And although I made a small mistake I have still regretted to this day. I did and would forgive that girl for anything. Because I believe in fighting for people I love, people I want in my life. I think sometimes people see you like a mirror and they don’t like the dark angle that stares back at them. But it’s also much easier to blame someone else. I was hurt and angry at first, but sometimes it just is. Sometimes this universe gifts us hurt to bring new meanings and revelations to our soul. Despite any negative feeling I ever had. To my ex best friend, just because we let each other go doesn’t mean I won’t love you till the end of time. And I hope the universe brings you new routes of beauty and joy.

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𖤓 ☾ "Growing apart doesn't change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled." — Ally Condie

~ trishtaylor

I remember walking on a side walk on a rainy day, no earphones in sight. Just me against the world. The sound of drips on wet cement. The dewey scent of fresh air. Thoughts of excitement, thinking about a sleepover with friends or getting to go home to watch one of my blockbuster movies I just rented. Trips to the local gas station, picking out sweet or savoury comfort. My world used to be so calm and simple, and I can’t help but feel an empty hole in my soul, feeling like I’ll never get to relive that peace. Never again get to go home. The days were our cellphone was just a point of contact for Come Over :) or Are you free today? Instead of an addictive cycle of false dopamine hits and a nervous habits. We didn’t have a phone to save us, to distract us from human connection.

All my close friends lived walking distance. We used to walk everywhere! I remember a hot summer day. We decided to walk the 10 long blocks down to the beach barefoot! Can you imagine doing that today? We giggled and smiled the entire walk, no fear of stepping on something sharp, not even noticing the cars driving by or the people around us. Zero social anxiety. Now that feels like the ultimate gift. Now It would take me 3 business days to decide if I want to commit to leaving my house, worrying about how my hair looks or if my clothing is appropriate for the occasion, anxious the entire walk there.

We spent all day at the beach, just running in wet sand, getting pistachio gelato with our parents credit cards. There was a little nook in the beach filled with hills of greenery where rabbits inhabited, we’d ask for lettuce at the local eatery and quite literally just wait.. for any sign of bunny life. Sometimes it would take an hour just to find one, and we acted like we had no place to go or nothing better to do. Thats what I ache for the most, to just live in the simplicity of a moment. Without the racing thoughts of what I need to get done later or going to bed earlier enough for work. There was no feeling of being over stimulated. The sights and sounds hugged us back like a reminder of our morality. Beautifully and softly.

We’d spend days walking from one hangout to another, what felt like hiking hours but time was limitless. I would give away my soul to the devil himself to relive being in my friend’s backyard on a hammock , surrounded by cozy tall trees, eating freshly warm home-made sourdough her mom made just talking about music and films we liked. It’s crazy how the smallest moments with people from your childhood live in your head for the rest of your existence. I hope they know how much those hangouts meant to me. They always made me feel at home.

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t . t

She is naive & insecure. I easily wrap her up in my barbed wire and she simply thanks me for keeping her warm.

Such a silly girl, I show you time and time again I don’t care for you, and still your existence feeds off my thumb like a newborn. Your sobs of despair. My handsome face, deadpan. Unaffected by your discomfort, I feel more vital than ever. Don’t worry darling, I’ll never let you go.

I start to feel your assertion wither back, my authority over you slipping out of my scaly palm. I need to feel desired by you. So I withhold affection and wait for your plead. Like an ex smoker, you need your stimulant. How will life feel without me? Stagnant and hollow. Just take a puff, you know you want to feel my poison. I’ll provide a false sense of relief.

I need you too. However, my insecurity withholds me from expressing such words. She is magnetic, intriguing and alive. Everybody wants you and that threatens me. I’ll take a knife to your throat, if it will calm my envy.

I betray your trust and sense of safety. So, you howl on about my transgressions. Your pain should be kept a secret. How dare you threaten to expose my sins. I spill your blood but you know red has always looked good on you.

She rewards me for all her anguish. Mouth open, eyes glazed & breath heavy. I slowly drain her soul and she begs for more.

She eventually outgrows my smoke and mirrors like she’s seeing me for the first time. Unoccupied and futile. I cry on my knees, not because I feel remorse but because without her I have nothing to control, nothing to fuel my ego. And it takes away my illusion of power.

She may think she’s free. That she has won. But I forever haunt her; in a memory, a person, a feeling, a substance.

And she’ll continue to write about it.

~ trish taylor

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The transexual body isn’t a new idea. It has been seen in ancient civilizations around the world, The Gallae in Ancient Rome were trans priestesses who were given female names and wore women’s clothing. Hijras in India are considered third gender individuals who possess spiritual gifts and the more well known Two Spirit in indigenous culture which also celebrates gender fluidity and switched gender roles. Stepping out of ancient civilizations we have Christine Jorgensen who was one of the first known transexual woman to become famous for having SRS surgery. She was a former army soldier, when she came back into the public eye as a woman, she was praised by the men around her, no stigma back then just common sense. And lastly, Caroline Cossey a 90’s model who was seen on the cover of Playboy and starred as “The James Bond girl” who shocked the nation when revealing her identity.. Men back then were naturally attracted to these women without overthinking deeper into it. Ofcourse now that has changed.

Unfortunately the narrative has changed. Our lives now becoming a political weapon on both sides, both just as toxic. We have gender ideology extremists on one, and anti-abortion religious followers who use us a scapegoat on the other. We need to meet somewhere in the middle. Common Sense. Children shouldn’t be medicalized, women shouldn’t have to sacrifice there comfort for male sex predators who are putting on wigs and hiding under this trans agenda to commit crimes and fuel there own fantasies. There should be a middle ground. It’s a privilege to pass as female and to use those spaces without an issue, a real transexual won’t look any different to you, therefore there wouldn’t be any issue. But now the crazies are out to ruin it all. That’s all I am going to touch on politically at the moment. It’s just a sad truth that many of us want to be who we are quietly and with peace. I am not any side’s political statement. I am just me.

In the back of the bar you hear a group of men laughing, finding out somehow the woman they are so attracted to is biologically male. They point or make jokes or even get physically violent. But it’s funny, that’s just another example of this wolf pack mentality society, especially men have towards us. There is some public narrative that transexuals aren’t desired and that couldn’t be more false. Trans pornography has risen by 75% this year in the US alone, a lot of trans women are sex workers whether its escorting, only fans content or good ole fashioned porn. Although many choose that lifestyle, a lot of girls like me feel there is no other choice, there is such a demand for it and they have surgeries to pay for, to finally feel beautiful or free within themselves. High school bullies sending us messages, men on dating apps wanting to unfold our bodies to explore this new taboo fetish that they watch on screen every night. I’ve heard it before “Thats a man, id never sleep with IT” meanwhile they are sending private messages looking for an experience of a lifetime, and that’s what we give them. And we get nothing back. Like a boomerang trapped in a tall tree.

Desired but not loved. We are good enough for the backseat of a Honda on a dark winter night but not good enough for your parent’s bright home, filled with love and laughter. Sure, it does happen, we see it all the time. Transexual women get married or meet a man’s family, openly with no secrets of her past. But it’s rare. It’s another stepping stone on top of finding “the one” not only do we want someone we find attractive, stable, free of violent tendencies and who loves us but someone that is okay dealing with the judgement or opinions of their family, friends and co workers, on top of the aggressive political commentary they will have to hear on a daily basis. And honestly I don’t blame them, its a lot to deal with. I didn’t ask for this dysphoria but he can choose who ends up with. And why pick something so complicated? I’ve met a man’s family and had to play it undercover, stealth; like a secret agent with no payday. No thank you, next. Dating world side aside, living this way embodies of an array of discomfort. Sometimes you catch your reflection wrong or see an unposed photo and think wow I look masculine today, and it breaks you a little bit inside. You become obsessed with surgeries, fillers and materialistic items to just feel a bit better. You may even appear super feminine to those around you but it never feels enough. A kind of melancholy dwells within , where you feel like maybe this next procedure will make you happier with your exterior facade but it doesn’t come. The shaving of bones, the cold needle in your face, the silicone embedded inside. It can’t save you. Only you can heal and save yourself.

I’ve asked multiple men in my lifetime so far (transitoning at 17, currently 29) where this attraction to dating non-op or pre-op transexual women comes from. I’ve heard an array of responses. Some straight up just interested in the woman they are looking at and truly not over analyzing any of the specifics. To some its an exotic feature, men being visual creatures in general they like the fact they can see us physically aroused, a body part “fimilar” to them attached to a body with full breasts, a pretty face and feminine energy. Another reasoning being trans women tend to want to be in a gender role, therefore more likely to dress feminine, wear lingerie, cook and clean. It’s a binary they feel comfortable with dating, a more selfish reasoning. And other men simply just don’t have an answer for me. “If it looks like a duck and talks like a duck, its a duck” Sometimes it doesn’t have to make sense, it just is. Why overthink human connection? If it’s not hurting anyone and makes you happy. Let it be.

Yes I am trans. No I’m not a political statement. I’m not a sexual experiment. I am also not just one thing. I love film, writing, spending time with friends and family. I laugh, cry and bleed the same as you do. And I hope to find a love so beautifully consuming one day that my worth as his partner won’t only be seen but celebrated, openly. I hope this little writing piece, if you’ve made it to the end by now, has brought you insight into a piece of my world and how it is to navigate in it. I appreciate you.

“For the girls struggling, striving and slaying in the shadows. With such little light, you sparkle. I am in awe of your brilliance.” - Janet Mock

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writing piece by trish taylor.

The sturdy grip of your bicep wrapped around me serves as a symbol of safety.

The irony not yet dawning on me, that same bicep used viciously like a python waiting to feed on its prey.

Your sweet scent of cedar wood & masculinity wraps me up like a childhood blanket. Familiar and warm.

Nothing can destroy me, I am invincible, feeding off your eager lips, tasting passion, tasting a sense of forever.

Your body so close, but your mind so far. How strange to not know the hand that feeds me.

Every single threat like music to my ears. Every ruthless touch, bringing sweet agony.

Puddles of plum & navy branded on my skin like artwork. I let out a single tear & smile. Admiring the artist.

For we all know someone as starved as I am, will choose to eat the rotten fruit.

Handsome faces, kind words & mediocre conversations like a colourless film.

My spirit once a cascade of fires, each bigger than the next. Is now a frozen lake, desolate & cold.

Cravings the fire that once fuelled my passion, will it blaze or will it defrost me?

I refuse to meet my gaze in a mirror. But feel my own beauty in your sinister stare.

I want to be demolished. So I can feel rebuilt a new.

If your love doesn’t gift me exquisite suffering, I’m left anesthetized.

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Sometimes the beautiful people you meet aren’t meant to last forever.

I was coming home from another day at work the other day, getting into my uber unexpectedly having a brief but magical moment with the driver. A man I realized drove me only once before an entire year ago. We shared chemistry. His eyes intimately meeting mine in the rearview mirror with a smile that will be hard to forget. We exchanged pleasantries and compliments, teased each other jokingly like a couple who’s known each other for years. It was light, fresh & fun. I could’ve held on to that interaction, searched for him online or made a move. But there’s something beautiful about an experience that doesn’t evolve, it just is.

We live our lives in a string of fleeting moments, one after the other. Eventually we build relationships and therefore permanence in our lives. But sometimes what starts with magic, chemistry and laughter eventually dies off, becomes bitter, angry or malicious. Sometimes moments are just moments. Why can’t we treat the people we meet that way? Why can’t it feel like watching the sunset instead of us feeling empty, begging for a future we create in our heads. Our own insecurities make us feel we want to find someone to love us, keep us. We want permanence in all we do because we are tired of movement, of change. But sometimes that damages our soul without us realizing it.

An entire six years passed by, and I realized all it brought me was more pain, more insecurity and the loss of my true self. Sometimes you can do what you are supposed to; go on a date, fall in love and build a life with someone. You think it will cure you of all your imperfections, all the sadness rotting inside you but it may just add more decay. Meeting a new person who isn’t going to stay forever doesn’t have to be so pessimistic. I’ve experienced more love in temporary settings, whether its eyeing a man across the room, spending all night discussing the meaning of life, or complimenting women in the bathroom when you are out at a party, giving each other unconditional love in that very moment. Sometimes people can be more easily digested in the moment, before their internal demons have a chance to plague your mind. Sometimes who they are and how they make you feel in one moment is enough to add merit.

Just like summer, it comes and goes, the sun shows its face, the flowers bloom, it makes you happy and warm and eventually it all withers away into a cold gloomy wintertide. Does that make summer any less significant? Any less beautiful? Why do we treat the short-lived moments with people as if its not enough? To love and to laugh with someone is the human experience, I will always hold value to that, regardless of how long it lasts.

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I had knots in my stomach, checking my phone every couple minutes. My heart skips a beat when a notification lights up my phone “I’m here” and the whole world stops for just a second. Running to the bathroom to freshen up, adding more setting spray to keep my makeup in place, a touch more blush to make me appear more alive than I feel, brushing my long dark hair behind my back, and taking one last long look at my appearance, like if I looked away i’d get lost in apprehension. I walk down my office stairs, taking one last inhale before I open the door, into uncharted territory. I didn’t know what to anticipate or what to expect. We’ve only been talking a couple nights. Although I made it very clear on the phone I’ll not be “doing anything” I still felt the pressure to be ready for intimacy at any given moment, as if I was already his pretty little toy. To use and to break.

⟡

A tall six-foot-one brunette man with delicious olive toned skin, unkept hair & emerald eyes, is standing next to the passenger side door. He embraces his presence with a quick kiss on my cheek, caught off guard, I blush and get into the car. I already sense the danger, like a fire im tempted to play with. Our plan was to go down to the river, although a cold February evening, it was a safe place I suggested to many prior dates as a simple place to get a tea and go for a walk, avoiding all the pressure of having to sit at a table with someone who may turn out to be mind-numbingly uninteresting or psychotic and I need an easy escape route. A simple date I have done countless times before. I thought it would be nothing new but boy was I wrong. It would be the beginning of the end and the end would consume us both.

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I hear the rumble of his thunderous voice, waking me back up from my thoughts to the ending of his work day gabble. Unable to focus due to the loud pounding of my heart and racing thoughts. I am occupied with reflecting on what to say to sound impressive and how to act more feminine & angelic. I always wanted men to see the illusion of a perfect woman, someone who giggles, bats their eyelashes and never gets angry. A toxic trait I picked up along the way. A trait that definitely wouldn’t last.

We reach the long gated bridge, isolated, beautiful and haunting. A euphoric moment, the details viciously carved into my mind. The street lamps are a warm glow; like fairies dancing around as we gaze into the distance of skyscrapers projecting on the dark open water and his fervent figure beside me, at the brink of feeling at home. He wraps his arms around my waist, turning me around as if I was nothing but a feather falling down from the sky. He smelt of spearmint & musk with a hint of fresh clementine. His scent almost as delicious as he looked; a rugged jaw line representing the epitome of a man, a small scar on his left eyebrow, eyebrows that perfectly frame his sea glass eyes. I navigate his gaze like a forest I want to get lost in. With his polished full lips smiling down at me. He takes his brawny hand and cups the side of my face steadily , leaning in to press his pout on mine, his tongue swiping gently after. His body pressed against mine, well built like a fortress, intoxicating my system, sending a shooting signal through my entire body like an arrow had hit me in the back.

I never quite believed in magic till this very moment. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

- trishtaylxr

(Media Source: Pinterest)

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I was looking through old photos of myself, stumbling across a picture with freshly injected lips. Realizing that years later the magic Switz' based product has started to subside, sitting here stressing and contemplating booking another appointment, I thought of why. Yes, I admire the boost of femininity and though it has served me well, do I need it to feel good about myself?

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Then I started thinking to the endless cycle of stress induced by over consuming constant ads and influencers telling us we need a specific piece of clothing to be relevant or on trend. You must have a different outfit for everyday of your vacation that took you months to pay for. You must have a six-step skincare routine if you don’t want to age too quickly. You must have your nails done. Make sure you don’t gain too much weight but also don’t loose too much weight that’s also unhealthy and will contribute to you looking uglier.

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With the boom of social media came this overconsumption. We used to just fantasize about a celebrity’s life, reading magazine tabloids about the luxurious lifestyle of people like Brittany Spears and Cameron Diaz and how they live. Now we consume it 24/7 on a little screen in our hands. It’s not just celebrities, people across the world can now too be famous just by posting their beautiful bodies or the products they use. We have gone from an unobtainable luxury only seen in a magazine to the possibility that any person with a smartphone can reach a luxurious lifestyle — and should.

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The problem with this easy obtainability is that people don’t want to live life anymore, not truly for themselves. We spend countless paycheques to travel the world just to post ourselves with a counterfeit smile and a pretty background, instead of soaking up the moment, feeling the comfort in the air and discovering the diversity of the culture through human interaction. We go and eat visually appealing food just to show it off. Every action is subconsciously determined by the desire to be someone uploading our movements and thoughts for an idea, regardless of our reality. Why can’t we just be average? Maybe I don’t need to be famous or known to be successful. Maybe a follower count really shouldn’t matter to me. I want to feel good enough with using three skin products, clothing that makes me feel comfortable and confident without worrying about needing a whole new wardrobe, the anxiety of ‘Oh god, have I worn this outfit before?’ and not wanting to be perceived. Whether you should choose to paralyze your face, go under the knife or leave your body a hundred percent as nature intended, someone will always have a negative opinion about it. As women we can’t win either way. So just choose what makes you happy. And remember that just being here feeling the sun on your skin and the air flowing through your lungs is ENOUGH. Being loved by the people closest to you is a luxury. You don’t need anything else to make you feel worthy of existence.

~ trish taylor

(Picture Source: Pinterest)

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You’re in a coffee shop on a calm fall evening, a cute boy glances at you from across the room, revealing pearly whites like a mating call. Time freezes for a moment before you can catch your breath. The potential of what could be, who you could be wrapped up in his protective, perfectly toned arms. But that’s not real, not anymore. Now it’s the potential of a text back or a view on your instagram story. Does the romance we crave even exist anymore? Or are we too far gone?

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Look at the world around you. Do you truly see? If you open your eyes just a bit wider you might witness the people you pass by on a daily basis glued to their phones. I can’t blame them as there is a comfort in having your little world in the palm of your hand, like the comfort of a childhood teddy bear you used to hold when it felt like the world might fall apart. You may notice when humans witness a tragedy, another being in distress, nobody jumps in to rescue them but instead take out their little piece of glass and metal and press record.

The pandemic didn’t help, although not entirely to blame. It has weakened our social skills and helped fuel our social media addictions, with the release of Tik Tok and Reels we have zero attention span and don’t live in the present anymore. All of this has caused harm by making us feel like our only true connection is through an app, whether consumption of beautiful faces or the latest world tragedies, all at our fingertips. Along side these issues, finding a real love feels unfathomable.

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.. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part ..

From my own experiences to all the countless nights listening to my girlfriend’s cries and complaints. Love is a complex topic, fitting, because we are just as complex. Love isn’t black and white. It’s everything in between and then some. Chaos, pain, beauty, joy, passion.

With our lacking social skills, years of time robbed from us. We are unable to remember how things used to be. We normalize “ghosting” someone, abandoning them with zero explanations. We have normalized swiping through hundreds of profiles a day, judging a human being off six photos and three vague prompts. We are quite literally judging a book by the cover. We collect multiple matches, receive endless messages, giving us a dopamine every time we get a notification, feeding off a false sense of comfort. We feel wanted and cherished, but they don’t know who you are and most likely would prefer to conquer your body over getting to know your brain. People are chasing beautiful warm bodies wrather than the beautiful soul underneath it. Women take off their clothes just to get a kiss on the forehead, for someone to cuddle us to sleep at night, healing our darkest of thoughts for a quick moment. Men chase the high of the chase, conquering beautiful women like the ones they consume on their screens all day long. This leaves both sides completely empty inside, thinking what they are doing will bring content and happiness. Instead leaves nothing of substance but trust issues, abandonment issues & commitment issues. Some of us choose to stay with the people that betray us and treat us like shit. Maybe because they don’t believe they can find better or that they don’t deserve better. Love should feel like safety, not survival.

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I crave an old love, the kind that feels like fresh-out-the-drier laundry pressed against your cheek. Snug, soft & reposeful. Someone who who can explore the dark depths of my mind — my mistakes, judgements & poison and only sees a broken girl with a heart of gold. Someone who I can fight with, create resolutions with, becoming stronger, invincible even. A love that can last lifetimes, a love people will write poetry about, songs about. The kind that isn’t always sunshine and rainbows but raw, authentic and intimate. A totally imperfect but steady love. Are you out there?

Love or the lack there of, may just kill us.

~ trish taylor

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(Image Source: Pinterest)

I once mistook intensity for love, now what does that mean? It means a man gave me fire and instead of being afraid, I become a pyromaniac. But instead of manipulating the fire, I became addicted with letting it burn me, alive. I LOVED that burn, I still do. I miss it like an addict misses their fix, I let boredom in my life because if I don’t I will become a victim once more. It’s been three whole years since I left the flame behind. But he still creeps up in so many ways; too many that I often write about him. Maybe its not just him but how strongly I feel things, too intense and all consuming.

Once my relationship ended, my feelings for people felt minimal and insignificant when compared to those array of potent emotions I had previously experienced. Dating does nothing. I can’t find myself caring for a man. I don’t feel strongly about any of them, and i’m terrified that I’ll never be scared of someone breaking my heart again , because I won’t be capable. A scary thought. Happiness feels like a feather ever so briefly grazing my thigh. Sadness is rare, when it visits its brief and unsatisfying. only crying in random fleeting moments or at a movie. Anger is the only emotion left, like a familiar volcano, waiting to erupt.

The worst part is once you are “free” of this chaotic feeling. It still haunts you. If nobody is helping fuel that flame you feel as if you have no choice but to buy a lighter or some matches and burn it to the fucking ground. Anything to feel alive. I wanted to sleep with a man, become attached and possibly become his. I wanted to be under his spell, anxiously waiting for him to talk to me, kiss me, touch me. But again, they made me feel nothing. I didn’t care for any of their personalities or sexual experiences, how can I? They don’t drive me crazy with just a look, they don’t have his intoxicating scent. And they definitely don’t feel like him.I wanted my body to amalgamate with his. I could have lived in his skin a happy girl. When that didn’t work I would channel the flame into my closest friendship, constantly feeding off her attention and admiration.. don’t get me wrong, I do love her. But I allowed myself to wrap my entire existence up in her. Major codependency. I think we both felt it, though somewhat beautiful, completely toxic, leading us to take time a part. She was just another soulmate that felt too flammable.

I haven't dated in over a year, not even a soft kiss on the cheek. It’s secretly killing me inside, I miss the flame. But for now smoke & mirrors will have to do. No more liquor, no men, no toxicity. Just me, in a quiet room writing on a laptop, reminiscing about who I used to be, and all the chaotic memories that used to fuel me. I am hopeful the calmness will guide me to my full potential. A stable and beautiful life. And hopefully.. some day, a great and healthy love.

(picture source: Pinterest)

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I gave the fantasy. You provided a new one.

A false sense of forever.

꩜

Your lips tell lies, beautiful lies. I’m your dream girl..Right?

I love you for who you are But your love sounds an awful lot like an orgasm. Your love hard then soft, leaving me empty.

꩜

A needle to the thigh. Silicone to the chest. Breaking bones to achieve symmetry.

Nails. Hair. Skin. Clothes. Lingerie.

I do it all for you am I your perfect girl? Or am I still just a fleeting moment? Another live action of the bodies you stroke yourself to on a small screen, in bed, at night, when nobody is watching.

꩜

You want freedom, from family, from work, from the world. And I provide it to you. Your head in my lap, my soft hands caressing your hair. My beautiful boy. As your thoughts slowly wash away, like an ocean tide concealing imperfect seashells. Do you really worship me or just the feeling of glueing my broken heart back together? My saviour.

꩜

Dreams of a white picket fence. Holy matrimony. A family, A fairytale. Your lies fuel my survival. I find comfort in my delusions. I refuse to take the red pill; bruises, disloyalty & deceit.

I’m bruised. I’m sorry, I love you.

I’m bleeding. I’m sorry, I love you.

I’m betrayed. I’m sorry, I love you.

I forgive you. I’m thankful you are still here. Because who wants to be alone?

꩜

Inside me you see god. Your emptiness, my brokenness. Merging. A frozen moment aligned in perfect harmony. Like a single destructive compound. I fucking love you. But only in the bliss of dark. In the shadows of the world where nothing matters, you like it that way. I am just a body for you to feast on. Another soul to take as your own.

And three simple words is all it takes — I’ll let you devour me.

- trishtaylxr

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an inviting toasty porch;

a scorching evening like a warm, ethereal hug. 

your mom is inside, calling for you. Wash your hands, dinner is ready. 

the sun is blaring in your eyes but you don’t worry about skincare. 

a blue freezy dripping down the side of your hand.

the wonder-struck scent of BBQ and chlorine.

a summer song made of cicadas, children’s laughter and the ice cream truck approaching.

yelling for your parents, you demand a waffle cone! I must have it! 

THAT was a true emergency, for a child that felt like a life and death situation.

long before someone shattered your heart, 

before spending your week chasing paychecks for the overpriced box in which you are imprisoned. Not just physically but spiritually. 

When’s the last time you thought outside the box? Do you have the time to create something new? Or do the ideas not even appear anymore.. because whats the point? death is approaching, life is fleeting. And you need that paycheck. 

Shades of amber, red & chestnut dance around your feet. 

You dress up, not for the male gaze but to embody your favorite character. It makes you feel powerful, unstoppable. Before beauty standards ripped it away. 

Trick or Treat!  You shout at adults you believe in, excited to grow into someday. Before the thought of broken men, unfair bosses and the world elite harming children ever crossed your mind.

Gambling candy with neighborhood friends like a king size candy bar was a big payout.

Firewood, sleeping bags on the living room floor and hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

An evening that felt infinite. Time would stay still for the ones who appreciated it. 

The smell of pine needle. The peaceful glow of red, green & blue highlighting memories disguised as ornaments. 

Everyone is asleep. A beautiful loneliness, before you were deeply afraid of your own thoughts. Angel dust dancing softly downward from the sky. 

Giddy thoughts of a bearded man coming down to bring you presents fast approaching. Before bearded men bought you necklaces, before he made you bleed simultaneously promising you the world. 

Once born with hope, joy & confidence. 

We are left with a broken soul & wistful nostalgia 

-trishtaylxr