I have come to know a certain type of person, someone with an uncanny ability to think of themselves first. This, while often being labled as selfish, seems to make this person more popular, more well-liked, skilled, and better known. It makes this person healthier, happier, more carefree, and less likely to get hurt.

Of course they care for others, but they never involve themselves too much with anyone in order to avoid dramatic situations and carrying any unnecessary weight.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, there is something tragically-poetic and romantic about being an Atlas, but at the end of the day, you are still holding the world on your shoulders and that shit is heavy."

This type of person speaks in a variety of tongues--one preset for every imaginable circumstance. Formal, friendly, academic, professional, theatrical, familiar, etc.

This person, who realized at some point that they invested too much of themselves in things that didn't produce any fruition, likely decided to step back after being bitten too many times.


This certain person does not let any of this stop them from missing the person they once were. And on occassion, usually with the person they love, they let go of everything the past once taught them and just live in the moments given to them.

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.


-->D. H. Lawrence (1918)<--

Coming of Age

//Fill me up with secrets

Then, hit the mute button.

We’ll sit in silence and pretend it’s ten years ago

Even though each night

I throw the pillow down

And ache for him

As though he is still lingering on my senses.

//I know that

(B)ehind this (b)ody of a (b)abe

All you can remember is your ba(by)

But all I can remember is last night

And the tied up tension of each lesson he taught me

Telling me to tell him where to touch.

//As I draw outlines of magnificent masterpieces onto his back

My fingers leaving nail marks like brush strokes

He pins me down,

sweet sensations not enough

Growling “Come on, baby…

you know I like it rough.”

//And just like you once filled my bottle with milk,

I shake his bottle up (and down) and pour it into my mouth on my own

Because I took the (by) out of ba(by) when I (be)came a woman

And this is my blossoming, my revolution

My spring awakening

//You used to fall in love with women like me

Students learning the Language of Anatomy

Fumbling with their fingers like an eager child learning the alphabet

He is my professor, teaching me to read with kisses

How to map out directions to treasured pleasure spots

By leaving purple bruises like a trail of fire

With

My

Teeth

//He shows me how to contract promises

Solemnly swearing that I am safe

by pressing his tongue

Against my breasts.

//You can see my rewards

My A+s written all over my neck

The gold stars stuck to my thighs

The swollen lips of victory

////////////…Stud(ying) all night paid off...////////////

//….I don’t expect you to be proud of my good grades

All you have to do

Is accept that I’m graduating from childhood

And I’m top of my class

Etch-a-sketch-a-scratching lines

of lust-inspired love designs

With bite marks only black and blue

I nibble deeper into you

As the night rolls on and lips are sealed

our heat steams over the window shield

I hold a flame between my lips

while yours leave bruises on my hips
And songs of passion fill the air
as we tug upon eachother's hair
Inhaling music and another's scent
sets for a weekend of time well spent
For these few days, I must decree
I was happy to stay at the House of Glee

Let's Get Physical

[Physical, I want to get physical... Let's get into physical]

"This is not how someone cuddles if they just want to cuddle."

I knew they had spoken about the night before--they talked about the chaotic mess that it had become, the confused and frustrated feelings, and even the phone call. As attached to technology as he is, the moment we heard his ringtone, he hated the existance of cell phones.

Now my head was in his lap, hands caressing his knee caps, upper legs, anything I could reach while the lights in the black box in front of us flashed colors. We stretched, adjusted, and laid down, entangling our limbs together like vines. If you are patient, you can literally watch a gardenia grow more and more attached to its trellis over night.

I was a gardenia. He was my trellis.

"I still stand by my previous statement."

And we kissed. Simple and afraid at first. One side afraid of rejection and the other afraid of reputation. He said "I was always jealous," "I would be angry, too," "just tell me 'no,' I'll listen," and "you're great, you really are."

There never was a weekend that flew by faster with such little sleep.
Millions of tiny moments forever imprinted in the sanctuaries of my memory, special text messages saved temporarily onto my phone, and instead of a song of romance, a song of physicality plays over the videos in my head.

From the bruises on my neck to the bitemarks on my shoulder and every other touch and taste in between, this was the saving grace of my confidence, hormones, and heart.

Whether it will also be the fall of them all later is something I lack the power to foresee.

So Glide Away on Soapy Heels

[and promise not to promise anymore]

Did you know that we hadn't made out in almost four months? It's hard to believe that someone who was in a relationship with someone for almost a year was entirely okay with not kissing with passion for four months. Isn't the first year supposed to be the honey-moon phase where everything is perfect and exciting? Where there are leaps and bounds of different terrain to discover with eachother?

His grandmother came into work today and said she can't wait to see me at the next family get-together. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we had split. How could he not inform his family? Part of me wonders if his parents would have ever known if I wasn't friends with his dad on facebook.

He talks to some girl on twitter with more interest than he ever talked to me, but I'm alright about it. I sound like a stalker, but really-it's twitter... I've been getting his updates sent to my phone since we started dating. I just recently took him off, because it was starting to feel ridiculous/stalkerish now that we don't even seem to have simple conversations anymore.

Am I jealous?
No.
Do I want him back?
...not really.

So, was I really in love then?




Abso-fucking-lutely, because it still hurts like a MoFo.
Especially when he ignores my presence/hides when I take his sister out for icecream.
Thanks, dude! You're awesome.

True Colors

[if this world makes you crazy and you've taken all you can bare
...you call me up, because you know I'll be there]

I'm done playing the love game and have come to the conclusion that it's going to be okay.
If I want to maintain this friendship, I will have to persue it, because if I stick around waiting, I will die before anything happens.
It is not going to be awkward or awful.
Nor does it dictate my happiness.
It is recreation.