When I talk about carving space with my teeth, I’m talking about showing up as the perfection I was born with. Demanding attention with my voice, with my whole ass, is a desired outcome of performing for the lens. So the viewer, you, my muse, becomes the object of my lust, landing with fuse. Might I stay and wander in your mind a while?

You know when you’re out and every moment feels like glitter particles of truth? You catch sprinkles of sweat in the atmosphere — with salty breath from devouring your tastebuds. You know that feeling of trust, in the moment?

So imagine you’re out drinking and you see this girl pack her purse with the leftovers.

What I really don’t want you to know about me…is that it turns me on so fiercely to see you thrive. When I witness a woman stepping into her power, I want to secretly cheer and swing from the rafters. What I really don’t want you to know is that the ceiling is transparent, and we are winning, whatever the cost, baby.