Michaela's Musings

As a music lover, my tastes often fluctuate between various genres. Sometimes it changes based on the season, if I'm traveling, or the dominant experiences in my life at the time. Since I'm in Barcelona, I wanted to take the opportunity to actually document some of my recently most listened to before my taste changes again. So! Here are the top 5 songs that have been in constant rotation lately. I can't be high around you anymore - FLO From their sophomore album, the UK girl group delivers a delicious track about doomed love under the influence. The production is amazing. It's full, glossy, and reworks that classic early 2000s feel to a more modern sound. The lyrics detail the narrator's inner turmoil over a guy who's only affectionate when intoxicated. They really resonated with me due to an experience I had earlier this year. And as that hurt recently resurfaced, this song has made me realize that I deserve someone's sober love over another's drunken a...

This summer has been a slow one. My days were spent reading, watching classic films, and most of all! Painting. Ever since I was a young girl, I always enjoyed my school art classes. We experimented with perspective, oil, pastels, and clay. I loved the activity so much that my mom enrolled my siblings and I into after school sessions together every Friday. For Christmas, I was gifted seven canvases and I made it my mission to use them all. So without further ado, let me take you on a journey of my summer through art. The first painting was The Love Cow . She is surrounded by primroses. I created this piece off the high of my first kiss. Summer was in bloom and everything felt possible. He was gentle and oh so affectionate. In that moment, I understood why people dedicated songs and tomes of literature to this meeting of the lips. This piece ended up as a gift to a cousin of mine. Weary spawned after the realization I'd been ghosted. Silence and rain dominated those early summer da...

I've been thinking about Death lately. In this era of school shootings and devices that can deliver suffering from any corner of the world right to our hands, I think my generation is very acquainted with the Reaper. The first time I became acutely aware of my own mortality was the death of actor Cameron Boyce. I am the same age as him when he passed. Someone I grew up watching on TV throughout my childhood here one day, gone the next. I was struck by how quickly a life can be extinguished. The pain of burying a child and living with their absence for the rest of your life. The death of 18 year old Nolan Wells has been circulating social media and local news circuits. The college freshman went to Horn Island with his white friends for the Fourth of July. His body was finally found the following Monday and identified Tuesday.  I remember the first time I came across the story, saw the pictures of Wells with his friends on Independence Day. Seeing that they were from Mississippi, my ...

I have a soft spot for the name Danny. Don’t ask why. I couldn’t explain it if I tried. I’ve always loved words and the ways they take up space. How some stuff your mouth with marbles, while others roll off the tongue smooth as sweet vermouth. Kind of like Danny. It’s a soft name. One anyone can take and make their own. There’s a little joy in the way my face scrunches up, a smile breaking across my face as I call out this sugar spun name. The way my voice goes up an octave as I draw out the final sweet syllables, denoting my affection.  Danny is the sweet cream sliding down my throat. The trail of kisses down my thighs. Bubbling giggles erupting from feather light tickles. Destined to be loved by me. XOXO, Michaela

I never liked religion. The self-flagellation and force-feeding of beliefs. But most of all? It reminds me of my relationship with my mother. Kind and giving when satisfied. But any hint of disloyalty? Any allegiance to others or yourself is met with rage. Your self-confidence—once golden and plentiful—withers away. Your reservoir of joy now dried up. Those gentle embraces become harsh words with even harsher hands. And before you know it, you’re on your knees begging. Prayers become pleas to a creator who won’t answer. And I don’t know the solution. No magical words or ritual to make her come back. No arguing with something, someone so absorbed in their own power, they can’t see the child they have forsaken. So all you can do now is get up off your knees and leave. She may be your mother, but she is not your master. XOXO, Michaela

It’s summertime, which can only mean one thing. My garden is in bloom. Maybe it’s the sunshine and gentle breeze. The lack of clouds. Being able to wear less clothes.  The petals of my pussy are unfolding, so there’s only one solution: Get plowed. May is my birth month. I’ll be turning twenty, entering a new decade of autonomy and pleasure. Making magic between my thighs. Dressed in lacy pink lingerie—marking my journey into womanhood. I've felt the gentle caress of another's lips and hope they explore both sets. June is for the daughters of the sun. Beat down by the heat of my lover's body, glistening with sweat and slickness. I hope to indulge in some loving. Sweet kisses and car sex. Once-in-a-blue-moon kind of pleasure. July is for the horny creatives. My patriotism is to sweat slick bedsheets and country music. I want to get fucked—sweetly and filthily in equal measure. My lover’s tongue caressing the folds of my pussy—cum tasting like nectar and cherry cola. He's ...