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Writing Blog 2

Why I Won't Stop Wearing Yoga Pants

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I remember when I was fourteen and I bought my first pair of black, form fitting Lululemon yoga pants.
 
One day my mom made a comment about me wearing them out in public. She said, “You look almost naked, you can see basically every curve of your body—and crotch.” I remember feeling self-conscious and always making an effort to wear shirts that were longer than my lady bits, solely from her request.

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Celebrating The Skin We're In

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I was told recently that my superpower was vulnerability. 

There isn’t much I don’t have the huevos to write about.

I’ve written about my experience within abortion.

I’ve talked about the journey of finding my father and meeting him for the first time.

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To My Soulmate I Choose Not To Love

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I have a theory that we have multiple “ones.”

That there is not just one soul reserved for us to love, learn and go deep with.

This was a hard lesson to learn, meeting my first soulmate, one—what have you, and realizing I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life with him.

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Loving Assholes Gets Old

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

Dating a man who leaves you on the side of a dirt road, or dancing on a bar with a bottle of red wine with visions of soft bellowing kisses as he blasts off into the night in a tour bus—gets old.

Dating a man who can’t take care of himself—gets old.

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I Am Not Here To Fix You

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I am not here to entertain you

I am not here to fix you
I am not hear to rescue, heal or revive you
I am not here to be talked at
I am not here to give you all my energy
I am not here to make your story my own
I am not here to just listen

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I Will Always Be A Wild Thang

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I will always be a wild thang.

You can find me at the nude beaches, stark ass in the sun.

You can find me doing yoga, sans mat—covered in sea, falling out of head stand, laughing—eyelashes sandy, hair a mess, smile soaring.

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Things I Would Say, If You Would Open To Me

Roderick Campbell

by Janne Robinson

I never held your fingers, traced the wrinkles and creases—kissed the freckle on the inside of your hand.

I never sat across from you, with your big brown hat as people pass by.

Brushed my toe against your toe, and even though there are wool socks and boots and so forth, you would still feel me beneath it all and smile over your laptop.

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