so writing has not happened. a lot has, maybe I will write about it sometime. not today, today i am just posting to mainly myself that writing should be happening.
“silly girl, you bled for him, didn’t you? grew out your hair, shrunk down your waist, let him fuck you with the lights off and paint his name in blood onto your back. silly girl, forgive yourself for the bad dates, for saying yes, for meaning no, for the diets, the discounted liquor, the makeup you painted onto your face like camouflage. your dreams were made for the dark, they bloom and grow inside of you. your womb, a greenhouse. your hands, wind. you were in love except he didn’t love you, but you tried, didn’t you? silly girl, you are not the most reliable narrator. all those nights you waited up to hear from him, phone poised in your hand like a gun. you’ve always loved things that were the worst for you: trans fat, sweet tea, Black Friday sales, boys whose hands feel like triggers. you’ll grow out of it, or you won’t, and you’ll forget to delete the voicemails, the emojis you sent when you couldn’t express yourself in words. just look at the quiet shipwreck of you. it was always about the drowning, and you never learned to swim.”
do you ever wonder if some one unknown to yourself is finding you interesting. i mean, other than those who post comments, click ‘like’ buttons, or double tap photos. those who in secret read and hold onto your shared thoughts and photos – those who think to themselves “she must be an interesting person, she has a Thomas Tallis station on Pandora.”
i hope that some one views my work and is interested in the person behind it.
( i do have a Thomas Tallis station, and it is quite awesome)
Opinion is really the lowest form of human knowledge. It requires no accountability, no understanding. The highest form of knowledge is empathy, for it requires us to suspend our egos and live in another’s world. It requires profound purpose larger than the self kind of understanding.
– Bill Bullard
seeking others and their pain, their struggle, their hope, and their dreams is the only way to truly understand yourself. as a know-it-all, i have struggled with this most of my life; seeking to only be understood and validated. turning the table to understand and let another persons hope reside in me, even if just for a brief moment hopefully will help my heart grow and my ego shrink. #workinprogress
“When I make him laugh, I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.“
– Drew Barrymore
when i was at #UCO i took a public speaking course – it was during the summer and a sophomore level course, so by no means was it intellectually challenging; it was often times quite funny. the professor, at first impression seemed like a ditzy, unorganized, soccer mom that was addicted to #Adderall and Starbucks; she was actually very well read, quite well spoken, and a seasoned speaker.
our last assignment was a speech to last 3-5mins, with visual aides and media. i spoke about a photographer, it was awesome, i got an “A”. that is not the story. the story about a fellow classmate, you’ve had him in at least one or your classes – the slacker, uninterested, bored most of the time, always late, leaves at break – you know him (or her). being that he worked for a major golf course in the area as a groundsmen, he chose to speak on grass. yes, thats right ladies and gents – grass. he spoke for about 2.01mins about how the grass is watered daily, and mowed, how its hard to keep green; and just when we could not take anymore knowledge – he busts out a foam dixie plate with some picked grass on it. not from the golf course, but from the lawn outside of the building – we all knew this because it was brown, and dirty, and long. he got a mouthful from professor awesomepants, about how he could have done this, or that, or spoke more about said whatever. she gave him a “D” out loud.
i tell you this story because i have mentioned it to my now high school aged son, in regards to his caliber of work. “no one wants to listen to you talk about a plate of grass…” or “this is the plate of grass, do something more creative!”
the preverbal plate of grass… do better.
a wise lady gave me a great piece of advice a long while ago… that “people will let you down, but you can count on God – so you pray for them to be blessed so that they can be the blessing you need from them.” it’s not an easy concept and one that i often forget, though today i was reminded. sometimes i place too much on others and forget to allow God to work laterally for me.
my creativity lately has been dead. i have no idea what i am doing, or in which direction i want to go.
if you have seen Labyrinth (1986 The Jim Henson Company) you may relate to me telling you i feel like Sarah when she first enters the labyrinth. i do not know which direction will result in freedom and either direction looks the same and unending. yes, this is depressing. no, i am no depressed. i am frustrated, because i know there is a secret exit somewhere guarded by a little worm who would rather help me forget my goal than help me attain it.
i have nothing clever to end with. i wish i did.
feel free to share.
“i’ve always been the other woman.”
i find it very difficult to deal with straightforward. i can understand mystery, lies, falsehoods, and subliminal – after all, those ask to be understood. but, when someone just offers you the answer first – how do you take that?
when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’
but the thing is,
when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same
you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression
and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two
because no one ever taught her the difference
‘boys will be boys’
‘that’s how he shows his love’
and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips
she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist
the one adult she tells scolds her
‘you know he loses his temper easily
why the hell did you have to provoke him?’
so she shrinks
folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice
by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well
be quiet, be soft, be easy
don’t give him a reason
but for all her efforts, he still finds one
‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head
‘boys will be boys
he doesn’t mean it
he can’t help it’
she’s 7 years old on the playground again
with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love
because boys will be boys baby don’t you know
that’s just how he shows he cares
she’s 18 now and they’re drunk
in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined
like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations
she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment
she touches the bruise the next day
boys will be boys
aggression, affection, violence, love
how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war
she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises
one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body
boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps
he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh
doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?
it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground
so I guess what I’m trying to say is
i will talk until my voice is hoarse so that my little sister understands that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things
baby they exist in difference universes
my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now
don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys
don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that
if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love
baby love won’t hurt when it comes
you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer
the only reason he should ever reach out his hand
is to hold yours
Fortesa Latifi – Boys Will Be Boys
(And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)
More or less
I need you less.
(I crave you insatiably.)
Sappho, from Fragments
there is a funny thing that happens at the beginning of each new year; everyone reminds you that this is the time to start anew and fresh, live in the moment and try new things. i am not sure i feel that way this year. last year at this time i was getting ready to move to a new city, start a new career, leave everything behind to live in the moment. it was easy to embrace the unknown and live within the seconds that were just happening around me. this year, when i have been struggling to find my place in my return to captivity – my return home to Oklahoma; i am lost here. the new year brings only more indication of being a captive in this desert. it is difficult to live in the moment when each moment is the same.
Come talk to me in idioms. Show up at my door smiling. Kiss me. Loom over me. Do anything, absolutely anything to me. Let me put my hands on every part of you. Tell me what has broken your heart. Go where you need to go, just come back to me. Make me your home. Love me. I can’t take another moment thinking of the rough of your jaw against my shoulder. Pull me as close as it’s possible to be. Come back. Come back. Come back to me.
September 1st, Clementine von Radics
i want to be simple
because i am not.
i ache to be loved
because i feel hated.
i search for a home
as i myself am homeless.
the more i put into these things the less
they seem to be in my reach.
how can i say that without sounding needy?
“If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.”
-Clementine von Radics
i am losing faith in this ideal. i desire a husband who loves me more than the earth and fucks like Christian Grey, who lets me stay home with the kids and bake cookies. i want my own home that i get to decorate with love and fill with laughter and friends. i want a job that i can be a rockstar at, that allows me to save up and pay off my stupid student loans so i am able to stay at home. i want more babies. i want date nights and evenings with intelligent conversation, great sex and cuddles. i want a man that is strong enough to lead my boys and love them like his own. To take them camping and fishing and shopping and to bookstores and dinners and teach them how to talk to girls. i want the dream. i don’t want to settle for shit.
when does this happen, how long does it take. how much faith do i have to show? how can i continue to hurt and pray and wait and plead – for nothing. where are you God?
She deserves better, you say. I say: You’re a goddamn coward. What she deserves is an actual person she can connect with. She deserves you, or me or the entire world; she deserves someone achingly real and honest. She deserves a human being equally raw to pursue her and love her and, perhaps, destroy her emotionally, but she deserves all that as well. She doesn’t deserve anyone’s sugary fairytale. She deserves to float freely, with you, or me, or the world, into the very depths of her own psychosynthesis. She deserves to explore the meaning of the word “intimacy”, with someone beside her that will care regardless. She fucking deserves all of it. So, pluck up the courage and be with her or leave her in peace but don’t you dare “sell” her your own “inadequacy” as a lie so that, again, you manage to comfort your conscience and eventually come to feel that you love her exactly because you’re letting her go. Because, darling, that’s bullshit. That’s only you own little self-created lie laying behind a much bigger lie; it’s not even properly concealed within itself, you fucking idiot.
-a the things you’d wish you’d say
i am sick of sleeping alone
praying for someone to fill the space between the sheets and sunrise.
i am sick of hearing “in due time” or
“the right person is out there!”
where? where the fuck are you?
did you fall down, get lost, forget about me?
i am aching to be your wife, for “honey im home”
for arguments about the kids and make up sex
for dinner dates and sunday morning snuggles
im scared it will never happen
i am not desperate
i am without my pair.
i have no right
to miss you
you have no right to
when my heart is very heavy i listen to the chorals of Thomas Tallis and i fly far away.
“the first word I teach my daughter will be “no”
she will sing it to me and scream it at me
and I will never tell her to quiet down
she will say it when I tell her to go to bed
when I tell her she can’t have anymore candy
or watch anymore television
“no” will be my daughter’s favorite word
not only will I teach her how to say it
but I will teach her to repeat it over and over
again until every single atom in her tiny little body
hums with it
If it makes her less soft than the other girls
I will take her to museums and show her
what marble and stone can become
I will brush her hair and let her wear whatever
whatever that makes her
she will know
that the world has been built upon “no’s”
upon rejections and refusals and swords
if this makes her a warrior in a field of
flowers, then she will walk without fear
of being trampled on
the first word I teach my daughter will be
and when she grows up
in a world that tells her
she can’t walk down the street by herself
that “no” will be heard
it will roar and echo down the block
and she will never be told to keep
she will not know the meaning of the word.”
“I stay up
until 2 am
it as at this time
I can use the lateness
as an excuse
to say terribly emotional things
and get away with saying them.
Let me tell you
I am constantly
thinking of these things
that I say to you
at 2 am.”
— 2 am means freedom. (via youmakemewannabebrave)
i don’t like sweaters
they are fake.
wrap me in your arms
and let me fade away.