Tag Archives: women



Missing you out in this field of separation

All the things so jumbled.

Both of us boasting our indifference.

The clutter of emotion and memory.


Your deafening arms across my roadmap skin.

Oh, the fires you light there, and speak guttural languages to my bones

How can I survive the heat, kilns igniting my heart?

Every faith, sewn upon your hands with determined fingertips


When every movement is the sound of your voice

When every thought is borne of your happiness

When the caress of your skin is branded upon my body

When the taste of your tongue is a maze upon mine


Oh memory, oh the sweet longings of love

The hope that broke me in two, my soul a victim

How starved you must have been to feed upon my tender heart

What a hurricane I have become



Like Butter…

Like Butter…

You hear the French always talking about how butter is the key to everything, from cooking to emotional problems. Just eat butter.

And, well, everything is better with butter (except maybe my hips fattening up).

So, I’m making Rice Krispies today and, of course, they ask for butter.

As I watched and waited for the butter to melt in the pan, I fell into one of my moments of thought and clarity. They’re often brief, like a gust of wind, and if I don’t catch them as they pass by, they fade away so quickly that I’m let with half a thought. A mere glimpse. A doorway with nothing behind it. It takes a bit of effort to force these thoughts back. To coax them into fullness. Sometimes I’m able to, sometimes I’m not.

But, here’s what I caught as it brushed by me.

Life is kinda like butter in a warm pan.

We dance and swirl to the music of life; changing shape but still the same, adapting to the environment, turning into something beautiful. It can’t be rushed through. It is elegant, simple with purpose. We are part of something greater that we often can’t see, even after it may look like we’re gone, absolved into something else entirely. But we are important.

Love is like butter.

We can’t rush it. If we rush it, we can ruin it. We can burn it. But if we let love blossom, if we let it slowly warm and mature, it can be beautiful. True love doesnt bicker, love waits. Love sees the nature of things, follows the warmth of a true heart around and around. It does not grow weary of being itself or of doing what it is supposed to do.  And though it may disperse itself outwards and change shape outwardly, it is still the same. It creates. It molds. It becomes.  It give nourishment and sweetness to life. It smoothly slips in and incorporates itself in everything you do, if its true. Some people try to douse the flame of love with water. But as we all know, water and oil don’t mix. We can push away those advances with ease, they do not affect us. No one can stop the liquidity and passion of a true love. And anyone who tries, knows nothing about either cooking, life, or love. Life is love. Cooking is love. Yes, it’s necessary to eat. And it may be necessary to breath, to live. But to do it right, to do it with passion. THAT is a rare gift and should not be squandered. Anyone can breath, and anyone can eat. But appreciating those things for what they are and the beauty they posses is not so common.

Just like love, passion must become our food. Food is better when the person making it has that passion. A passion that looks at a loaf of bread or flour or chicken and says to itself “I will create something new. I will create something beautiful.” They add pieces of their hearts, full of everything that is unique and extraordinary, and something that could have been drab in another’s eyes comes alive. Alive with soul of its own.

I have watched people use up their lives doing nothing, truly feeling nothing. Never a spark. Never an energy. They can blame it on this or that, but the truth is you either see it or you don’t. Few people delve past the surface. Few people look deeper into things, whether it be a person’s words, a cruel action, or a plate of noodles. They are like men and fashion: Black shoes. They don’t see beyond to the inside or even to the person. They can’t. Literally can’t. They’ve given up somewhere inside, whether they are willing or open enough to admit it or not. Or perhaps they just never tried in the first place. That sounds like a cruel statement. But the truth is that it’s even lacking in the full truth, a truth I cannot yet comprehend. A truth bigger than me. A raw truth. A truth that no one likes to admit or look at for fear of being disliked or politically incorrect. But it’s there, still and staring us down.

I’m determined not to be that type of person. I’m focused and poised. I’m ready. I try my best to keep my mind open and active and thinking things over so that it’s never the case that I am blind. I refuse to accept less than the best for myself. If I search, if I look and find that what I’m doing or who I’m with is not the best, I have an obligation to change it. I have a duty towards myself and all those effected by me.

I will not dull.

I will not give up.

I will not accept.

I will be.

Hello My Other Half..Whoever You Are..Vol. 3

Hello My Other Half..Whoever You Are..Vol. 3

Dear You,

Today I am sick with the flu.

Today I wished you were here. I wanted you to cuddle me, to make me stay in bed. I wanted to just bask in midafternoon, my face tingling and you brushing my hair away from my face or reading aloud from a favorite book. I needed you to tickle me and tell me bad jokes because laughter, after all, is the best medicine. I needed you to point out my favorite characters and tell me things I never told anyone, things you know because you truly know me.

I dreamed of you the other night. I can’t remember your face; I teased you as we cooked in the kitchen, getting lost in the confines of the house. I watched The Vow the other night without you. I was doing okay, imagining that you were somewhere on the brim of my vision, until the part where he played the guitar. I turned my head abruptly to find you not there and a girl crying beside me instead. I wondered what you would have said. I wondered if you would have whispered in my ear, “I had that moment. I had that moment with you. It’s imprinted upon my very soul. I am always there in that moment with you”. Truthfully, I cried. I was doing okay until that moment. I cried because I am in that moment with you, now. If there is no time in our love, I am there with you now and forever. We’re always there. We’re always together.

I miss you lately.

But somehow it’s changed.

I’ve changed.

I don’t miss you with a hunger. I don’t miss you in my desperation for completeness. I still feel that hollow, but somehow I’m eased. I know you’re coming. I know you’re out there. And everyday I push away what people have said, do, and will say. I push them away because they don’t know. They can’t comprehend me. I just listen. I listen and grow myself. I listen to the pulse of life and love and Him. I listen because the howl in my chest cannot fill me. If I want you, I must work on me; So that I’m ready when you show up.

I must let it come. Like ocean waves, like the breeze, like the sun pushing its way over the horizon. We may yearn for the golden summer whist the cold fingers of winter grip our bones; we may yearn for its embrace but we wait in quiet anticipation.

I have come to that place of patient waiting, a face at the window watching the snow come down. Perhaps it’s just a reprieve. A short stint of relief for my heart.

I walk around and search for you, hoping to be lit up; hoping to be understood; hoping for the music to stop and time to freeze. I step outside into the moonlight and I wonder about you. What color is your hair? How would it look in that luminous ethereal light? With your eyes staring at me hungrily, bright and fiery?

Will you count the stars with me? Hold my hand, breathe deep, let go.

Will you understand my obsessions, my moments of therianthropic thoughts? My poems of the moon and desire to get lost in the fields of Tuscany? My ramblings of Paris and when the characters in my writing and art come alive?

In my mind today, you stepped into the shower with me. Our bodies slick, hands smoothing the water off my face and arms around your back. We stayed too long, steam trapped and stretching itself across the mirror. In my mind today, we curled up in a blanket with my hair still wet, where I listened to your heartbeat and it drummed me into sleep. In my mind today, you kissed me softly to wake me up. You took The Kid into the other room and played with him where I could hear, and I smiled a knowing smile to myself. We walked down the street, an azure sky sprawling above us, hugging each other’s contours, moving as one. You held my face as you kissed me, snowflakes melting on my warmed cheeks, pressing tightly against you; and I didn’t pull away. You held me for 20 minutes flat, without trying to do anything. You were just holding me, loving me, wanting me to know you were here always.

I’m still here. Praying for you. Praying you find yourself, under the blanket of monotonous distractions our age group slides through the motions within. Praying that you are happy, experiencing and learning. Praying you know how amazing and beautiful you are. Praying that you are seeking and discovering. I’m praying your heart is touched and open.

Just love, baby. Love people and life and Him. Love adventure and nuance. Love being where you are and who He has made you. Love yourself.

I love you.

I’m here.

I’m waiting.

Come home.

Love, Me.

One Choice

One Choice

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball, and you have to decide where you stand.

It may take you a while, or only an instant, but there comes a time in everyone’s life that they must decide.

It’s a rare occasion that we get to experience the source of our values and character. That we get to look it in the eye, seeing our own face reflected there.

Many times, we have ideals and opinions without truly being in the position that we criticize. Poor people, single moms, jobless, homeless, adult living at home, sex, divorce, victim of abuse, rape, slavery, growing old, having children, marriage.

I have been proved wrong and incorrect countless times, shocked into silence as my mind engulfed my new view on the world.

Sometimes that one moment comes where your opinions and choices become real, flesh and bone. Sometimes there’s only one choice. No matter what you thought before, in the moment, there’s only one choice and you make it without thinking for more than a second.

What builds the person we have become? What small twist or change of direction could have altered who we became or the choices we made?

If I would have just asked her out. If I would have just said something. If I would have gone to college. If I would have listened to my mom. If I would have said no. If I would have lived a little more. If I would have taken the chance. If I would have stayed in bed that morning. If I would have not stepped out into the street. If I would have taken that trip. If I would have followed my dream. If I would have said sorry. If I would have been braver. If I would have turned away. If I would have not gone into that room. If I would have left.

We are all a summation of our decisions.

 We can control the world we create out of devastation, however small or large. It won’t always be easy and it won’t always be simple, but if we try it can be good. We control how we react to the situations in our life, even if we can’t control the situation itself.

I was unintentionally brave, because I didn’t know any other way to act. There was no choice in my mind.

There was only one choice.

I chose life.

I found out I was pregnant during the meandering days of a sizzling summer. I’m no teen mom, but I’m young enough (and “alone” enough) to feel just as unready. I had a degree to finish at the time. I’d been careful and waited longer than most girls. I had traveling to do. I was still figuring myself out. But life doesn’t care what you were doing at the time, it just happens.

I remember sitting in the bathroom of a Walgreens, feeling disconnected from myself, my heart and head apart. I remember sitting there and thinking,

 “This isn’t me. This is not my life. I shouldn’t be sitting in the bathroom of a Walgreens with my sister and taking an effing pregnancy test. ” And as an afterthought, “I feel like I’m in Juno. I need some Sunny D for this moment to be complete.” (there’s humor for ya, in the bathroom, learning I’m about to become a balloon and I’m having a movie moment.)

Then that tiny pink cross appeared, and at that moment, a million things rushed into my head.

I’m going to put those thoughts here as a testament. A testament that not all choices are easy. That no one is a saint. That everyone has those fleeting thoughts, even if they douse them the very millisecond that they think of them.

The weakness in all of us will desperately try to win, every time. It wants us to be weak, to give in. Once we do, it becomes a habit. Before long we think it’s okay to just give up, to give in because it’s easier. To stop fighting because it’s too much work, too much hassle, or takes too much energy. But we can’t let weakness win. We must conquer. We must overcome. It’s not to say that there won’t be moments when we simply must decide that we’ve given it our all and must divert our efforts to something else. It’s not to say that we won’t have weak moments, or that we won’t recover or regret those moments. It’s not to say that one weak moment defines the rest of our lives. No. On the contrary, it’s the daily “no” to weakness that makes us strong. Start today, if you haven’t decided already. Be strong. Be brave enough to be strong.

 No one can tell you where your line is, you have to discover that for yourself. You have to decide what you can live with.

I had always had thoughts on abortion. Everyone seems to have an opinion about it. Pro-life, pro-choice. People joke about it, make signs, and stand on street corners fighting and spitting at each other with their eyes. And in that moment, that small moment in a bathroom of a Walgreens, I looked it in the face. I looked in the face of abortion and tiny frail bodies, a million pictures I’d seen; pictures just as dead as the lives within them. I looked at the undisturbed life I had in me, pushing to live despite the fact that it should have been impossible. I looked at life as a mom, it’s soft tired eyes so full of love and hope. I looked impossibilities in the face like, how did this happen; I’m just a kid, I can’t raise one; this is going to ruin my life; I can’t do this; what will everyone say?

Then came the slithering tongue of weakness, the easy way out. Something I know would have scarred me forever. Something I am ashamed to my core to even have thought..

*What about abortion? It’d be easy. No one would have to know. It’d just be gone. Poof. Life reclaimed. You can save the body changes and the emotional stuff. You can go on as if nothing happened. It’ll all be a dream. No drama. No nothing.*

Something snapped in me almost immediately. My heart ached at that thought. “No. Not that,” I said to myself. “Anything, but not that.”

Then, weakness tried again.

*Well, hopefully you’ll have a miscarriage. That way it’s not your fault. It’ll be gone and it won’t matter. It’ll be over.*

I almost slapped myself in the face.

I thought of the reddened, broken limbs of a million babes, stolen from life and love before they had a chance. I envisioned a tiny heartbeat, so steady but so easily disrupted, so intent on living. I thought about my unborn sister, lost before her life had begun. I thought of how my research in school had taught me that by the time I had sat in that darned bathroom and took that test, that my kid was already dreaming. And I wanted to cry.

And as a thousand thoughts ran through my head, I was somehow numb and incredibly calm.

There was a whisper under there, somewhere deep within me. Past the fears and consuming doubts. Past weakness. Past the anger and the worry and the knots of frustration. Past everything, I found the small ball of light that was essentially “me”. And it whispered to me, it told me what I already knew. That no matter what…

“You can do this.”

And it hit me like a sack of potatoes. I knew I could do it, and I immediately felt shame for thinking I could destroy it. That I would want it gone. I hated myself, and I promised myself I would never be so weak again. Life is precious. Life is to be enjoyed. And I have no right to take it away. Me of all people, who was once a babe myself. Me, who was knit by Him within my mother’s womb. Me, who was chosen to come into the world and be a blessing, to love. I can’t. Not like that. I could kill in defense of another, in defense of myself. I could kill for the greater good, if the right situation and the right moment of pressure came. But I can’t do that. Not like that. Not to something innocent and fragile and so very dependant on me. Something that trusts without thought, that has faith that tomorrow will be just like today. My baby needed love and happiness and beauty. I would give that to him, because that’s what everyone deserves. I would do it, because I knew I could. No matter what it took from me, I would find a way.

I voiced my worries and fears to my sister. Thank God for her. Not only had she sat in the bathroom with me and watched me pee on a stick, she encouraged me.

“A baby could never be a bad thing. It’s a blessing. We’ll figure out a way, somehow. We can do it! Just think, a little person to take care of! Think about how fun it will be, all the good times we’ll have. Think of all we’ll teach it. We’ll love it, and it’ll love us. It’s a good thing. It’s a blessing.”

She didn’t speak one word of judgement to me, which was what I needed at that moment. There were no jokes. No harsh tones. Only love, and encouragement.

**Thanks, love. I needed your words. They encouraged my light to keep shining, when it felt like I was in the dark. I love you sis. You were unwavering. You motivated me. I needed someone, you were there. You bore a heavy load that wasn’t yours, and you didn’t think twice about it. Thank you.

So, just like a movie cliché, we saved one test for the morning of a week later. We thought it might possibly be a dud (though we later found out this was improbable for a positive test, and more probable for false negatives).  All in all, I took 4 tests total before we (and everyone else) believed it. Yeah, sometimes we act a bit “blonde” (excuse the cliché).

And then it was time again. Time to choose.


I knew then that I had to leave. I had to leave The Ex. As mentioned before, things were awful in my life with him. I was suffering under his iron fist. With him, I knew I would always struggle to be alive. I could already feel the blackening of ME. The me I was, the me I wanted to be.  He would hurt our child, and he wouldn’t mean to or most likely remember it. He would hurt me, or The Kid, or both of us, either inadvertently or with malice. I couldn’t stand to see my kid like that, shackled to a life I chose for him. A bad life. The life I had watched others have. The life I couldn’t bear to imagine. No.

It took me a while. I waited, hoping that The Ex would get better. Hoping that he’d change. Change for the baby. Change for me. If only I could have seen how wrong I was.  But we fought more and more, and I held on as long as I could. But sometimes, the right choice is the hardest one: to just give up and move forward.

So again I made a choice.

I chose life.

A life free to mess up and make mistakes. A life full of laughter and love and peace. A life bereft of the chaos The Ex caused. A full life. A life where my kid wouldn’t have to question the mood swings and anger. Where he wouldn’t have to suffer as I did under the force he put down on me emotionally, mentally and physically. A life where he wouldn’t have to be afraid of one of the closest people to him. A happy life. A good life. I knew it would prove to be a hard life, but it would be beautiful. And we’d do it, together. The Kid and I.

So, I let go. I let go of everything I had held so tightly. I let go of the life The Ex would have staked me down onto. I let go of his love, so that I could grasp my child with both hands. It was a hard choice. I was addicted. Addicted to the smell and taste and the way he loved me, no matter how wrong it was. I couldn’t see it. I thought I would die after I first let go. But I didn’t.

I knew it was time, I could already feel the chasm growing, shoving me farther away from him and closer to my kid. I got over it, and around it. And on the other side, I smiled. I smiled because I felt free. Things that had been warring inside me were loosed. I felt enormously better emotionally. I was no longer in knots all the time. I saw what he had done to me, and I scoffed. He would never touch me again. Not if I had anything to say about it. And he would never touch my kid like that. I was free. Free to have a good life. Free to make a new life for me and my child. Free to not be afraid. Simple and joyous. Free.

And it only took one choice.

We look into our lives and we see opportunities for “one choice”. We see tasks yet undone. Stories untold. Words unspoken. But, we get up everyday and we still have a choice. We may not always be able to fix all the things in our past, but we can fix how we act and react in the future. We can fix our relationships, both currently and for one-day. We can be a better “me”. We decide that.

The truth of it is, it doesn’t matter what other people do. People will always be who they’re going to be, we can’t stop them. We can hope for the best, but we should always expect that people will be, unfortunately, predictable. They will be selfish and hateful. They’ll take revenge and be cruel. It’ll be unfair. But, we still have a choice. To either be who we are, or not. No matter what. People shouldn’t change the essential parts of us, we shouldn’t let them. We must continue to love and make the hard choices. We must continue to discover. We must continue to decide.

Because indecision is just as much of a choice. It just takes a longer time to see the results.

Everyday is a choice.

We must decide to take it with both hands and fling ourselves into the unknown, knowing our hold is strong.

“When one bases his life on principle, 99 percent of his decisions are already made”.  ~Author Unknown

Love is a Dream


I snag a dream within the warm breath of a summer’s night.

I see your eyes, reflected there, declaring love’s deep might.

The whippoorwill, sing praises here, among the midnight waves.

Its fingers reach, a grip it seeks, aching for the sky it craves.

We lay in grass, damp, green and soft, mimicking our eager mouths.

Breath in the air, a cloud forms there, the summer’s temp goes south.

We huddle close, like thieves who stole a priceless word called “love”

And whisper sweet and secret words, as the moon peeked in, above.

A million tiny eyes watched close, as our fingers deftly twined.

Celestial pause and silent applause, I held the One that’s mine.


But I woke to find the reverie, a fragile vile trick.

You were not there, under my stare. My heart felt hard and sick.

Golden-honey eyes close briefly now, wishing you were here.

The solemn quiet breathes I take, awake my every fear.

I wait for you, each day a test. A hope yet to fulfill.

Until I wake to find a lonely dream has become real.



What is beauty?

What can be seen in each person’s eyes as they walk down the street, dodging the everlasting river of fumes, legs, and words caught in motion?

They call to us: am I beautiful? Am I real? Notice me.

The other day, I found myself questioning the reality behind our youth. Many of us, men and women, don’t see ourselves as beautiful. The grass is always greener on the other side. We always feel as though there is someone out there who is better. More tone, more flawless, more perky, more effortless, more likeable..more beautiful.

Men, I know as kids it was ‘ewwww, I’m not pretty, I’m handsome’, but I think this is a flaw in our vision and our society. You are beautiful. Changing the word to handsome doesn’t make it more manly. I think men can be beautiful, lovely and gorgeous, just as women can. And they need to be told so.  

Beyond that point, beauty is hard to find. It is the possession of the rich and famous. It’s the plaything of cosmetic beauties, pricked and teased into presentation. It is the slave to those of large egos and bad attitudes.

When asked to describe it, what do we say? It’s a social “no-no” to say his/her body, their looks, their clothes, etc. Is that what it really is? Is beauty skin deep? Is it composed of an equation, adding the physical qualities of a person and dividing  by the rest of society’s idea of beauty?

How shallow. I would love to think this isn’t the way it is, but I’d be lying to myself. Some people are about as deep as a wet napkin, unfortunately these are probably some of the same people who told us we weren’t beautiful, in whatever way. They are those people in our lives who put us down, who abandoned us, who slashed our young hearts and told us, “you are undesirable“.. perhaps without even a word spoken.  

Beauty is soul. Beauty is heart. Beauty is courage in the face of amoral adversity. Beauty is being you, and knowing that’s okay.

But how do we convince ourselves that it’s okay? How do we stop pretending we are beautiful with large amounts of social bravado, and actually believe it? How do we erase whatever started us believing we weren’t, in the first place?

Society tells us what is Beauty. Perfect skin, hairless, toned, groomed, flattering clothes…smile for the camera.

For women, big perky boobs and curves, but no fat. It’s okay if we’re just skinny, but better if we work out and are tan. No body hair. Our hair and makeup, emasculate. Take care of yourself. Don’t be too clingy, don’t be too assertive, don’t try too hard but work at it. Look effortless but take hours to take care of yourself .

 For men, muscles muscles muscles. Don’t be fat, skinny is better but not as good as “hunky”. Only a little body hair, maybe none. Thick hair, tan skin. Don’t cry too much, don’t be too stoic, don’t try too hard but work at it.

Who’s to be elected Judge? Who says what’s beautiful? And how do we break free?

We’d all like to belive that we judge based off “who” the person is, and not what the person looks like. But we’ve jaded ourselves. We do judge on looks. If we didn’t, we’d all probably be much happier with our choice of company. I’m sure a stunning beauty with skin sprawling tightly up and down their body is ideal in one sense, but what happens when you wake up to the person in the morning and a tree stump has more personality and character? What then? You go out and choose another book off the shelf, its shiny cover stunning you into oblivion.

It’s not to say all beautiful people are shallow, or that we only choose based on looks, but I think that some people give themselves the excuse to be that way. We often grow into choosing someone based off who they are and how they treat others. We value their character and their personality and the little intricacies that make them perfect in their imperfection. Everyone gets old and loses a little luster. We’re all dying everyday, a slow death sentence. It’s what’s inside that makes us perfect, that makes us young, that makes us beautiful. We have to learn to look into people and truly see.

If only I could find someone my age who thought the same. Guys in my age bracket seem to be obsessed with looks. They want the goods: whether it be girls, clothes, or products. I’m not into the fashions, I wear what flatters me (most times. Who doesn’t have a set of “lounge clothes” or a lazy day) and I eat REAL food. I use products that work, and suit my budget and needs. I like guys for who (or who I think) they are. I want to be deep and real with guys, they don’t want it. I have moments where I don’t feel comfortable in my own skin, and I’d like to know that my guy chooses me for ME, and not for how I look, so that I could relax my worrying for a spell. So I won’t have to ask myself if he’ll become tired of me, if he will find someone more perfect at the moment, than me.  

I’m beautiful, I know that. Inside, as well as out. I don’t always feel great about the “new me” since the baby, but I know I’m beautiful. I may not be at the exact place I want my body to be, I may mourn the loss of yesterday, but I am a very attractive person. Sometimes I complain a bit. I want to be wanted, who doesn’t? It’s just different when your family thinks you look good. It’s not the same as someone wanting you. For someone to think you’re sexy and unique and beautiful and witty and smart.  I can’t explain it without sounding shallow or silly. It’s just not the same. Guys just don’t talk to me in the way I want. I’m the un-catchable catch. I’m the pariah in a sense. Untouchable and unreachable, so they just don’t try. That’s not where I want to be. Can’t someone just try? A little? I’m 21 years old, someone should want to try hard enough to be with me. Or at least talk to me. Right? And I suppose I simply jump to the conclusion that,

I’m not pretty enough, not tone enough, not perky enough, or stupid enough to be wanted. What else could be stopping them? I’m funny and witty and versatile. I’m beautiful. Why am I not even on the radar?*

How stupid is that? I know it’s stupid. I know I’m being ridiculous. I shouldn’t think the way I do. I am a strong, able-bodied, smart woman. I am beautiful, I know it. Now I just have to start acting like it.

Each person deals with life in a different way, deals with hurt in a different way. Guys put me down, people put me down. And I suppose, as a defense mechanism I decided to cut myself down first so that it wouldn’t hurt so much when they did it. That didn’t leave me in a very good place, because you’re your own worst enemy. You can’t get away from yourself, that’s why it’s so important to love yourself.

The two sides of myself fight.

But what if it wasn’t just soul, heart, courage, and being you?

What if perhaps it was being wanted that makes us beautiful? I used to think that it was a laughable that love made you beautiful.

do you love me because I’m beautiful, or am I beautiful because you love me?”

But isn’t it love that makes us bloom? Makes our hearts soar within the eyes of another?  It is important to find our own beauty, but perhaps it’s love that makes that beauty whole and real. Being wanted is our affirmation. Being loved is our catalyst, so that we may emerge a strong heart, beating soft wings. A soul entwined. We make people beautiful when we love them. We give them freedom to love themselves and to believe that their beauty is true. Love, is beauty. Being loved by your other half is the apex of that beauty. We may scoff at the idea that we may need another to be whole, to reach our apex. But what else is there in the world worth more than the beauty and freedom of love?  

We must all find our own beauty. I have to take the hard moments in the stomach like a champ, suck it up. And I have to build myself up whenever I can.

You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are beautiful.

I’ll keep trying, building my confidence and being my own cheerleader. That’ll have to do for now. Tomorrow I will not only BE beautiful, I will FEEL it.

Goodnight all.



This can be a touchy subject for some people.

Some people can get offended. Or opinionated. Or have any number of reactions.

But the fact of it is, whether you have it or not, it’s part of life and a part of us. And it complicates everything, whether you do it or not.

But if you’re particularly sensitive to the subject, please feel free to scurry off. Don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble or rub anyone’s fur the wrong way.


Sex. Intimacy. Banging. Procreation (oi). Making love. Screwing. Copulation (that sounds odd, do they call it that anymore?). Eff-ing. Fornication. Sleeping around/together. Fooling around. Mating. Nooky. Intercourse. Going all the way. Whoopee (really?). The horizontal mambo. Getting laid. Shagging…whatever.


It’s one of the ways we connect. We look for love in it. We use it to fulfill our needs. We do it to solve our problems. It’s our drug, and we dose as we see fit. We sell it and we buy it. We have a million names for it. We use the internet to watch it and we read about it. And we often abuse it.

And I want it. Badly.

I don’t know about some women. I mean, I’ve heard we get a bad rep for having a low “drive”. But whoever they’re getting this stereotype from, it wasn’t me. I want it. Very often. Badly. Which seems to be the issue while being single, trying to be responsible, having a lack of a social life, and having my hopes dashed when Mr. Interested is about as savvy as a rock. I have a very high drive, bordering on obsessive. Even when I was getting some action daily, I was still very..hyperfocused. I don’t know why. I can’t help it.

Often times, as a single mom, I feel like there’s an unstated rule that I’m neither supposed to want, have, or feign interest in sex. I’m not supposed to act too desperate (which includes stating that I want it), but I can’t be so uninterested that I turn guys away. It’s a balancing act. And I hate it. I want sex, and that doesn’t make me sleazy or cheap or easy. It makes me human. It makes me real. I wish I didn’t sometimes, so that I could seem less desperate (and save myself from aching). But I can’t change it.

As a single mom, I get stressed out. As a mom period, I think that it’s a given to be stressed but when you have no one there to help you…it’s tripled. I only have two arms! But as soon as a waiting list comes out for extra bionic limbs, I’m going to be the first one in line.

Back to being stressed out…I am. And the more stressed and frustrated I get, the more lonely and incredibly horny I get. I have no one there to help with my baby problems and I have no one there to help me with the loneliness that keeps growing lately. There’s no one to fill my mind and my time with smiles and little flirty gestures, or something better. I have all sorts of fantasies about solving my noted impulse to get laid out, which is not helpful. It’s not helpful 1. because I have no way of quenching it–not the way I need at least (some things just need another person)–and no prospect within the forseeable future, and 2. Because the closest person who could be of “use” is someone who I definitely should not be considering. *Shut up libido, you’re not the one who’ll be left crying.*

Now, some of you out there may say that I could go out and find a “willing participant”. True. I could. But I just don’t work that way. I need more. A connection. A relationship. At times, considering my aching desire, this seems like a foolish notion. But my heart knows I’m doing the right thing and warns me of the residual pain if I move forward and further adapt my principles to fit my needs.

Some things just aren’t worth the aftermath.

Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling it.

And (unhelpfully) it’s been everywhere lately. In my face like a steak in front of a dog, taunting me. You’d think with all the Christmas specials going around, I would be able to avoid it. No such luck.  And I can’t help thinking, *Aaaannnd, you’re the devil*, every time I see something particularly..”mouthwatering”, let’s call it (cause somehow “stimulating” just sounds a little…south).

Before you lose your virginity, there are all sorts of opinions and stories about what sex IS. Some people say that it’s fantastic, others that it’s sinful and should be avoided (or worse, that it’s just meh). They boast at the beauty of such a deep connection, and it being “right”: an emotional, physical and mental bonding. It’s freedom. It’s a pure spiritual entwining. And then some treat it as an animalistic action, like running or cooking dinner: something that you do, have fun (sometimes), and then get on with life. The movies paint it to be glamorous, all candles or rain-soaked passion. Perfect.

Life teaches it differently. In life you lose your virginity in the back of a car, or on the bathroom floor, or at a party. It’s often quick and unadorned with any of the miraculous ideas or beauty that you imagined beforehand. Yay life. Yay you.

It often doesn’t matter how you were raised, what you were taught, or what you promised yourself you’d do, we’re people and we make choices that change our lives. Whether bad or good.

What they don’t tell you is that sex is like crack. Yes, crack. That white powder that people get hooked to quicker than crows on deer carcass. I suppose sex is also kinda like potato chips, or whatever snack food you fancy. It’s deathly hard to have “just one”. Either way..Once you open that door to bliss, you cannot shut it. It’s open forever. And your mind is eternally changed. All the jokes you didn’t get, innuendos made incognito in your presence, or the “wrestling” pictures you sometimes see 5 year olds making (much to their parents embarrassment) are suddenly illuminated. It’s like an understanding takes place, a communion with the universe. A huge cosmic laugh and an “ah ha” later, and VOILA!–you’re never the same. Suddenly you can’t stop it. You can’t stop thinking about it or wanting it or getting all knotted because of it. 

It’s awful. They should have told me. But I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have listened.

They also don’t tell you that it opens up a door to your heart. That sex can wiggle its way in and hurt you. That it fuses to your emotions and your dreams and your hopes. That it becomes a part of you, like one of those ugly spider-egg things from Alien movies–sometimes it just wants to burst out and eff someone up (though I’ve never actually had the urge to kill everyone I see, I do feel like something is eating its way/bursting out of me).  

I’ve had it good, and I’ve had it very awful. I can’t remember if I’ve had it beautiful. But I want it.


Some nights it feels like imploding, others it’s a dull hum, and still other nights it’s imperceivable.

Being single is hard. But being miserable is harder, so for now I’m considering it a better choice to just be craving something I’ll one day have (hopefully I won’t be 40 before the next time around), than living the day-to-day with the Ex or the Him from earlier.

Will it stop me from fantasizing? Unlikely.

So for now, it’s just me….Imploding. Desperately imploding. Dying. And wanting it. Badly.