There are some mornings when i wake up and I’m just like blah. What more can I complain about today before 10? What else must I nitpick at to prove that everything is wrong? I’m tryna isolate myself but it’s hard when you got other people who need to vent and deal with their problems too. It’s Saturday morning and I’m listening to the birds chirp at my window. I don’t like waking up feeling like this, feeling like I’m ready for the world to end. I am at peace with the world ending. I read the news every morning. Deal with some heartbreaking gruesome shit everyday. Listen to the same stories everyday. Shed tears almost every day in disbelief that I wasn’t the only one growing up with a monster under my bed. The problem is I don’t know what to do or how to fully process all this information. It just sits there. Waiting. The longer it sits there, the heavier it becomes and the more weight i have to carry once i figure out what to do. I would like to runaway. I was thinking Miami today but I rather not. The drive, the money and it’s no guarantee that it will make me feel better. I have a paper still to do and I am beyond myself at this point. Yesterday I barely spoke at work. I barely wanted to talk. Really felt no urgency to do anything but sulk and wallow in despair. What despair? The despair of never finding an end to what we are constantly facing.
But here’s an idea… maybe try making the best of your situations? How about that? Or, how about to accepting the shit and keep it moving? Or, even better, stop reading the gotdamn news, get you a job in retail and sell some clothes and make people look somewhat decent.
All good ideas but I rather wallow in my despair. It just feels good on a Saturday morning with the sun shining right through my window and the birds are chirping.
It feels good to wake up sad. Makes one question everything and makes living just that much more fascinating.
How are you navigating through your life’s trials and tribulations my dear?
Ive been writing and then I’ve been stopping. Stopping because I start to question what I’m writing instead of just feeling the words. So I’ve gotten scared to share and just been keeping it to myself. I’ve been writing to reach someone, anyone but I don’t feel that I am. I don’t feel that my words are making sense and I am becoming overtly critical of my own art form. I need to find a way to unblock and create again. Where i feel comfortable and confident and secure in myself that I am ok with what I am creating. It’s a struggle. But I know exactly what I need and there is no other way for me to achieve it other than to leave my situations behind and be free. Lately it’s just been a routine effort in my part to keep my head above water. Like I’m not even trying to survive really, I’m just doing what’s necessary to make it seem that I am. There’s feelings of suffocation and deprivation and loneliness and just everything that shouldn’t be existing in my presence is just here and staying past their welcome. Maybe that’s where I screwed up? Once you acknowledge the feelings, you know you have to do something, right? That’s why I love denial. I can be anyone and feel anyway I want without ever having to re-examine the truth and what’s in front of me. How long does this last usually? Well there are people who are 50+ that seem to be working out just fine in my opinion. I can muster up another 22 yrs of this role.
But the point of the matter is I’m blocked. I’m backed up. I’m still pushing myself to write even though I suck. I have books and empty wine glasses all over the floor of my bedroom. Lolita has taken a fuckin turn for the worst and quite frankly, as sick as this book is, I am quite intrigued at how delicately written this story is. Nietzsche is still in the corner because I ain’t ready to be dealing with his ass and Anais, well I pick her up when I begin to feel hopeless in my situation. Hopeless being used for a more delicate term than bored.
I’ll keep writing. That much I will do. Everything else, well, I’ll just let it fall and wherever it lands I’ll deal with it later.
Think it was a quarter to three this morning, trying to get ready for work, the usual routine to begin a Saturday. Body barely able to maneuver itself from the left side of the bed. The Tiffany grey velvet chaise in the corner sitting there appearing lonely, empty. The lighting was giving it a soft silhouette against my pale creme colored walls. It never matters what time of the morning it is, I never want to leave the bed where you so selfishly had your way with me. The thoughts that fill the mind as soft curls descend upon satin pillows, man are we gorgeous together. Sometimes a smile appears across lips just in awe and disbelief. The topic of your complexion is my favorite subject. It’s total perfection. Utterly blissful to lay lips against. A few words were once spoken with promises to stay away. My lover, you are dangerous to a woman like myself…. The ability to reduce a woman of substance to nothingness lies in the most prized part of your being. The way words are written against the flesh, the forceful nature of screaming out the name of the man who moves mountains closer together so that the tongue can caress peaks in unison. The selfishness to the core of our bones is overpowering a sane mind to quit while she is ahead. Yet, I cannot fathom another night without the warmth of you between my thighs. I should feel guilty but I am overwhelmed as replays of tongue and erected flesh flash vividly against the darkness of an empty room.
Oh lover, you are more than just a dangerous man. You are the man who rules me and I cannot stay away from the man who’s lips are made of silk and honey.
I should really be conducting myself better than this, being that I am practically a married woman, although everyone knows almost doesn’t count. But explain that to a man who comes from a home where love was never questioned. It’s hard to get a conditioned mind away from the concept of monogamy.
We met a couple years ago and I have not been able to get you off my mind, I mean even in my deepest thoughts you appear and I am excited, aroused and terrified. What does this mean for me? This is more than an obsession, you know that right? I communicate with you more than I really should but even when I want to stop I am tortured with the memories of our last evening together. I was so sore that morning but my body had no limits. The addiction, the moment you touch me, I swear my body comes alive and you wear me so proudly. I pretend to be timid so you can demand more of me, did you know that I love being told what to do? Sometimes I think I wrote you into existence, you’re just too perfect, my lover. I am selfish for my desire of wanting to own you, of wanting you to only belong to me but my dear, I refuse to let go. The thought of another woman placing her lips where I’ve been so many times and not appreciating or relishing the deliciousness of you on her tongue, really brings forth a jealousy I didn’t think I had before our bodies were introduced. You need to be appreciated, in every manner and usage of the word.
The beauty of our relationships not only lie in the mistakes we make but in the way we handle the endings/beginnings. At least, I think so. When I look at them I remember why I believe so much in love and life. When I look at them I am remembering what love looks like, what love is and who love is. What pushes me and is what pushes them farther away from each other. So many parts of us wither away from the lack of understanding, the lack of compassion, the lack of foundation. I’ll always be the first to say I really don’t know much about shit, but, I do know many are living their lives as fools because holding on is always easier than letting go. Because when we let go, then what? What happens next? Is there a next? It’s the unknown that we all struggle with, all of us. But what fun is living life as a fool when you could lie your burdens down and be free? There should never be expectations when it comes to human behavior. Never. I think when it comes to teaching acceptance as a virtue, keeping in mind that fucked up shit happens, and how you move forward is your graduating ceremony. Whenever I look at them I am reminded of my favorite sci-fi movie “what dreams may come”. The movie of a man that loses his kids one day and dies the next day, only to have his wife commit suicide. But he speaks/lives through her paintings. He goes from heaven (because suicides go to hell, according to this movie) to save her from an eternity of hell but she doesn’t recognize him. It’s not until he begins to lose his mind that she begins to remember him. But it’s too late, his risked paradise to be by her side because he believed they were soulmates. In the end, he wakes up back in paradise with her next to him, he was brave enough to risk it all because he believed in their love. Do you believe in soulmates? I never did until I began to really watch them, watch them grow, watch them create and save each other over and over again. All the ways they would risk paradise for each other, I watched them become. Their eyes would light up and I’ve watched her speak life into him so many times, in so many ways. The revival of his spirit. The beauty in her being. The beginning of their love is always worth writing about. Their ending has been their best performance. With every great story, even the greatest formation of well-rounded, thorough characters things happen. Love fades and changes and regresses and hurts and sometimes love does the unthinkable. My parents are a modern day tragedy. Soulmates. Two fools living in a world without each other. Whenever I look at them I am reminded why “what’s next” should be the core of my marriage&family practice, because, what is next now that the hurts there. “What’s next” is the pillar to healing. Do we live this life alone or, should we attempt to be brave one last time and ask each other “what’s next”?
My articulation of the situation is not that well-defined, at least to me. The reduction of purely the physical is just not fair to you or to me. There’s more than just the taste of flesh that keeps me reaching out to you. There’s more than just delighted moans that escape in the middle of nights. There’s so much more and I keep limiting you to just these boundaries. It’s to keep the complications of such causalities to a minimum. I am still a woman, an emotionally deprived woman, but nonetheless a woman who has found much more than just sexual comfort in the warmth of your arms. I can clarify any misunderstandings that may arise and keep pacifying you with simple responses, but here I go, when given the opportunity to express myself I shy away and remain defensive. A certain level of protection is needed to continue on this way and the only way I can manage is to keep things the way they are through the maintenance of boundaries. But the truth? The truth is I need you in order to remain sane, in order to remain true to myself because you keep alive the femininity to my being. Does that make sense? With you I reach higher, deeper because you force me to and motivate me. There’s inspiration behind your words and your kisses. You unlock doors for me that would have remained shut had I never took the time to travel with you to lands that were forgotten. To lands that were neglected, you carried a passion that began to nurture and nourish the soil. Fresh soil feels like silk between fingers and I remembered how revived I felt the moment the lands began to taste water. You inspire growth. You inspire passion and a tenderness that I need. And it’s hard for me to let that go because I want to forever belong to you, because I never want to have days were I can’t look over to see the liveliness of all that you are. You are a production. A motion that allows me to feel free. I am free. I am me. And I always want to feel this way.
There were things that needed to be done today. Right lower side of my head began throbbing at my never ending to do list this morning. Stress headaches have been a thing for me lately. A little overwhelmed with all that is going on currently with work, school and life. I get so tired at work sometimes. The only thing that lowers the anxieties of the paperwork is making sure I take a few minutes out of my day to spend time with you. My sister gave me this great idea now that I have this new office at work. No windows. Door is always locked. My silver friend I hide at the bottom of my bag. I can enjoy you just as you're enjoying yourself. I even maintain eye contact during the time we spend. Lunch breaks have become seconds of pleasure lately. They serve as reminders on my phone that I mustn't forget that I am a sexual woman who, is fully aware of herself and her body's capabilities. There's a magic to your being. It's in your ability to teach me over again. To instruct me and force me to pull myself out. You invoke that side of me. The side of me in which I am deeply consumed by. The side of me that I love and cherish, adore. It's the me that I love. The me that you acknowledge. It's in your voice. The look in your eyes. I feel sexy. I write about you so often, in short paragraphs to mimic the short burst of time I get with you now. I haven't been able to write in full depth because I need all of you to help inspire and force me to reconnect with myself. There's parts of you that I want to belong to. The physical meshes beautifully with you and I wonder what other doors could be unlocked. But, I remain at bay with certain things because, well, nobody wants to get hurt I suppose. It's hard to unsee the beauty in vulnerability the moment you tip me open, that is what is so addicting. Because the small tastes of your lips always leave me wanting more. The body never lies and I've been repeating that same sentiment for a while. I met you, well, accidentally discovered you through old post and war stories of old lovers. What an unlikely connection, don't you think? That the universe would create it so that the freedom I needed would transpire through you.