I wrote for you
I dreamed of you
I thought you’d be somebody different
but where are your bones? where is your blood?
where’s that lemon I thought you were sucking on?
you’re just like me
a bit older and worldly
but not my god
no longer enigmatic
just a balding man in the middle of the road
we won’t go anywhere far
we won’t walk down the Champs Elysee
we won’t go to Chicago
we won’t go to the movies
we will sit, lose our minds and talk about it all
1 year ago
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He is the one whose taste will linger in my mouth forever. He is the one who let me down more than once, but kept me hanging on with that “sweet talk.” He is the one who I never stopped thinking about even when I was in love with somebody else. He is the one I just can’t get over.
We reconnected after the break-up, my break-up. I had neglected our relationship for nearly two years while I was wrapped up with my lover, save for a few phone calls and brief encounters at parties with friends. I only seemed to call him when I had nowhere else to turn, when my lover was not satisfying me. When I was feeling restless and reckless. We would fantasize together about works of art we could make separately and together. I would fantazise about our romantic reunion, but the problem was that we did not have a union to start with.
I did not like him at first. I thought he was just another handsome guy trying to lure me into his bed with his music and soft-spoken words. Then I got caught. I fell for it. And after we slept together it was all downhill from there. But he did not want me like I wanted him, so I had to stop.
I couldn’t stop, I just tricked myself into thinking than I was stronger than I was. We continued to see each other, dispite the disagreements. We’d talk about other prospects and all sorts of things. And we would usually end up in one bed or another. Then I met somebody amazing. Somebody that I had to have as soo as I saw him. Somebody that wooed me, straight up. A new lover.
Fast-forward two years. I am devastated and alone. He is there for me. What I thought was rekindling the flame was just me playing with fire. I thought that maybe this time, this time we could be something. We could give it a shot. He had been expressing feelings of discontent with his new lover and I thought that just maybe it would end. It looked like it would, it really did. Or was I just blinded yet again?
Blind. So fucking blind. We were reunited in my bed. “We shouldn’t” but we did. I should have known that I was still not his number one. Still the girl that you can fuck but not the girl you can share a life with.
Now I’m here. Still longing for the moment when we can be “we.” Still hoping that you’ll leave her. Still hoping that you are miserable. Still hoping that you’ll change your mind.
You won’t, but maybe you will.
1 year ago
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I’ve never been an avid blogger, but since I have graduated college I find myself having a lot to say and nowhere to say it. I have no homework assignments, no class discussions, no term papers to express myself and my deep thoughts about life.
With that being said, I would like to start talking about feminism and my friends. I have a group of some really awesome badass chicks, and I love them to death—but it seems as though their hearts and minds are not exactly where they should be when it comes to being feminist.
I recently spoke to one of my friends (let’s call her Trisha for anonymity’s sake) about reclaiming the word “bitch.” Now, it CAN be done…but we can’t just use it to insult our fellow female-bodied comrade and think it’s okay because we aren’t male—we need to change it’s meaning and use it in a non-negative way. Simple as that. I have had a hard time breaking this habit, but I know what it feels like to be called a bitch and no matter who says it—it hurts.
Secondly, Trisha and a mutual friend of ours (we’ll call her Celine, and forgive me for the ridiculous pseudonyms) were talking about girls we know from our place of work. One of the girls we work with had told me that she overheard some boys on the floor of her dorm saying really nasty lewd things about her. She is a residential assistant and she only heard the conversation because she was on her way to tell them to quiet down. She ran away after hearing what they had said and did not know what to do because their conversation was a private one that she should have not been listening to. Me, Trisha and Celine were discussing this and Trisha said, “Well, what does she expect when she goes around like she does all the time, flirting with everything.” Celine agreed with her, while I quietly freaked out on the couch beside them. I opened up my mouth, and my freak-out suddenly wasn’t so quiet anymore. I couldn’t believe them! Two of my best friends veering on the side of blame-the-victim-for-being-a-flirt! What the fuck. I told them how fucked up I thought it was.
Per usual, I think I was too passionate and instead of converting them over to look at it from my side, they got all defensive. “It’s the same attitude that men use to justify rape!” I was outraged. In fact, I’m getting pretty fired up again just writing about it right now. By the end of the conversation I think I got them to look at it differently. Unfortunately, this attitude is not unique to Trisha and Celine. We need to fight internalized misogyny, and we can start with our friends.
1 year ago
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if it can be broken
can it be fixed?
are you sure it could return back to its natural state
free of bruises, blisters, and scars?
no need for bandages
just maybe some glue
yea, some glue
pasting the pieces back together
trying to remember how it looked before the accident
you can’t remember
your mind has rearranged the shape
right angles become obtuse
the obtuse become acute
perpendicular lines parallel themselves
curves are lost
what is left is nothing like it should be
but you can’t remember
you only know that this is how it should not be
2 years ago
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don’t want to take polaroids
don’t want to play beer pong
don’t want to look beautiful just so you can stick your dick in me
don’t want to funnel your PBR
don’t want to take body shots
don’t want to make an ass of myself to get attention
don’t want to dance provocatively
don’t want to line my eyes
don’t want to act apathetic
don’t want to act smarter than I am
don’t want to get upset because you are a dick and will always be
don’t want to get drunk and do that
don’t want to listen and pretend to like lil wayne
don’t want to be a therapist
don’t want to solve your mystery
don’t want to waste my time
4 years ago
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