11.30.09
I don't want you to take your eyes off of me
I want to walk past a little too close
I want your breathing to speak for itself
I want your attention
Even though I'm taken
I'd like you to like me
So that I can lead you on
Monday, November 30, 2009
...
11.30.09
I'm on a mission
A mission to be raped
I'll take it with pride
I'll take it like a man
Yeah
I guess it's not rape
Cause I'll like it
Yeah I'll like it
Just so he won't.
I'm on a mission
A mission to be raped
I'll take it with pride
I'll take it like a man
Yeah
I guess it's not rape
Cause I'll like it
Yeah I'll like it
Just so he won't.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
...
11.29.09
Yesterday, you walked me to my car. You tried to kiss me, but I closed the door and drove away. I wasn't angry with you. I wasn't hurt by you. I was free from you. My foot on the gas felt just the same as my hand pushing yours away from my belt buckle. It reminded me I'm in control of my life and I shouldn't feel bad about it.
For awhile I forgot a relationship is for two. Ours mainly seems to cater to you. Your kisses ignite my skin, make my toes curl, everything. I want to scream. I feel like my body is betraying me. Like a best friend who's pressuring me to do the wrong thing. The sex tricked me, like an optical illusion; I couldn't see the hurt you've caused me. But we haven't had sex since that day in my bedroom, maybe we won't ever again. I know it scared you.
I get the feeling that you think I'm lying to you. The thing is, I've never been so truthful. I kept myself quiet because that's how I've felt all these nights. I would have told you if you'd asked. You never asked.
You saw my room last week for the first time. You walked in, and lost me in the process of finding me. My room is me, materialized, but you'd never seen it before. You'd never seen me before. You finally made the connection between my love of my own vagina and how it makes me a liberated woman. You finally realized you're the player who got played. You finally noticed I love myself more than I love you.
You spat out your revelation like it was a bad thing. I apologize for not being plagued with penis envy. I apologize for being as indifferent as you. I apologize for seeing myself in the right light.
Well now I'm lying to you. It feels just like that time I hit you. I prefer the truth because at least it feels like self-defense. It's justified.
I know I've hurt you and that you've been suffering since that day in my room. I guess I'm that kind of girl; the kind that saves herself first. If you can survive me for just a little bit longer, I'll get you out of here safe and sound. I just need to find my own way out first. Otherwise, you'll never learn your lesson and you'll fall for another girl just like me. At least I hope there's other girls just like me.
Yesterday, you walked me to my car. You tried to kiss me, but I closed the door and drove away. I wasn't angry with you. I wasn't hurt by you. I was free from you. My foot on the gas felt just the same as my hand pushing yours away from my belt buckle. It reminded me I'm in control of my life and I shouldn't feel bad about it.
For awhile I forgot a relationship is for two. Ours mainly seems to cater to you. Your kisses ignite my skin, make my toes curl, everything. I want to scream. I feel like my body is betraying me. Like a best friend who's pressuring me to do the wrong thing. The sex tricked me, like an optical illusion; I couldn't see the hurt you've caused me. But we haven't had sex since that day in my bedroom, maybe we won't ever again. I know it scared you.
I get the feeling that you think I'm lying to you. The thing is, I've never been so truthful. I kept myself quiet because that's how I've felt all these nights. I would have told you if you'd asked. You never asked.
You saw my room last week for the first time. You walked in, and lost me in the process of finding me. My room is me, materialized, but you'd never seen it before. You'd never seen me before. You finally made the connection between my love of my own vagina and how it makes me a liberated woman. You finally realized you're the player who got played. You finally noticed I love myself more than I love you.
You spat out your revelation like it was a bad thing. I apologize for not being plagued with penis envy. I apologize for being as indifferent as you. I apologize for seeing myself in the right light.
Well now I'm lying to you. It feels just like that time I hit you. I prefer the truth because at least it feels like self-defense. It's justified.
I know I've hurt you and that you've been suffering since that day in my room. I guess I'm that kind of girl; the kind that saves herself first. If you can survive me for just a little bit longer, I'll get you out of here safe and sound. I just need to find my own way out first. Otherwise, you'll never learn your lesson and you'll fall for another girl just like me. At least I hope there's other girls just like me.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
...
11.28.09
The sun stabs through my shades and I still haven't slept.
It's your fault, but you're probably proud of it. It's your fault, but you're awake, too. Maybe our skin made a sleepless pact when it pushed too hard through the rest of our bodies. Maybe we're just still high on cigarettes and skipping lines and other people's spilled drinks. Either way, my gut's still got the shimmers.
I actually hate it, the whole idea of planning myself around someone else. I don't want to be quiet just because you're sleeping. I don't want to be naked just because you're sexed. I said I'd never do it. But today I went outside for a Coke and I plopped myself too close to your stairwell, and swung my legs like Alice on the Wall.
I couldn't stop laughing and I couldn't stop hating, and the fizz in my stomach turned sour and warm at the same time. And I thought if I had to be tied to you, not always but sometimes, then maybe a part of me - the one I keep ignoring - could finally keep still.
Thank God you didn't see me. But yeah, I wish you did.
The sun stabs through my shades and I still haven't slept.
It's your fault, but you're probably proud of it. It's your fault, but you're awake, too. Maybe our skin made a sleepless pact when it pushed too hard through the rest of our bodies. Maybe we're just still high on cigarettes and skipping lines and other people's spilled drinks. Either way, my gut's still got the shimmers.
I actually hate it, the whole idea of planning myself around someone else. I don't want to be quiet just because you're sleeping. I don't want to be naked just because you're sexed. I said I'd never do it. But today I went outside for a Coke and I plopped myself too close to your stairwell, and swung my legs like Alice on the Wall.
I couldn't stop laughing and I couldn't stop hating, and the fizz in my stomach turned sour and warm at the same time. And I thought if I had to be tied to you, not always but sometimes, then maybe a part of me - the one I keep ignoring - could finally keep still.
Thank God you didn't see me. But yeah, I wish you did.
...
11.28.09
To the boy who broke my bed:
I've thought about all the things I could do, but they don't count. In this town, could and can are the same difference as my heart and yours, meaning, only one of them exists.
So all the coulds - the control copy paste, the photos, the facebooks, the fits - whatever. You're more likely to wake up with a Louboutin in your ass than to see me behave like a girl in rage.
But you must know that I am. Enraged. In rage. All of it. I know you like pictures better than words, so let's try this:
Imagine a backwards balcony scene where he says, "Sneak downstairs and kiss me, I'm in love with you," and she does. Then imagine after the makeout, hazy in the lamppost and hot, he punches her. Hard. And kicks in her gut. His sneaker steps on her hand. And he leaves her, in the pink nightgown, spitting blood between lip gloss.
To the boy who broke my bed:
I put it back together. All by myself.
To the boy who broke my bed:
I've thought about all the things I could do, but they don't count. In this town, could and can are the same difference as my heart and yours, meaning, only one of them exists.
So all the coulds - the control copy paste, the photos, the facebooks, the fits - whatever. You're more likely to wake up with a Louboutin in your ass than to see me behave like a girl in rage.
But you must know that I am. Enraged. In rage. All of it. I know you like pictures better than words, so let's try this:
Imagine a backwards balcony scene where he says, "Sneak downstairs and kiss me, I'm in love with you," and she does. Then imagine after the makeout, hazy in the lamppost and hot, he punches her. Hard. And kicks in her gut. His sneaker steps on her hand. And he leaves her, in the pink nightgown, spitting blood between lip gloss.
To the boy who broke my bed:
I put it back together. All by myself.
...
11.28.09
.
I Like Fucking
.
Do you believe there's anything beyond troll guy reality?
Cause I do
.
It gets so hard
Just to be okay
Sometimes being happy
Is what I'm most afraid of
Baby, you know
It gets so hard
For me to fight
I don't know how
I guess I never did
Why don't you show me now
How to lose control
.
She's so very I don't care
She's so very I don't care
.
Just cause my world,
Sweet sister,
Is so fucking goddamn full of rape
Doesn't mean my body
Must always be a source of
Pain
No
No No No
.
She's so very I don't care
She's so very I don't care
.
Just cause I named it right here,
Sweet chickadee,
Doesn't mean for a minute
You should think
I'm opposite of anything
But if you wanna know for sure
I'll tell you
We're not going to prove
Nothing, nothing
Sitting around
Watching each other starve
What we need is action/strategy
I want it
I want it
I want it now
.
I believe in the radical possibilies of pleasure babe
I do
I do
I do.
.
I Like Fucking
.
Do you believe there's anything beyond troll guy reality?
Cause I do
.
It gets so hard
Just to be okay
Sometimes being happy
Is what I'm most afraid of
Baby, you know
It gets so hard
For me to fight
I don't know how
I guess I never did
Why don't you show me now
How to lose control
.
She's so very I don't care
She's so very I don't care
.
Just cause my world,
Sweet sister,
Is so fucking goddamn full of rape
Doesn't mean my body
Must always be a source of
Pain
No
No No No
.
She's so very I don't care
She's so very I don't care
.
Just cause I named it right here,
Sweet chickadee,
Doesn't mean for a minute
You should think
I'm opposite of anything
But if you wanna know for sure
I'll tell you
We're not going to prove
Nothing, nothing
Sitting around
Watching each other starve
What we need is action/strategy
I want it
I want it
I want it now
.
I believe in the radical possibilies of pleasure babe
I do
I do
I do.
...
11.28.09
Every fucking minute of my life I wonder why I love you. I know how I love you, how that's possible. I know.
But why?
Why the fuck do I shove so much goddamn agony in my own face, in my own heart, just so I can be with you.
I'm not the kind of girl who lets go. I'm not the kind of girl who says goodbye. It's always "see you next time"; "see you soon". Pathetically hoping (and telling you) you won't forget me. Hell, I hope you never forget me. At least not before I forget you.
You aren't even that memorable. Look at your face, look at your body, look at your heart. I can barely see it. I'd like to cremate you from my memories. Live my life again. But I never give myself the chance.
You know, I've secretly always wished I was a lesbian. And I'm being serious. I have this friend, a girl friend and I love her with all my heart. I distance myself though, because loving her is an extremely painful experience. We never fight, we always laugh and yet I can't see her like that. I always wonder why? How can I love her more than any man in the world, but I can't love her like that?
I know she could never love me romantically, just as much as I can't love her romantically. It's not a part of me. But I still can't comprehend why, because she's beautiful and she's healthy for me. She's nutrients for my heart. She's my happiness.
Then I begin to wonder why non-sexual love is never fulfilling enough. I know as humans we want sex, maybe even need it, but why can't we live by the mantra "Love your friends, fuck your enemies"? Maybe I should marry her and we can fuck men when we need to. I'm not that sexually driven anyways. We could marry for our love, solely, as opposed to the sexual relationship and love that is said to be proper and albeit conventional.
I feel silly saying these things. Almost dirty, like it's wrong in some way. I'm not a lesbian. You see, being a lesbian would make this okay for me to say. But I'm not, and so this makes everything I say completely new, different to me. I feel selfish, wanting to keep her to myself, even though friendship should be more free than that.
Maybe I'm just sick of men.
Every fucking minute of my life I wonder why I love you. I know how I love you, how that's possible. I know.
But why?
Why the fuck do I shove so much goddamn agony in my own face, in my own heart, just so I can be with you.
I'm not the kind of girl who lets go. I'm not the kind of girl who says goodbye. It's always "see you next time"; "see you soon". Pathetically hoping (and telling you) you won't forget me. Hell, I hope you never forget me. At least not before I forget you.
You aren't even that memorable. Look at your face, look at your body, look at your heart. I can barely see it. I'd like to cremate you from my memories. Live my life again. But I never give myself the chance.
You know, I've secretly always wished I was a lesbian. And I'm being serious. I have this friend, a girl friend and I love her with all my heart. I distance myself though, because loving her is an extremely painful experience. We never fight, we always laugh and yet I can't see her like that. I always wonder why? How can I love her more than any man in the world, but I can't love her like that?
I know she could never love me romantically, just as much as I can't love her romantically. It's not a part of me. But I still can't comprehend why, because she's beautiful and she's healthy for me. She's nutrients for my heart. She's my happiness.
Then I begin to wonder why non-sexual love is never fulfilling enough. I know as humans we want sex, maybe even need it, but why can't we live by the mantra "Love your friends, fuck your enemies"? Maybe I should marry her and we can fuck men when we need to. I'm not that sexually driven anyways. We could marry for our love, solely, as opposed to the sexual relationship and love that is said to be proper and albeit conventional.
I feel silly saying these things. Almost dirty, like it's wrong in some way. I'm not a lesbian. You see, being a lesbian would make this okay for me to say. But I'm not, and so this makes everything I say completely new, different to me. I feel selfish, wanting to keep her to myself, even though friendship should be more free than that.
Maybe I'm just sick of men.
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