(rip)e beauty
If a ripe apple falls from a tree… But no one ever stops to pick her up And taste if she’s juicy, delicious, and sweet Worthy of craving to her core Before her inevitable rotting Was her beauty ever concrete?
"While we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will choke us" (Lorde 1978/98 p. 44)