I

Expectations

I wrote a couple of lines and it wasn’t what was inside. I figured maybe I should explain what happened this time. Maybe I need a disclaimer before I undoubtedly spill my heart and my mind on these keys. I figured I’ll do that tomorrow. 


With so much love in this world, why did I love you? With so little time that you had, why did you agree on loving me? I don’t need a philosophical good-bye. I don’t want your speech. Spare me how I will appreciate this later, and do away with how good of a person you are. Don’t remind me that this was for us…this was for you.

It will pass. Everything always does. The echo of my mom in my head.

I can be bitter and throw back how selfish and insensitive it was to throw me away at my hour of need. I can curse your name. I can cry all night…again.

And I will, because I am human. I’m not afraid of my feelings, and contradictory to your belief, this is how I handle them, and I do it well.

There’s nothing wrong with me. I am not damaged. I do not need to be needed. I do not need to be validated for my growth. I am a wonderful being, and you will never take that away.

I will be wanted.

One day by you, then I won’t want you.

And one day by another, who never see me in a dim light.

As much as I try to understand, some words can never be forgotten.

I will handle my illness on my own. I’m sorry I reached out to you for comfort. Actions really do speak louder than words, ironically you would always tell me.

And as I cried, fear of what the doctors would say…you walked away.

I will not wish harm. I will not wish this on you either, because I am stronger than you…I can take this.

It will pass, everything always does.

So have my expectations of you.

But never of I.

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about a boy...

Twenty-five. Twenty-six.

I am going to be twenty-six years old and once again got dumped. I’m not sure what’s the point of telling someone that you love them. Not entirely sure what’s the point of telling a person all of your secrets. We seem to invest so much of ourselves into a person at the risk that any moment this individual may leave, and not only with your pieces, but with a far greater trophy; one’s heart.

It seems to be as time goes by humans want someone to spend the rest of their life with into old age. The future scares me, as it does for many people. What is the guarantee that you will be with a person forever? What is the guarantee of anything? There isn’t.

What’s so hard of enjoying someone in the present? More. Enough. What is enough?

Life is a choice. Everyday you choose something. You choose to have a good day. You choose to press the snooze button. You choose to go back on your phone and look at old photos, cough. Life is what you make it.

As I was being dumped, which by the way was a mess due to my OCD of needing ‘closure,’ which also wasn’t granted,  I saw a change in his tone. During the midst of my tears he told me “This is life. You don’t get what you want.” How could someone say that? That’s not life. That’s survival. I was brought up with the notion if you want something you go out and get it; you give it your all. I was under the simple thought that if you want someone, be with them, why was it so hard? Contradictory statements were all that I got. “I love you, and I want to be with you, but I don’t want to work it out anymore.” This is what I got. This is what I was left with. Confusion. Obviously, he didn’t want it hard enough.

This was a person who loved me more than I ever knew. I knew he loved me, I absolutely knew he loved me. Yet, in that moment, I couldn’t convince myself that he did. The glass was shattered. He no longer felt and thought with his heart, his actions and words were sharp, cold, and analytical. Being in love blinds us from logic, while simply loving a person is enough to see what the world sees; for the person to back away and think with logic. This is how I knew it was done.

I am going to be twenty-six and had an interesting twenty-five. I got to spend it with a person that I truly loved. I wasn’t settling, I wasn’t looking. This guy just came to me. Sparks flew and I fell in love. It didn’t happen over night, but once I let the past go I was ready to take this person’s hand. Maybe I dropped the past too late? Maybe fear was the beast to blame? I won’t know. I didn’t want to be another lesson, or learn anything. I don’t even want to figure out what went wrong. Twenty-five pushed myself in this world than most years. Twenty-five gave me someone who I’ll always remember. Someone who actually got me. Didn’t turn me away while I went crazy, and who I found more than comfort in his arms. We were the same height. He had a tortoise. And we were two years and one day apart. Within that year I felt love a second time around, felt a person crawl under my skin, had him in my mind, and he stepped inside my heart. People stay as long as they need to be, if that’s what you believe. People stay as long as they want to be, what I believe.

As long as you fight for anything with your heart, you will not hold regrets.

I fought.

I lost the battle.

Yet not the war.

Twenty-six, I await you with welcoming arms.

 

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Word Vomit

Memory Serves

Memory serves nothing good.

an escape, that’s what is left behind.

but it’s all you

left in me

that he sees.

what angle can I use,

what line should I cross,

to look the other way?

time weaves us all

in the basket that can’t hold my tears.

what is left?

memory serves liars.

Sadistic, masochistic, pathetic, perfectionists that hate the reflection of themselves in others.

who to hate?

I want to create something

more than a fleeting orgasm

it’ll last till the next

and I’ll do it again to get that high

one thing I can control

and I can’t anymore

and nothing is left but the thoughts.

my eyes leave his

pray for blindness.

let me feel.

memory serves the damned.

 

 

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LIfe Journey

Salt…

There’s an adoration

that’s waiting to be born

I’m killing time, while we draw our lines

and hypocrisy and jealously consumes my present being

I laugh it off in his arms

and remind myself that this is good for me

and I over think all the possibilities

and reasons for his charm

I lay awake in his bed with words I wrote for you

my quiet preconceived thoughts of you

the highly anticipated, deceitful screw

and the lines get wider as time pushes them apart

I’m holding on to memories, oh I wish I was at the start

and I dial for your voice but hear her questioning mine

hypocrisy and jealously now lead me to spite

and I’ll run, and I’ll run again

my adoration already lost her moon

and I’ll run, and I’ll run

…to forget you

and we keep hiding the inevitable with old, “I love you’s”

and we keep hurting to erase one another

I scratch at every pore to scrape my imperfections

I try to seek the new

dirty fingernails hold our secrets,

hush salty lips impressed in time

if you stay, if you stay, don’t go away, if I stay, it will pay off soon

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How I Met Jane, Sex and Ex

What Gets You Off?

I have so many lies that I’m honest.

I always think of the day where everything will blow up in my face, it’ll all be out, and I cringe momentarily…but then…I’m free.

Free of what? These are self-inflicted wounds that I hound on.

I think to myself why I can’t let go of my ex emotionally. He’s 2,000 miles away and we talk all the time. We talk like nothing ever happened, as if I never came to him saying I’m slowly leaving you but can’t let you go because  it’s my turn to be a selfish human being.

Because I will say this numerous times,  humans are sick sadistic, masochistic animals, whether you believe it or not. There’s no other explanation for this, for what we do.

For who I am that people get the tidbits of, due to my selective honesty, looping through the technicalities of honesty and lying.

I keep repeating that I am a horrible person. I mention this and people don’t believe what horrible actions I can inflict on others or what I’m referring to.

The people who I hate and get disgusted with are the people who reflect myself. People like me.

I can only be honest is in writing, to strip this all away, dissect my thoughts, and hear it to myself so maybe one day I can  have an answer.

The truth be told is that I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore. I shouldn’t have to think how I feel, I shouldn’t have to give something a chance to feel either.

This is just a rant, no real purpose, no story to tell. These are just words that millions of people have thought, I am no different, neither are you.

We’re the few though that try on a daily basis to be honest and not get fucked on a daily basis, and if we do, we take it and show to the world that it doesn’t hurt.

Tell me where it hurts?

Ask yourself that.

I did. Not sure where. I seem to always morph these thoughts and feelings into anger. I thought I was over the anger phase, how many years will this take? For me to not lose it when a male low life customer tries to touch me, when I get screwed out of a car-again, money, time, youth, and any innocence and shreds of hope left.

All of that is happening right now, but I was born into that, I’ve lived that forever. There’s more…under.. under the casual sex, the need and crave of a gentle touch. The unattached scared responses of someone falling for you and you know that you might break their heart. The manipulation. The need to be alone, along with the fear. People like me. Fucked up people who have intimacy issues but beg a part of themselves to be fucked hard because that is what we deserve. Deserve what? For what? Nothing. Not a damn thing. Just a feeling.

People like me.

That are constantly worried about time. They measure it, count it and ironically waste it but needed a chunk put aside specifically to waste.

That worry about things that they created in their heads.

I’m a horrible person that needs another horrible person. To use and be used. To figure out what I’m using for. The appeal of an addict; getting off to nothing.

 

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How I Met Jane, I, LIfe Journey

Change: A note from the author (me)

Someone told me that I changed, that I’m not the same anymore. I simply said, of course, when will you?

Not sure if this is yet another trial of adolescents, growing up, reaching the peak of adult hood and notifying the difference between growing up and aging. All of the above.

What angers me the most is how I want to punch certain people in the throat, but am trying my best to let this all go, for the sake of my own growth and prosper in life.

It was a friends graduation party last night. I was sent a sort of last-minute un-vitation, if I may quote from Seinfeld. The oddest collection of people were at that gathering. I’m not sure why but it bothered me. One was my best friend about 5 years ago, another was a close friend, one was a past lover who I may have written about, and others were people we all grew up with. No one really new. Just this bunch. This bunch that hated each other, liked each other, and talked so much crap, yet I was the “bad person.”

Yes, this angers me.

Looking at certain pictures just brought back memories. Besides that it brought back where I came from, especially 5 years ago.

I found pieces of paper ripped out from an old journal I had. It was a record of when my family and myself lived in a hotel. It was just the scene. All I wrote about was where I was sitting, asking myself questions, and just observing. The smallest detail of when I wrote about my mother applying her make-up made me cry. I kept it in for so long.

I read this to her aloud and I broke down.

I don’t know if it was for any self-inflicted memory it brought back or out of joy that it was over.

All I could remember, from this, to those pictures is how those “friends” were never really there. They seemed to feed off of my misfortunes. Feeling sorry doesn’t count as friendship. Anyone could feel sorry for something and walk on by. The words ” you are playing the victim” murmured in my background. This is what I was told.

A part of me wishes for those people to feel certain things to understand, but I know I’ve changed when I understand this isn’t important anymore, it is in the past.

So, yes, of course I’ve changed. WE all do. I can say with a strong soul and heart that I’ve changed for the better, and will keep changing for the better. That’s when you know who are your “friends.” People who understand the differences or distance and pure heartily respect and encourage the well-being for yourself.

After I graduate on my own terms, get a better job and satisfy every goal that I have, I will be more than happy that I changed.

Evolve into something better.

Don’t dissolve to feel better.

On an unrelated note, I have ditched work to continue my essay on business ethics, how ironic.

-Cheers!

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about a boy...

Give me a sign…without the fine.

” I’m bad luck to be around”

“what, no, it’s not your fault.”

“every time we hang out something happens. not speaking about sex.”

“like what?”

“like what? they just towed your truck because I’m here. You got every single parking ticket due to me. you got pulled over, because of me. and for some odd reason i always accidentally hit you in the eye.”

he laughs in between a smile momentarily distracting himself from the current situation. tallying up what I mentioned knowing it’s all true, as if weighing if it was all worth it.

“hmm…you’re right.”

“yes, I am. now you owe $345 to get a truck out of the pound that isn’t even yours! because of me.”

“it’s ok.” again, momentarily distracting himself from the strain of bad luck that happened within 2 hours of  us having sex. A $345 night of passion between ex-lovers. He seemed to ride it off. he weighed it in front of me, as his eyes met mine.

I think I was worth it.

It wasn’t the time to smile but I couldn’t help myself in that moment. I was asking for signs left and right, and maybe this was one. the silver lining of the night; staying there. I quickly passed these thoughts to the corner to later be dwelled and analyzed upon. back to his eyes I went.

“by the way, thanks for the ride to my interview. again if you didn’t drive me, they wouldn’t have towed your truck.”

“anytime.”

I had a job interview yesterday and the only one that came to my rescue was my “ex.” i just wasted my gas money on the previous interview, which seemed like a waste of time looking back, and no one cared enough to help me out or even stress that I am trying to get my life back. It would’ve taken 5 busses for me to get to the block of orange for my interview which broke down to at least 4 hours of brutal travel. For that amount of time I would’ve gone to Vegas, drank, and done incredibly stupid things.

I think the interview went fine, considering it’s the same company I worked for before in San Francisco, just different location. I’ll know within 3 days. After the stupidest questions to describe what I did in said situations and how much I can kiss a customers butt, I got a tour of the store. I applied extra chapstick that day.

I stuttered towards the end clicking my heels to push out the words stuck in my throat. She didn’t mind. The short, blonde, porcelain princess that was across from me smiled the whole time. I thought it was over but there was only a 2 minute break before the second manager came in to grill me like a cheese sandwich. Out of all the people I didn’t think this woman would be a familiar face. A washed out bubbly girl entered breaking the awkwardness that we know each other. Of course she was a former manager in my last store within the company. We never really saw eye to eye and I did my best to pucker up. Again, having the chapstick handy. She was the final say and I now worry about the longest 3 days of my life.

25 minutes passed and I went out to meet my ex and go on with our day. Again, in an attempt of trying to hold on to each other we developed some sort of friendship, or relationship that is a mutant with no name. We opened up on the ride back to his house and simply vented the insanity that we deal with daily.

I wore Oxford heels, tights, a black skirt and a leopard blouse that exuded my professionalism as well as the curves of my body. The occasion couldn’t have been more perfect. I had a reason to be dressed up and knew what I was doing to him.

His eyes followed my long legs when I lifted one on a chair  to dust my stockings after I got out of the truck. Our eyes met and we killed each other when we were inside. The countdown began.

His roommate killed the first half and I hung on by watching “Goodfellas.” One of my favorite mob movies. Finally getting rid of him we had the place to ourselves. He closed the door and pushed me on the couch. Our breaths held up the drumroll in our movements that were restricted all day. Everything built up exploded. Every back scratching, shoulder biting, thigh clenching scenario possible.

and in the end we cuddled. I tried not to over analyze, just feel, but still searched for my sign.

Then…they towed his truck.

why?

because we couldn’t wait, and he parked it inside his complex without the permit.

I was worth $345.

I didn’t know what to say when his face dropped understanding that they just towed his stepfather’s truck. What kind of sign is this?

He didn’t get the bad luck that was happening to him all week and I didn’t get it either. All I knew was that I had no choice to spend the night in Ontario, to spend it in his bed. I didn’t want to be happy, but this little girl did cartwheels in my head.

The further I try to get away from him…the more tow trucks come into place, the more cops follow us, and a line of parking tickets connect us.

The message I received from this: People in uniform don’t like me.

Is this my sign?

 

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