I.

I’m exchanging intimacies with the Notes app since God knows when, the kind that makes me a poet still after all this time. I think I recognize myself again. I want to get to know her. In the hum of slow traffic, I’m blasting the music that made me feel alive when I needed it most, just like now (they’re screaming to me, not at me!). I’m embracing both my softness and my rage, coupling them like a blushing onlooker and thinking, “Please have babies. The world needs them”, as if society’s Pantheon strayed further from reach. It probably never did.

This Substack is a space for those who embrace both of that aforementioned softness and rage. The ones who relate to this Instagram post as much as I do. The ones who love both The Devil Wears Prada and The Devil Wears Prada. The ones who are manifesting both pre and post-vampiric Lucy Westerna into every fiber of their being. This is for the ones who have both found and lost themselves in the dark, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

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