Dear _____________
I don't quite understand what your fucking problem is. You are sweet, and funny and gorgeous. Yes you are gorgeous. This is for some reason hard for you to hear. Anyways, I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together....I think? You seem to really enjoy my company as well, so this is why I am confused. Maybe you should go to the doctors.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Eve
I have an apple.
I picked it from a forbidden tree you know.
I noticed you spying it,
desiring it,
you know it will bring you pleasure.
You may have some if you like,
but I warn you.
Once you give into me, we will both be damned.
Forced to walk the earth alone,
having no shelter but one another.
Except you'll blame me,
shame me,
for your lack of self control.
But you lust it.
I can see it in your eyes.
Just have a taste.
I picked it from a forbidden tree you know.
I noticed you spying it,
desiring it,
you know it will bring you pleasure.
You may have some if you like,
but I warn you.
Once you give into me, we will both be damned.
Forced to walk the earth alone,
having no shelter but one another.
Except you'll blame me,
shame me,
for your lack of self control.
But you lust it.
I can see it in your eyes.
Just have a taste.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Mask
Our eyes flutter,
open and then closed,
mouths pressed hard together,
taking turns being the leader.
Fighting the urge to be in control
I let you take over me,
and its worth it.
Your breaths on my breasts
cause my fingertips to curl into displaced pillows,
panting in anticipation of the connection you with hold.
You taunt me and I almost get bored,
soaking in the passion I fear you're faking.
Until you let me have you.
I take you in and I know that you are not,
and deep inside I wonder what would happen if I let go and enjoyed you inside and out.
I wont yet,
yet you feel right, right now.
In the moment I feel like your mask is off.
You say you 'love to be inside me'.
I don't know what to say so I moan,
and you match me.
Everything tenses and actuates,
our hearts,
our parts,
our breaths.
Until there is nothing left but cigarette smoke,
and sweat.
open and then closed,
mouths pressed hard together,
taking turns being the leader.
Fighting the urge to be in control
I let you take over me,
and its worth it.
Your breaths on my breasts
cause my fingertips to curl into displaced pillows,
panting in anticipation of the connection you with hold.
You taunt me and I almost get bored,
soaking in the passion I fear you're faking.
Until you let me have you.
I take you in and I know that you are not,
and deep inside I wonder what would happen if I let go and enjoyed you inside and out.
I wont yet,
yet you feel right, right now.
In the moment I feel like your mask is off.
You say you 'love to be inside me'.
I don't know what to say so I moan,
and you match me.
Everything tenses and actuates,
our hearts,
our parts,
our breaths.
Until there is nothing left but cigarette smoke,
and sweat.
The Consentual Casual (Head)Case
I'm not even sure I want you to be my lover, really. When you call me or text me, it peaks my interests a bit, and sex with you IS enjoyable to a certain extent, even talking to you is enjoyable, to a certain extent...but there is something missing? Maybe it is because you want me, therefore I am immediately drawn away from you....funny, you didn't call me today and I can not get you off my mind. I sent you a dirty text message and I'm awaiting your response, but chances (good bloody chances) are you will respond in a way that is not to my liking. Or perhaps you wont respond at all, which will only make me want you more. I get bored with the boys that are at my beckon call.
Ah...my phone went off...I'm curious yet afraid of what it might say....hopefully something sweet and 'seedy' and I will think about your perfect pectoral chest and hands and mouth on mine and when I open my eyes you'll be at my door.
But alas, this is not the case. You're busy tonight doing things that keep your chest and hands and mouth busy and then you must sleep. That is fair...I guess. You assure me that you'd like me better tomorrow, and I agree that is to my liking as well...absence does make the heart (ahem) grow fonder.
Ah...my phone went off...I'm curious yet afraid of what it might say....hopefully something sweet and 'seedy' and I will think about your perfect pectoral chest and hands and mouth on mine and when I open my eyes you'll be at my door.
But alas, this is not the case. You're busy tonight doing things that keep your chest and hands and mouth busy and then you must sleep. That is fair...I guess. You assure me that you'd like me better tomorrow, and I agree that is to my liking as well...absence does make the heart (ahem) grow fonder.
Armageddon...(sp?)
*sigh*
You know the scene; it's the day before they all shoot off into space to save the world with their majestic drilling machiney things...Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler are sprawled out on a picnic blanket under one of those pituresque leany trees, at the brink of sunset? And Ben is sexily narrorating an animal cracker parade up and down Liv's unbuttoned blouse, exposing her stomach and chest debating the ever so crucial question of whether it is a cookie or a cracker? (Which I admit would definitely be something that plagued me at the world's end..) Followed by the even deeper question of whether or not anyone else in the world was doing that exact same thing at that exact same moment??? To which I forget who responds, but Ben explains dutifully that he hopes so, that's why he is risking his life to save the planet afterall.
*swoon* Liv is soooooooooooo lucky.
The next relationship I am in, I am making a game plan. I WANT ROMANCE! MOVIE ROMANCE! I am taking notes. I am making a list of all the romantic moments in every movie cheesy enough to make me tear up if I'm on my period, and I am testing them out in real life. Put all the ingredients together and see how it plays out.
Of course, these scenarios couldn't possibly develop as perfectly in my life as they do in these movies, seeing that the most romance I've encountered in my life means water and aspirin beside the bed and waking up to see that all my earthly possessions are still intact (laptop, cash and SEGA inclusive).
I want to be spotted through a fish tank at a masquerade party and have the dude be the son of my father's mortal enemy. I want my first love to read me the story of our love because my altzheimers is so bad I don't know it is us, subsequently dying in one anothers arms simultaneously(ok, maybe save that one for the end). I want to "never let go" but then actually do to save my own ass while floating hopelessly into the freezing ocean. I want to "complete" someone in an elevator (that sounded dirty, but you get it)...you know...REAL romance, REAL love. Don't I deserve that? Don't we all?
You know the scene; it's the day before they all shoot off into space to save the world with their majestic drilling machiney things...Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler are sprawled out on a picnic blanket under one of those pituresque leany trees, at the brink of sunset? And Ben is sexily narrorating an animal cracker parade up and down Liv's unbuttoned blouse, exposing her stomach and chest debating the ever so crucial question of whether it is a cookie or a cracker? (Which I admit would definitely be something that plagued me at the world's end..) Followed by the even deeper question of whether or not anyone else in the world was doing that exact same thing at that exact same moment??? To which I forget who responds, but Ben explains dutifully that he hopes so, that's why he is risking his life to save the planet afterall.
*swoon* Liv is soooooooooooo lucky.
The next relationship I am in, I am making a game plan. I WANT ROMANCE! MOVIE ROMANCE! I am taking notes. I am making a list of all the romantic moments in every movie cheesy enough to make me tear up if I'm on my period, and I am testing them out in real life. Put all the ingredients together and see how it plays out.
Of course, these scenarios couldn't possibly develop as perfectly in my life as they do in these movies, seeing that the most romance I've encountered in my life means water and aspirin beside the bed and waking up to see that all my earthly possessions are still intact (laptop, cash and SEGA inclusive).
I want to be spotted through a fish tank at a masquerade party and have the dude be the son of my father's mortal enemy. I want my first love to read me the story of our love because my altzheimers is so bad I don't know it is us, subsequently dying in one anothers arms simultaneously(ok, maybe save that one for the end). I want to "never let go" but then actually do to save my own ass while floating hopelessly into the freezing ocean. I want to "complete" someone in an elevator (that sounded dirty, but you get it)...you know...REAL romance, REAL love. Don't I deserve that? Don't we all?
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Wisdom Teeth
Past lovers are like wisdom teeth. Most of the time you can forget they still exist, but every 6 days - or 6 weeks, or 6 months, or 6 years - they resurface causing anguish and head aches. Ruthlessly making painful, all the things you were enjoying and taking for granted everyday, like meals, and smiles. On the bright side, after an indiscernible amount of time, they retire into the respective holes they left in your life.
You could always yank them, remove them entirely from your body, but hey, you never know when you'll need them. And anything that permanent is just scary.
I hate commitments.
You could always yank them, remove them entirely from your body, but hey, you never know when you'll need them. And anything that permanent is just scary.
I hate commitments.
The Seed.
Do I stay inside the confines of these four walls to help me forget about the confining four walls of my mind? My 'unintentions' are perhaps subconscious.
Being tired is a lot like being intoxicated. It grants you the ability to write off all of your mistakes, and short comings, and failures as just something that comes with the territory which you can later deny and suppress as not really being all your fault. Look at how far you've come, you're allowed a little leeway for fuckery. Excuses really. Pathetic excuses.
In bed, amongst a bevy of half empty water bottles, and take out containers, my only window to the outside world paints a somewhat diluted picture. So long as it doesn't face the outside world head on, I am free to live in my delusions. And really, freedom is everything.
It's always been something or another. Alcohol, or drugs, or food, or cigarettes, or men, or pain. Some vices are easier to control than others. Some vices have exit stratagies, that work for short periods of time, until I find myself back at square one. Where is square one exactly? Well, in reflection, I might say 'square one' is the inability to define my reality, so I finds ways to escape it.
You might find that my vices are all one and the same. After all they serve the same master.
The Seed:
Plant any seed, and in the right conditions it will grow. Often times into something intended. Into what it was always meant to be. Miraculous, and awe inspiring despite it's humble beginnings. But sometimes the growth takes on a life of its own, and spreads wildly out of control, and then something that was once meant to be beautiful, in containment, becomes something destructive when left unattended. And that I suppose is where the story begins.
I've never been a person who believes other people when they say they have 'childhood memories' of say, bumping their head. They are told the story of when they bumped their head. They see pictures of themself as a small child with a band-aid where they bumped their head. But they don't actually remember bumping their head. They manifest the memory based on verbal and visual accounts of the incident and pass it off as 'I remember'. Having said that, I remember at the age of three almost poking my eye out. I remember not seeing any blood in the mirror, but knowing I had a bloody eye. I remember the banana popcicle I got for being so brave. After all banana popcicles are my favourite.
Being tired is a lot like being intoxicated. It grants you the ability to write off all of your mistakes, and short comings, and failures as just something that comes with the territory which you can later deny and suppress as not really being all your fault. Look at how far you've come, you're allowed a little leeway for fuckery. Excuses really. Pathetic excuses.
In bed, amongst a bevy of half empty water bottles, and take out containers, my only window to the outside world paints a somewhat diluted picture. So long as it doesn't face the outside world head on, I am free to live in my delusions. And really, freedom is everything.
It's always been something or another. Alcohol, or drugs, or food, or cigarettes, or men, or pain. Some vices are easier to control than others. Some vices have exit stratagies, that work for short periods of time, until I find myself back at square one. Where is square one exactly? Well, in reflection, I might say 'square one' is the inability to define my reality, so I finds ways to escape it.
You might find that my vices are all one and the same. After all they serve the same master.
The Seed:
Plant any seed, and in the right conditions it will grow. Often times into something intended. Into what it was always meant to be. Miraculous, and awe inspiring despite it's humble beginnings. But sometimes the growth takes on a life of its own, and spreads wildly out of control, and then something that was once meant to be beautiful, in containment, becomes something destructive when left unattended. And that I suppose is where the story begins.
I've never been a person who believes other people when they say they have 'childhood memories' of say, bumping their head. They are told the story of when they bumped their head. They see pictures of themself as a small child with a band-aid where they bumped their head. But they don't actually remember bumping their head. They manifest the memory based on verbal and visual accounts of the incident and pass it off as 'I remember'. Having said that, I remember at the age of three almost poking my eye out. I remember not seeing any blood in the mirror, but knowing I had a bloody eye. I remember the banana popcicle I got for being so brave. After all banana popcicles are my favourite.
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