I am bothered tonight by something
I begged him, "tell me you love me. . ." But he just caressed my neck. He carried on as if he never heard, convinced me to get him off and then threw me away like piece of garbage. Yet now he crawls back, begging for more because he knows I am what he wants and yet I hold it out, keeping it from him. I am not garbage, and I will never be his.
I dream of the day when I can be loved for who I am, not just for what I have between my legs.
I think of a quote made by Ryan Gosling in 'Murder By Numbers' that goes a little something like "She spreads like peanut butter. It's amazing what a girl who is ignored by her father will do for a little male attention."
I am not that girl! Fuck anyone who thinks I am easy. In addition fuck sexual frustration, as ironic as that statement is. Fuck anyone who wants to make me into what they think I am. Thus I will never again "hook it" with someone who only wants sex.
I am tired, determined, and oh so alone. I hate being touched, yet I yearn for it. I am so messed up.
Thanks Mom.
I am plagued by a vision of my mother that I am not ready to share yet. I have NEVER told ANYONE about it, and it really changed my life. It is horrible what she did, and at the same time, it is horrible what she was being forced to do. Other people have always told me that they want to "rip their eyes out" when they see something "horrible" but you do not know the vision that keeps me awake tonight, and you do not know how little good it would do to actually tear my eyes out, because I can only see it when I close my eyes.
"You love tragedy. . ." Mother's words echo in my mind, this blog of insanity, this moment of pain, keeps me awake.
I no longer want to have someone to tell, because I am not sure that what I have left is safe enough to share. I look in the mirror and I see the destruction and am attracted to it, you all are, like we turn to see the parent disciplining their child behind us at the line at the grocery store, or we open up book and read of another's suffering. We can not escape our lust of human suffering, but we can stop sharing it.
If she is able to see me, I wonder what she thinks. Is she satisfied that she has created another one like her? Is she angry at my sins? Does she miss me?
Alas, wondering this is irrelevant. She is gone, and I am left with these hauntings, these fearful spirits of her, tearing me up inside.
I dream of the day when I can be loved for who I am, not just for what I have between my legs.
I think of a quote made by Ryan Gosling in 'Murder By Numbers' that goes a little something like "She spreads like peanut butter. It's amazing what a girl who is ignored by her father will do for a little male attention."
I am not that girl! Fuck anyone who thinks I am easy. In addition fuck sexual frustration, as ironic as that statement is. Fuck anyone who wants to make me into what they think I am. Thus I will never again "hook it" with someone who only wants sex.
I am tired, determined, and oh so alone. I hate being touched, yet I yearn for it. I am so messed up.
Thanks Mom.
I am plagued by a vision of my mother that I am not ready to share yet. I have NEVER told ANYONE about it, and it really changed my life. It is horrible what she did, and at the same time, it is horrible what she was being forced to do. Other people have always told me that they want to "rip their eyes out" when they see something "horrible" but you do not know the vision that keeps me awake tonight, and you do not know how little good it would do to actually tear my eyes out, because I can only see it when I close my eyes.
"You love tragedy. . ." Mother's words echo in my mind, this blog of insanity, this moment of pain, keeps me awake.
I no longer want to have someone to tell, because I am not sure that what I have left is safe enough to share. I look in the mirror and I see the destruction and am attracted to it, you all are, like we turn to see the parent disciplining their child behind us at the line at the grocery store, or we open up book and read of another's suffering. We can not escape our lust of human suffering, but we can stop sharing it.
If she is able to see me, I wonder what she thinks. Is she satisfied that she has created another one like her? Is she angry at my sins? Does she miss me?
Alas, wondering this is irrelevant. She is gone, and I am left with these hauntings, these fearful spirits of her, tearing me up inside.
posted by Nat Rivera at 12:15 AM
1 Comments:
I know what you mean about men and them only wanting what's between our legs. I used to think it was smarter to hold out on them, make them wait and they would respect us... Bull shit. They'll never respect us. To them, all we are is a fuck. I hate it. It's going to be a long search for a guy who doesn't think about us that way, so here's to the friggin miracle we're going to need to find us them men, lol.
C
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