(Activity) Open Expression (Exercise) Create freely in response to the week. Any form. Any length. Any Topic. You Choose. Follow Momentum. Here’s My Offering (Example): RECALIBRATION Resetting what I allow access to. Editing what no longer fits my direction. Correcting where I gave too much. Adjusting expectations back to reality. Learning my energy deserves better placement. Intentional about where I stand now. Boundaries back where they belong. Realigning with what actually feeds me. Accepting some things were just lessons. Taking my power back quietly. Investing in what invests in me. Outgrowing what once felt necessary. Now moving different. ©️Southern Seoul ~ Angel Kim #SouthernSeoulSpeaks #tresduravia

Poems not fully awake, not fully asleep. Catch the brain in screensaver mode. More writing, less editing. More nonlinear thoughts, less structure. More imagination and exploration. Let the phone drop from your hand mid-sentence. Let your forehead nod into the laptop keyboard. 5:48 AM, 3/26/26 I want to go back to sleep. I’m not fully awake. There’s a skool of thought about writing while in a daze. After the sun goes down or before the sun comes up, you can catch your internal censor slipping, dozing off, napping, knocked out; you can access areas of the brain normally off-limits because security is not alert. Our inner-editors hate having their ugly sleep interrupted. When they’re snoring and drooling and passing gas and you pass them what you’re writing at 5:48 AM, your prefrontal cortex—still groggy and in a hypnagogic state—waves you off (says, leave us be) and leaves you to your own literary devices; you are free to write whatever you like; free write whatever you can imagine. Sleepyhead, this is an ideal place for your head to be when you write: Write when you’re poor, huddled and tired. There’s a certain liberty to it, you writing without you looking over your shoulder at what you wrote. The New York City playground basketball legend, God Shammgod, once swore: his crossover dribble, a move known as “The Shammgod,” was perfected to the point where he could shake and ankle break his own shadow. Thinking like that isn’t done at the height of the day; it’s done when you’re bushy eyed and bright tailed; it’s done when lids are heavy and ideas are a midnight oil candle burning at both ends, hovering over your head like a crooked halo found in a Goodwill discount bin.

My sexual appetite is fierce, a hunger that lingers close, never far, never quiet. A fire I’ve carried for years, and somehow, with time, it doesn’t fade it deepens, sharpens, learns my name. The older I get the more it consumes me, not recklessly, but knowingly. Like two selves sharing one body: one composed, contained… the other aching to be undone. My partner’s flame barely flickers, leaving me to tend to my own heat fingertips becoming language, learning every curve like memory. From showers to kitchen counters, from walls that echo silence to spaces that hold my breath, I explore what I’m denied giving myself pieces of a moment, never the full story. My bullet hums like a secret, pulling tremors from deep within, stacking release on release, yet still, it’s not enough. Because sometimes I crave more than vibration— more than controlled pleasure. I want presence. Weight. Energy that meets mine without hesitation. I want to feel wanted not just touched. My appetite is intense, not just physical intentional. I don’t want rushed hands or empty rhythm, I want attention that lingers, that studies, that listens to every reaction like it matters. Tease me. Take your time. Let anticipation stretch until it begs. Mentally, that’s where it begins. Before touch, before skin, before anything physical, there’s the mind. Play there first. Build me there. Let desire grow so loud it echoes through my body before anything even happens. Because sometimes, just the thought— just the tension— is enough to unravel me. My appetite craves a connection I don’t always receive. So I redirect it into motion, into discipline. The gym becomes release, each rep a quiet scream, each drop of sweat a substitute for what I’m missing. And when my body quiets, my pen speaks. Because what I don’t express aloud, what I don’t receive in touch, I translate into ink, where my desires are free, unjudged, unanswered… but never denied. — Dear Sexual Me, I hear you. I feel you. And one day— you won’t have to settle for echoes.

(Activity) Alliteration with patience and intention. No rush, just resonance. (Exercise) Let your creativity flow. Topic: Abundance (Example) Here’s My Alliteration Offering: Abundance after ache. Battered by “almost.” Constantly calling courage. Determined, despite delays. Elevation eventually embraced me. Finally, favor found me. Growth grew from grit. Healing held me whole. Intentions intensified inward. Joy just joined me. Knowledge kept knocking. Leaving lessons lingered longer. Momentum met me in motion. Newness needed nurturing. Opportunities opened organically. Purpose pulled me past pain. Quiet questions quelled quickly. Rest restored resilience. Strength settled in softly. Time told the truth. Understanding unfolded underneath. Victory visited visibly. Wisdom walked with me. X marks my metamorphosis. Yearning yanked, yet I yielded. Zeal zeroed in zoning my becoming. ©️Southern Seoul ~ Angel Kim #SouthernSeoulSpeaks #tresduravia

Ok let me get this straight Cause people use social media to try to rage bait See I'm trying to understand dating in this day and age So if I like you and I show it then I'm doing to much That if I'm in tune my feelings, then I'm considered soft And that ain't what a man does But if I act nonchalant then now I'm wrong and I ain't doing enough I get labeled heartless, an asshole and other things as such Like do you know what you want Better yet do you know what you need cause if you do then I'm all ears to hear it Or is all this just some type of science experiment We treat it like a game and we're all leveling up with bad experience points that should be used for don't and do's Instead we sit in an echo chambers of our broken views Recycling the pain of yesterday's news And on cue a person says you what's wrong It's that there's pee in the dating pool But what do you expect when we're turning over the same rotten soil demanding it grow something new So is dating the problem or is the problem with me and you "Griot of the 13 Court Guards" - BANKAI An'twion Shamar