penis won't quit

i'm being kissed.

i sort of wake up, who is this? i kiss back and feel the rhythm. i know this kiss. i'm still drunk. i'm mostly asleep, but i know this kiss, so i let myself be kissed. twist and kiss.

there is a penis. it is hard and it's prodding against my ass. it's good but i don't want it right now. i don't know. i don't know anything right now. i keep kissing.

there are fingers. there are fingers probing into me. they feel good, but i really just want to sleep. i feel sick from last night's alcohol. i push away. i just want to sleep.

there's the sleep. and my pj's are slipping down. i'm mostly limp, but kinda kissing. i just want to sleep. i don't feel good.

there are the fingers.

there is the penis.

we're kissing.

ish.

i guess we're doing this. i'm not convinced i want to do this. but we're doing it, so i guess we're doing it.

this isn't how i want you, but this is how i have you.

your penis is in me. it's happened before. i kissed you. i didn't struggle. but i didn't say a word. i didn't really want this. not now.

this isn't how i want you.

...maybe this is how i'll have you.

i think that for fifteen seconds until the nausea from last night takes over. i can't have you like this. you can't take me like this. yet you keep pushing. please stop. just let me sleep. i don't feel good. i don't want to. you stop. i shouldn't have to say thank you for stopping.

i shouldn't be used to people with penis' not stopping.

what happened to our love?

i'm almost 27 years old and i have no clue who i am. i'm struggling with this very concrete idea of personality and sexuality and i can't make myself conform. all i know is i hate the fact that i love you.

dear god, please help me stop.

little me

Hey little me,

I miss you. I just really (and I mean really) looked at the scar we got in Benton Harbor for the first time in awhile. That time we broke the glass and it sliced up our wrist.

Usually when I think about you I am filled with regret about not being aware of pretty much anything. Like how people behave, or details to important situations. All I have are blips. I think we did a damn good job of forgetting almost everything. I vacillate between wishing I could remember and being thankful that I can't. I wish you'd focused more on school, that you actually cared. But I know we had bigger fish to fry/too much on our plate/{insert another food reference for being overwhelmed here}. Did you really have that much to worry about? I mean realistically. Or are we weak? Was double manipulation too much to handle so you just stopped everything? I wish I could go back and rewrite it all, it would have been much easier to learn how to be a person over 26 years rather than the past 8. Who would we be if we hadn't gone through all of that?

You were so tough in that hospital. Filled with people covered with real injuries, bleeding from the head or covered in sores (yuck). It was dingy and gross; not a place anyone wants to be bleeding. I still have the marks from where the stitches were.Whoever stitched us up didn't do a very good job, the stitches are all over the place. It was our first injury, and it was so exciting! Only a weirdo finds being injured this interesting and fun. It's only fun at first, casts suck. Especially in the summer, and crutches are the worst in the winter. Plus it's expensive.

If we're in some sort of time continuum would you please start paying more attention? And try, please learn how to try. Ignore the adults in your family and just try to be stronger than you think you can. I hate to be a 26 year old asking an 8 year old to be stronger for her sake, but we really need this. I miss your innocence though. Were we ever really innocent? Gosh it's hard to remember things accurately.

formal complaints

At least I feel safer. On lock-down, but safer. Who knew that protection could feel so isolating and confining? I guess everyone. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I’m definitely scared. Those bug eyes, the weird set to his mouth that spits out a drunken slur. Leaning over with his shirt unbuttoned exposing his wife beater that covers his weird alien like belly. Men shouldn’t be pear shaped. I just don’t know how it went from annoying to full-blown creepy so quickly. I guess telling a coworker that you want to fuck them multiple times and then when they say no reply with “you can’t change it” (or something to that effect).

Growing up as a woman right now is difficult. I’m 26 and still growing up, ideally you shouldn’t ever stop, right? How does one find a balance between femininity and strength? Gumption exists, but can you have gumption without seeming butch? 

The fear of fear and loneliness are pervasive. The control these two debilitating emotions have over my life is embarrassing and well, gross. I don’t really share, but I’m sure I’m showing this to those around me. I’ve never been very good at keeping my cards close to my chest. My arm hurts. My foot hurts. I’m fucking sick of it. I’m annoyed by the emotional cliff diving. By the lack of challenging, well, thought-provoking, experiences in my day to day life. I miss actively learning. And I’m not referring to the insidious life lessons, but to the regular problem solving and flexing my muscles. I have a need to problem solve at work, but I have almost no control which makes problem solving difficult.

I find myself in a near constant state of longing and a lack of understanding as to how I can quell this emotion. What do I want? and, how do I get it? Seem to be ever present questions. I want stability, I want to be known, I want to make a difference, I want to love and be loved with equal amazing vigor. I want to be the person I imagine I am. To be strong and sweet, vivacious and charming, genuinely kind but not a doormat. I want to know myself and to be ok with that and to let others know who I am, but to also learn how to protect myself. I want to understand hurtful things without feeling the pain for too long. I want to be healthy.

I want to let go. Of the outcome, the reaction, of him, of needing their acceptance or to the answer to “why”.

My place is small. An almost perfect little artist’s studio. Currently messy as shit, clean clothes carpet the floor, my paintings cover most of the walls and I find myself scouring the internet trying to find other cool stuff. I once heard someone say that it looked like their personality exploded all over their apartment; I want my place to look like that. Too much going on, but still perfect. I’m not sure how to balance the different facets of my personality, do I find a middle ground or am I super (Midwestern) surfer one day and preppy lady the next? My moods tend to change during the day and who I feel like in the morning might not be quite right by lunchtime. What’s a lady to do? 

only the beginning

I am a writer. I aspire to someday be paid to do so, hopefully, this day will be here sooner rather than later. While I'm trying to do this I realize that I need to hold myself accountable and not let my fear of failure control me anymore. This blog is here to do just that. My goal is to write at least a page a day. Short stories, poems, reviews, whatever strikes my fancy as long as I write it. I need to get out of the cubicle life :) ready, set, go...