- How to know if you have an obsession…and a problem: You talk about your Sims as if they’re real people.
- While playing a game, one character called another character ‘kitten biscuit’. This is, now, my new favorite nickname.
- Some days, I just want to stay at home with the cat. Other days, I can’t wait to see a face that isn’t so fuzzy.
- How many times have I dropped my mascara on the carpet and said, through teary eyes, ‘It sucks to be me’? Too many times.
- If Oakley (the cat) could talk, the first thing I think she’d say: I know you’re not my real mom.
We are outstretched silk on August’s deathbed.
Muscles convulse beneath summer-worn fingertips
and fading orange heat.
Your body beside me is foreign and familiar,
filling me with grace and fear beyond momentary comprehension.
Trapped in tortured days where the scent of you alone is a turn-on.
Bathe me in it and I will still be unsatisfied…
for if it is not dripping from your skin and onto mine,
the mark is useless and a tease unrelenting.
Only with you invading this space does my universe seem to align.
We have been falling in unspoken love for years.
Yours is a beacon only my ears twitch to hear.
I will fight it until my blood screams echo
but you have my heart in the palm of your hand.
I implore you respect it enough to keep it safe.
Winter is coming.
Brick by brick, block by block.
Bloody fingers continue placing
brick by brick and block by block,
protecting the only life force I have left.
It may be ragged, may be black and blue,
may be weak and fragile and pained,
but it is mine and all I have.
I cannot let you take another piece.
You only challenge the pieces you already have,
and I won’t survive another doubting question.
You tangle in the strings like I don’t feel every tug,
deny my passion like you can’t see your imprint
on it’s soft and trembling surface,
accuse and scream so you cannot hear
it beating every syllable in your name.
Don’t ask me to stop pounding my head on this wall.
It is my calling, my purpose to agony.
To continue adding brick by brick, block by block,
until everything completely turns to stone.
How slow my skin crawls when pierced by cobalt eyes.
Are you amused…overwhelmed…amplified beyond comprehension…?
Don’t rush, darling, so this bed can memorize you.
Conform to my indentation.
Soak up every bit of what your body can handle.
I will let you go relentless, for every pain is deepest pleasure.
Your brand new unfamiliar is intoxicating, presses me breathless,
legs around hips around rhythmic force.
Whisper beautiful commands against my chest.
Each touch from blossomed lips is an electric shock,
an honest moan, fingertips in creamy thighs.
Don’t be afraid to explore that which drives imagination mad.
Shyness is a luxury passion cannot afford.
Bent and broken, strength in your weakness,
has beauty awoken the beast.
Grant me no penance as this thirst is never sated.
You stir in my dreams. Pulse awareness in my veins.
Just out of reach of petulant fingertips.
Separated by moonlight and singular intentions.
Yet, you are what I’m aiming for and cannot hit my mark.
I have shattered into endless pieces
and I am deeply jealous of your unity.
Oh, how a mess could be made beautiful in your presence.
How it would be if you could cut your eyes in my direction,
cradle your palm on the side of my face,
kiss me unsteady from the feel of your life upon me.
Only you awaken this stumbling passion and desire within…
Are you still too far, too shy to touch and electrify this sullen skin?
Our numbered seasons stand knocking on windows.
Invite me in, darling…call me forward.
Whisper my name so enticing I move without clarity.
A misplaced princess has fallen in love with a perfect prince.
- I may be the only person I know that prefers uncomfortable silence to pointless chit-chat. If I’m not talking, it’s usually for a reason.
- Sometimes it sucks having been raised with a severe respect for authority/elders. I’d really love to tell a couple of people I work with to just shut it. Gah.
- I need to begin searching for a sugar daddy. This whole paying for stuff just isn’t working for me anymore. I’d happily let somebody else do it for me.
- Is it weird that blog writing makes me feel not so lonely? I don’t do it very often, but it always makes me feel better.
- In my bitter old age (haha), I find myself groaning at other people’s happiness. Even if I am happy for them and whatever it is that has made them happy, there is still a reflexive “ugh” that escapes my mouth.
- My motivation comes in very short supply.
- If you have not fallen hopelessly in love with Hozier’s music, then I suggest you chickity-check yourself.
- My contacts keep ripping in half on my eyeball. …That can’t be very good.
- Anytime anyone says they find me attractive, I immediately want to ask, “What is wrong with you?”
- The wonderful sun cooked my legs while I was on vacation. Wanna see?….
I crave you.
A want so overwhelming, so agonizing
that it stirs these complacent synapses to action.
It drips from my fingertips and I let it drench my skin…
this warm and salty, bitter taste of you.
It is the motivation in my veins,
what is most hardened carnal in my heart,
you keep this adrenaline coursing.
So often I toss unrested and unsatisfied,
my body in fits for a fix of just the smell of your skin,
the sound of a deep command from your lungs,
your hands tangled in my hair desperately urging more…
a low-lidded stare intent enough to
send lightning through trembling muscles.
Your natural disaster is all I need to sate me.
Tempted fingernails trace the curvature of breasts and hips
and what your eyes cannot see will drive you wild.
Mad like me. Ache like me.
There is more than one place for you.
My mirror shows someone I do not recognize.
Stolen years, whitecaps under bridges,
cynicism and pain glare out of cloudy irises.
You were once magnificent. Beautiful.
My how the mighty have fallen.
You’re not even a glimmer, a speck
of what you should have been. Could have been.
A slave to the past, trapped in vices,
searching for that which is long gone,
and can never, will never come back.
I long for the days of security, confidence
and youth that doesn’t feel so tired, so old.
A tear crawls down the curve of a swollen eye
and I feel as if most of me has died.
No one wants to live as a stranger in their own body.