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.

Where'd You Go?

[i miss you so]

I told my mother the night I knew I was in love with him that when the relationship ends, under any circumstances, that it was going to be hard and that my heart would break.

I pulled into my driveway after work today and turned off the car, leaving the radio playing. The song was "Living on a Prayer." When we were going through our first rough spot, we were driving in his car and talking it through. He took my hand and we sang this song. Because of Bon Jovi and the impeccable timing of the radio, I believed everything would be okay and in that moment, it truly was.

Oh, we're halfway there. Oh, living on a prayer! Take my hand and we'll make it I swear. Oh, living on a prayer!

I rested my forehead at noon on the steering wheel and clutched four and eight o'clock with my hands and I cried. In those tears washed away every hope, promise, and dream that I had concocted, been told, or held onto throughout the last year. I suppose I knew all along that he wouldn't be the man I ended up with, so I'm not entirely sure why I am so effected by all of this. But then again, the answer is simple.

I miss him.

I just know he doesn't miss me.

I still find myself thinking "my boyfriend."

"Oh, my boyfriend has that shirt!"
"My boyfriend went to MSU!"
"My boyfriend" this.
"My boyfriend" that.

Then I stop myself. I try to say "my friend" this/that. But we've sent maybe four texts to eachother since last week. Are we friends? He doesn't contact me. We didn't keep the date to hang out like we said we would.

I have zero closure. This. Sucks.

[feels like it's been forever, since you've been gone]

Using Your Headphones to Drown Out Your Mind

It was so easy and the words so sweet-- you can't remember, you try to move your feet.

The curtain opens to reveal a girl who likes to wear black-buckled high heels, flowy skirts and screen printed tshirts. She stuffs carrots into her mouth and drinks bottles upon bottles of water because she feels fat. Her friends run in from down center and surround her, encouraging her to feel happy, and she does. She looks to the left, where a spotlight fades up to full on a boy with a boy whose head is a black bush of beard. He is sitting on a bed with an invisible laptop, mimicking consumption of food, and eventually lays down to sleep. The spot fades down to 0%, the girls head drops, and the curtain closes.

My advice to you, whether you would like it or not, is as followed in this blog post.

When reality hits you in the face with a baseball bat, do not try to hide behind crocodile tears. Swallow your pride, man up, and face the consequences. After you accept your fate, learn from your mistakes. Acknowledging that you fucked up does not fix the problem.

When you obtain happiness, remember to keep it. If something or someone puts a smile on your face, don't ignore it and stuff your reactions in the closet. Let it show. React to it. Show emotion.

If you aren't ready for a relationship, do not begin one with someone. Especially if you don't want to act like a boyfriend/girlfriend.

If you are not sure what love is, whether you love someone, or how to express love, do not say those three domesticating words.

Watching television with your significant other does not count as a date. It barely counts as spending time with eachother. Especially if you fall asleep every time you see them.

Always celebrate holidays, even if they are superficial and ridiculous. If they do something nice for you, like drive you somewhere, return the favor somehow. Don't be spoiled and take advantage of it.

If you are dealing with distance, call frequently. Every day if possible. Talk to your loved one so they know you care. If you are not honestly missing the person you are dating, thinking about them, yearning to talk with them, hear their voice, be with them... why are you in a relationship?

Grow up fast, because the world is not going to wait for you. When someone loves you enough to let you catch up, don't dawdle and take your sweet time. Be courteous and pick up your pace, especially if they are waiting with a smile and an outreached hand. If you take forever to get to them, they will get tired of waiting and move on.

When you make a mistake or do something wrong, apologize in a way that makes up for it. Send flowers, sing a song, read them a story, give them a back massage, take them on a picnic---something. Don't just expect it all to go away after you say you're sorry. And when you say you are going to fix something, fix it. Don't forget about it.

Learn to take on the responsibility of the real world. You cannot rely on your family forever. You have to be independent. Save your money, work hard, study even harder, and communicate with and love the people in your life, because if you take them for granted, they will turn bitter and write blog posts about you, both hoping you will and will not read them, simultaneously, because they are mean, but typically tell the truth.

By the way, girls don't like to be strung along. They also hate it when beards aren't well-kept, hair isn't cut, and fingernails are non-existant. If they try to look nice for YOU, you should do the same. This part was mostly bitterness.

This will end my angst-ridden, obligatory break up post. Honestly? After almost a year of nearly nonexistant effort, it's a surprise that it still hurts when it comes to an end. Perhaps it's because I remained faithful to a boyfriend who was only in my life once or twice a month and yet somehow, after affection and love despite mild craziness due to life-altering events, I was still not worth his effort.

I won't make that mistake again, and I hope you won't make THESE mistakes again.
Be better for the next girl, at least.

[/end]

If I Were a Boy

If I were a boy, I think I could understand how it feels to love a girl. I swear I’d be a better man. I’d listen to her, because I know how it hurts when you lose the one you wanted, because he’s taken you for granted. I’d put myself first and make the rules as I go, because I know that she’d be faithful and waiting for me to come home.

Last week, I learned about "Penis Envy" in Psychology 100. I find this concept both ridiculous, as well as correct. I feel like I would be far more superior as a man. I would be an above average boyfriend, performer, scholar, etc.

I would treat a girl so right.
I wish those who are lucky enough to be a man would learn to dig into their talents and opportunities and show us girls some mercy and understanding. What I wouldn't love to be showered in affection and protection.

But you’re just a boy and you don’t understand. You wish you were a better man, but you don’t listen to her. You don’t care how it hurts until you lose the one you wanted, cause you’ve taken her for granted. But you’re just a boy.

Where am I Going?

At best, this week can be defined as an alteration of my romantic fantasies. This has been brought to my attention in ways most unsuited for my emotions' rest. Symptoms include, but are not limited to, low self-esteem, dazing off, and a feeling of general worthlessness. One might inquire what brings a shiny, happy person with a heart the size of a dinner plate to teeter-totter on the fulcrum of the subject that is love. Well, it is not the work of a gentleman that leaves my heart uneasy, but that of an unreasonably simple boy.

I am convinced, under some restrictions, that he does not yet know what it is to stumble straight into love. Who am I to blame him? I know little more than he does. Is it perhaps my own idiocy that has led me to believe I have fallen from heaven into the arms of a savior? To expect not only my broken wings to be tenderly loved, but the parts of me that are fully in tact as well is almost selfish.

My hands are too small for his and my thoughts, while bright, don't offer much stimulation by the time they fall from my mouth. The words are a cascading waterfall of inferior topics. His thoughts are rarely articulated, his feeling even less. Do I overcompensate?

Where will this path that I have chosen lead me?
I fear a dead-end, but I'm hesitant to turn back. I've put so much faith in this choice already.

If only he could convince me of my choice and give me something to work towards-but even he doesn't know at the end of the road. He doesn't even know what he wants to be there.

I guess I'll just keep walking until I'm tired.

Privacy

It is the thought

Of naivety,

And pregnant bliss

That one may

S

T

U

M

B

L

E

Upon such a soul,

That may exist

In the heart of hearts,

And the greatest

of Kingdoms: Love

.

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Katrina Robinson.

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:)