I am pinioned by your finger
It points unyieldingly at my person and screams
(These things I am not
However, wounded hearts often know not what they say.)
The ethereal wisps of my very being part and swirl
Touched by a dagger dipped in poison
Poison which burns my skin and unravels the fibers of my heart
In the same breath, following the angriest of words
You seek to espouse cries of love
And interrogate me hotly
“Why ever do you withhold your sweet honey from my lips, you madam are a monster!”
Every ounce of unbridled love given to you has been forgotten or else pushed aside to be ignored
Lest such affections undo your anger and diffuse your argument
This pain you claim against me leaves no room for recognition of the imbalance between us
I am left to be the failure
Thus I resign myself to my fate
Solitude. Separation. Emptiness.
On the other side of this wall
You remain steadfast in your accusations and feelings of vindication
Sparks of hope gleam weakly,
are all but extinguished
Kept alive only by the longing in my breast
To return to your arms
To be wrapped in your love
By all accounts this should feel like freedom but the fact remains, undeniably, that this feels like nothing other than prison. Prison of the worst kind, one where there are no walls, just a pillar beneath your feet. It stretches up into the clouds. You are blessed with the vision to see everything above, around and below you and are thus able to comprehend everything with the purest sense of clarity. And yet you can step neither foot in any direction for if you do, you will certainly fall to your death.
That’s what losing you feels like.
The following rant is in response to this article:
Dear men and boys: feeling like retreating from the dating world because you just can’t win no matter what you do? How about instead of being a coward, when you see a man behaving badly whether he is a friend or stranger, call him out on it.
The more you ask your gender to behave like human beings instead of misogynist assholes, the better your reputation will become.
Not sure whether or not you should kiss her? How about you ask her. It’s incredibly romantic, thoughtful, sensitive and so on. Trust me if, she wants to kiss you and you ask her for her permission she will be all the more delighted to lay one on you. If however, she is not interested in kissing you, don’t get upset. She has every right to say no. Not every person in the world is going to want to smooch you. Furthermore, asking for permission to breach physical boundaries helps to build trust because it will show her that you’re aware of her physical and emotional boundaries and that you respect those boundaries above your own selfish desires and sexual impulses. The more trust you build the stronger the foundation of your interactions and potential long-term relationship will be.
Dear girls and women: feel like men are just sexist assholes and you can’t seem to find a good one? How about instead of settling for or making excuses for someone who is not treating you right, you tell them what it is that you need and expect from your interactions. Furthermore, take the time to genuinely research what feminism and equality actually mean instead of regurgitating sensationalist, Neo feminist views. True feminism demands equality for all people, it does not support women being above men in terms of rights and expectations. If you want to be a crazy bitch, that’s your choice but that’s not feminism.
Bare feet firmly planted on the soggy moss and leaves, the remainder of my naked body stands strong and upright in the midst of a torrential downpour. I can feel each steady, individual droplet of rain distinctly. Every single one leaving a tiny, fleeting mark upon my skin.
My visage upturned, I raise my arms to the sky. I am once more connected. I will once again regenerate my spirit. I will be whole.
I tire but I wish not to sleep. For sleep is as an unwanted lover, pawing at my clothes it thrusts itself upon my person, wrapping it’s dark arms around me. Fleeting thoughts and moments of unspoken hearts fend off such advances with a fearsome defiance. Perhaps it is only a delusion, this love I bear, this yearning in my bones. I ache for things I often fear shall never come to be. And so I will not sleep, for it threatens to separate my soul from all my sacred hopes. Only the twinkling sounds of morning song in the blossoming twilight are permitted to send my body to rest which even in all it’s splendor, is unwelcome.
It would seem that many of you my dear friends, are under the impression that my disapproval of “hand-outs” implies that I do not think programs should exist to help those who are truly in need.
I do not feel now, nor do I recall ever feeling, that helping those in need is in poor taste. Everyone needs help at some point in their life. Some people need more help than others. Some people only need help for a short period of time and others will need help for their entire lives for any number of reasons.
I am of the opinion that if you need help, you should endeavor to accept said assistance until such time comes where you can take care of yourself again.
I am a firm believer in personal responsibility. I also feel that the majority of the population is capable of being self sufficient. However, it is much easier to hold out your hand and ask for help than it is to strive to be independent. And oftentimes the most attractive mode of operation is to take the easy way out. If being independent was easy, I think more people would be.
The majority of people in society are expected to fulfill their obligations and responsibilities. They must pay their bills, obey the laws of their city, state and country, clean up after themselves and so on.
Yet many are quick to forgive those who do not contribute to society according to said expectations. Are some people legitimately incapable either indefinitely or temporarily of abiding by the aforementioned expectations? Yes. But please keep in mind the many more who are perfectly capable and yet not held to the standards that you and I are simply because people assume that if someone is homeless they are implicitly helpless.
A fair portion of our population has developed unrealistic desires with no way to satisfy them. This is glaringly apparent in how said individuals approach issues of homelessness, drug addiction, mental illness, poverty and so on. They expect and oftentimes demand actions be taken by everyone without comprehending that some people may not want to fund aid programs or hand a burger for the bum on the corner. Is this harsh? Perhaps. However, it’s not up to you or I to demand that someone else support a cause that you or I firmly believe in. If you think the homeless need to be fed, go out and buy some food to hand out to them. Or volunteer at the local soup kitchen or shelter. Better yet, draft a plan to address the issues you feel passionate about and seek out avenues in which to make that plan a reality. But do not demand or indignatly expect others to follow suit. And prepare to be taken advantage of if you aren’t cautious and careful.
I found your shirt on my bedroom floor today. After crawling under the covers I buried my face in the black cotton and inhaled deeply. The scent of you is heavy laden with a bittersweet clutch of memories.
I found myself in his bed. Unsure of my motivations but there I was regardless. He kissed me passionately, the way I absolutely needed to be kissed. My skin prickled with electricity but then my arousal evaporated abruptly and entirely. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on the fledgling flame of my desire. I pulled reluctantly away from his lips and asked him meekly if we could keep our clothes on for the time being, I wasn’t ready to be intimate. What I didn’t tell him that all I could think of was how I yearned for it to be your lips pressed to my flesh, not his. He said yes of course and as I started to fade from consciousness, I felt a bit of comfort momentarily cut through my sadness laying there wrapped up in his strong arms, his body pressed tightly against mine.
I awoke some hours later to the rattle of him turning off the air conditioner. On his way back into bed he climbed on top of me and, taking my face in his hands, kissed me gently. I felt so conflicted. I desperately craved intimacy, like a drowning man craves oxygen. But, as much as I wanted him, I wanted you so much more. My very bones burn relentlessly with desire for you always. All of these conflicting emotions battled within as we kissed. My body eventually drowned out the weeping of my heart and I gave in to his embrace, like a hungry child shamefully stealing a scrap of food.
He took his time touching every part of my heart that ached. It felt so bittersweet, like he was pressing his lips firmly upon a bruise, the pain intertwining with the healing of his affections. Each climax I felt tore me between utter despair and unadulterated catharsis.
He grabbed a rubber from somewhere next to the bed and when he finally entered me my orgasm barely seemed to mask my half-choked sob. I wanted this but my heart could hardly stand the reality of having anyone other than you inside me. Pressing the weight of himself upon my chest, he drove methodically into me, bringing me to the brink of climax. As the impending wave of bliss loomed he whispered against my arching neck, “That’s it, come on my cock, as many times as you want.” His rasping breath burned against my skin. My body fought even more fiercely against my heart, throwing me into a state of pure carnality. All I felt was lust. I begged him for more. After that it was one wave if pleasure after another. I cried out his name which incited him to pump into me harder. I begged for him to come, I needed desperately to feel it. His breath came hard and ragged from his lips, a growl rolled devilishly from his throat. The moment I felt him begin to come, my entire body was overtaken once again by a blinding climax.
At the cessation of endorphins I felt completely hollow, bereft of all happiness. Much like a junkie only finds happiness in getting high and feels horrid when they come down. My heart and lungs felt like they were being squeezed together by an angry fist. I wanted you, more than anything in the world. I felt filthy and cold. Like I was laying naked in an open grave, bits of damp earth and dew precariously clinging to my raised flesh. I need the warmth of your embrace, the heat of your touch, the fire of your heart.
Tu me manques.
I’m in a suspended state of utter, euphoric bliss until suddenly I realize the birds have stopped singing. The once safe feeling of the surrounding untamed arboretum now feels like a prison. Nature is so fickle isn’t she? It’s as if she knows when one is in love and thus plays ones heartstrings like a violin until one feels firmly secure in ones happiness. She then waits for the perfect, crystallizing moment to strike one with lightning as she cackles and rides away on the wind.
Laying on the forest floor, now naked and alone where I was once safely clothed in the limbs and lips of my lover, tears fall rapidly from my burning eyes as if to imitate a rainstorm on a most miniature scale. The earth has hardened beneath my bruised limbs. On any other day, at any other moment, I would have predicted the coming storm and would have therefore sought shelter until it had passed. And yet for some reason unknown entirely to me, I managed to miss all the fleeting indicators of discord ahead.
I am bewildered, the contents of my skull feel muddled and disoriented. I am acutely aware of wrongdoing. I am most certain I am at fault and yet, I am at a loss as to what it is I have done wrong.
It is most fortunate no appetite stirs within me, for in this unfamiliar territory I fear mistakenly ingesting nature’s poisons more than I fear starvation.