Natalie Guerrero

The first artist I’d like to introduce you to is Natalie, a sweet soul from NYC who has captured my heart. Grab a cup of tea and snuggle up to your computer, you’re going to be here for a while. Once you start reading her prose, it’s hard to stop. And she will make you think, think about your life, love, loss and where you fit in on this “giant lava cake we live on”.

Below is just a sampling of her writing. To read more, follow her @ https://www.instagram.com/natalie.says/

I’m from New York so it’s no wonder I don’t like to feel small. Like street trash or subway rats or anything besides the skyscrapers that live inside me. It’s a wonder, I think, to have made it so far while squeezing in my vastness so tight. Sucking in the uncomfortable parts. Making sure there’s not an ounce of me unaccounted for.

I have been writing about mirrors a lot and I think that’s no mistake. How I can see myself in them now. Have some clarity after lifting all this weight from my shoulders. Let myself let go. Force myself to move forward. Finally meet my own eyes and muster up the courage to call these things for what they are.

And I have been crying for what feels like four years. Laughing too, running like hell. Making my way over and under bad decisions. Flipping the script so I can make sense of the scenes. My God, what a whirlwind it has been to ignore myself for all this time. To have played the questions in my head so loud and so long that I’ve wound up sick.

Is this what happens to women when they unravel? This metaphorical awakening that makes our blood boil up until we are hissing with rage for the time we’ve spent silent? Is this what happens when we are bare and afraid and the world can finally see us? Are we pretty then, to the naked eye? Do we turn it on? Light it up like we do when we are dimming our own?

What if we’ve been taught to stay quiet because they’ve discovered our voices blow things up. Make space for the truth. Hold up those mirrors I can’t stop speaking into existence.

What if we’ve been taught to take just enough and not one inch more because they’ve found when we get cut off at the waist we still grow gardens. What if we are not the problem. Then how do we explain the ways we’ve let ourselves get walked over all these years?

The day every woman opens her mouth will be the day that heaven starts to sing. The sky will open and give us what we’ve been begging for it to give. Every door will slam open. Every war will find peace. Mountains will move. Music will play. And we will find ourselves, finally, praying to the women. Praising to the women. Asking to forgive what took us so long.

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Stop spending so much time looking down. Look up. Really, just look up. Look up. And don’t miss it.

So I was thinking about all the places in the world and how small that can make us all feel. Like we are peanuts. Or don’t have a place. Or like we’re lost toys or something like that. I was thinking about how this giant lava cake we live on can make us feel alone.

And then, I was looking at this picture. And I was thinking about that feeling that I get in my stomach just before the roller coaster drops. And how wretched that feeling is. And how there are no words for it. And then finally, when you’re at the bottom, you kinda crave it, because, you know, it’s over now.

And isn’t that sorta just life? Like one big fall but also really phenomenally joyous? Maybe this is not so revolutionary, or I’m not the first person to say all this, but I think that’s how it’s supposed to be if we would just get out of our own way to let it.

I have no sense here of the things that are breaking your heart. Or making it whole. Or what you’re afraid of. But what I’m getting at is — don’t miss it. Stand in it. Roll around or something.

I don’t think we’re meant to be so buttoned up. I think you can let your hair down. Even if you think you’re not ready yet. I think you should let go of that thing you’re holding so tight to. And raise your hands wide in the air. And feel the fucking sun on your skin, or the snow, or whatever. Just don’t look down. Stop spending so much time looking down. Look up. Really, just look up. Look up. And don’t miss it.

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I’ll leave you with one more, then head over to natalie.says & see what else she has in store for you.

What I’ve been meaning to say all along is that I am sorry
not to anyone but myself
Who I have willingly sacrificed for the good of the world.

I am sorry
not for saying no
But for always saying yes
Until it stunk like it was sour
and tasted like it was stale.

What I have been trying to say is that I am first.
That I have my own skin and breath
And that is for a reason.

I have been saying that I am no mistake.
That I am the dictionary to my own sweet soul.
The key to turn my own lock.
The golden ticket to hear the song of myself.

And what I have been tired of, is the doing.
The choking that it is to put on the performance me.
The constant noise that buzzes through my brain.
The clapping that comes after the exhaustion.

What I have to say is that I am sorry to myself
and to no one else.
For filling my cup last when my body had become a desert.
Putting all my smiles on other faces.
Squeezing into shoes that I knew were too tight.

And what I wonder is who I have been looking to
in order to turn away from myself.
What I have been thinking
to wait this long to have my cake and eat it too.
Where I have been hiding
to avoid contact with my own eyes
Why I have survived on less
when I am the master of making more.

And now I say it is time to come home.
Feel my hair frizz up
and thank God that I’ve been blessed
Write until even my finger nails become wise.
Look at myself until I can see it.
Say thank you one million times.
Read every book on the shelf.
Revisit my glory.
Hug myself at night and whisper I am proud.
Forgive the sin of the forgetting.
Take my final curtain call.
Silence the crowds.
And let myself say
what it is I have been saying.

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Stephanie DeadyComment