Monday, March 29, 2010

"are you a sadist? cuz the wait is getting pretty painful..."

one thousand eight hundred twenty five days later
and the smell of coconut lime verbena
still instantly traps me
on my lunch break
lying out on the yellow slide
your voice painting
the portrait
of you,
one hundred eight miles
away.

"you're never gonna get it, never gonna get it..."

i purposely
blur the lines between
seeing the moon rise with you
and being surprised by the sunrise with him
because i know you will never get it
and the only way
i can keep me alive
in the doesn't-make-sense
love of you
is to consistently
work toward
being a force
you cannot
will not try
to understand.

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Saturday night is the loneliest night of the week

I fell
into dreams with
your
voice inside
my ears and
awoke
to warm
wine
and the sound
of silence.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

C

when we touch
it is the sweet familiar song
of
our ticking time bomb--
just when will
kiss me like you'll never see me again
become reality?

finally, home

transcendence is:
come you sexy ass motherfucker
arm across my chest pulling me into you
coming coming
shaking
came
hard
so that I
curl up pushing away from you
shit fuck Jesus Christ
hallelujah.

sample

At 40, he wasn't the heady bachelor I thought maybe he would be. He was as he described himself: single, and a man who could not cook. Essentially, a specimen who failed the test of domesticity; a man lovable for all the wrong reasons. He was eye candy material and nothing more... (March 1st)


I cringe and squirm as my pussy burns with need of you to exist in that hallowed place that is your playground alone. (February 16th)


I touch myself and grind my ass against you as you go deeper... deeper... deeper... and I'm surely drowning in you; sight black, yet flecked with colors, spectrum of the rainbow. I tell you I'm going to come, but it's too late and it's all too much--you pumping... whispering in my ear, holding me across my chest--I am coming, faster than I can catch, and I'm growling, whining, pushing you away and pulling you in all at once. Painfully sweet, I'm riding my orgasm, feeling explosion of heart, mind, and body to be simultaneous. (February 12th)

"I wanna sex you up..."

I write a lot about sex.

Mostly in the mornings, when I'm at work. I usually tune out the presence of the children, who are forced to be quiet in the mornings. (Thank God for miracles, big and small.) Once I have tuned them out efficiently, I grant freedom to the waves of sensuality and sexuality rolling through me. (I wonder if this is what morning sickness will feel like one day--waves rolling through me all of a sudden, though I'm sure those waves won't bring me the same pleasure.)

Fortunately, people read my blog. Unfortunately, anyone can read my blog. This is unfortunate only because I post updates to my blog on my Facebook... and I have friends on my Facebook whom I don't necessarily want to discuss these sexual waves with. Like my aunts. Or uncles. I'm sure you catch my drift.

Hence, most of my sexual waves are contained in my little purple notebook. The writing is always over the margins (my preferred way of writing in notebooks) and usually alternates between neat cursive and sloppy print/cursive, in different colors, so a quick glance doesn't offer any nosy eyes anything scandalous worth noting.

It's not that I don't want to share these things with you... because I do. But, I must use discretion... just in case auntie decides to read the entry about me getting the sexiest head ever. Go figure that she would read THAT one and no other one...

(I think I might break you off with a couple of samples...)

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

tactile

i want
you
to
need you
to
feel

something deep
peeking out from
behind the shadow
of your cerise colored
heart

when i tell you
i'm leaving
beg me to stay

even though
you know i must go
i'll know

you
feel

In Memoriam

somehow your
moving forward
is leaving me behind
because you've traded the quirkiness
of always filling my glass
of water from your kitchen sink
for a water pitcher, with a filter,
no less,
though you still manage to take a swig
from your sink
every now and again

this thing that you do
that no one else does
brings me muted comfort

though you've traded that old
uncared for phone
and slow E.T.T.
(estimated time of text)
for the newer, sleeker model
faster texts
and the risk of becoming
like every other person
whose Blackberry
sleeps in their bed

somehow, I am disquieted
by the newness you adopt
which runs the risk
of leaving the eccentric
alone
only relished
in memory.

Monday, March 15, 2010

under construction

So, I got the bright idea of rearranging my blog and making it look spiffy, like I said I wanted to do, once upon a time.

(I think talking on the phone to the bullshit insurance company inspired me to channel that anger into something productive. I wish healthcare made sense, or that it wasn't expensive for no reason. I feel like I was better off with Planned Parenthood.)

Blog will be under construction for a moment, but keep reading... it won't stop me from having something to say :)

Thursday, March 11, 2010

I have had a glass of wine

... and it's not like liquor. At all. While consuming great amounts of liquor seems to heighten my more sexual senses, that one glass of wine has seemed to set my creative/wordy side on fire.

Or, maybe I was already in the mood to be wordy and creative and just didn't know it. I don't know.

What I do know is that the wine I consumed has put me in the mood to banter... to debate... to give an outlet to the frustrations that I encounter in life... to be mysterious and frustrating and rude and needing all at once. Maybe I'm always like this. The daily ins and outs of life kind of overshadow my more creative, deeply felt offerings... it's kind of hard to deal with the gamut of my emotions while sitting next to kids at the magical hour of 7:30 am, while they scream about something that happened over the weekend.

Regardless, I feel like saying something. Because I haven't been saying anything for a while. Well, not to you. I've been speaking to God and my notebook. And those are pretty much the only two entities who really know what I've been feeling.

So, I'm going to say something. Probably lots of things. It's like when you haven't spoken to a girlfriend or guyfriend in a really long time and the two of you just run off at the mouth because there are so many things to say and it feels like you'll never have enough time to say them...

I'm so over it. And by it, I mean many, many things, but mostly, [relationshipsmenlovehimthissituationmyemotionseverythingthatpermitssomeonetoloveanotherpersonwhilethatotherpersoncannotwillnotreturntheemotion]

There was no better way to explain myself. When I say, I'm over it, I don't mean it the way I used to think I meant it. When I got my heart broken proper five years ago, I decided I was over it--meaning I was never going to love another person again, I was going to not want to be around anyone, I was not going to want to have sex with anyone else, and on, and on, and on. I suppose, at my timid eighteen, I felt as though this was the best solution for a broken heart. Just do everything in your power to possibly avoid it ever happening again.

Now, at the worldly age of twenty-two (I know, so old), I have come to the realization that I am the owner of a heart that always blazes its own trail. It doesn't give a shit about what's logical, it doesn't give a shit about what's "right," it doesn't give a shit about how the path it takes will affect its owner. Nope, my heart is truly in it for its selfish mission of giving love and feeling love, existing within love. What a selfish mission to have, right? (I really hope my sarcasm comes through as strong in writing as it does in real life.) I know that when my heart truly loves, that love is immediate, and it is holding. It does things I cannot explain. I have realized I can't control it, and I think I've stopped wanting to.

Knowing that I have this kind of heart, I think it would relieve some of my life's love-frustrations if I just stopped trying to make it like I think it should be. If I just accept the fact that I'm going to love men who don't love me back, I might just stop being so frustrated. If I just accept the fact that I'm going to love men long after they're gone, I might just stop being so frustrated. If I accept the fact that just because I still love a man after he's gone doesn't mean I won't love a different man, I might just stop being so frustrated. Instead of trying to control the wild heart, I think I will try to learn it instead. It's a very sensitive one, this I have always known, but its nuances are new to me.

I think my heart is one of the greatest gifts God has given me. And yes, its penchant for getting stepped on, pushed aside, going unappreciated, consistently going romantically unrecognized has made it better. Has made it stronger. By God, has made it deeper. Instead of trying to run away from these trials, I think I should embrace them. Because they have made my heart all the better. They have given me clarity. And thanks to them, and my newer, deeper heart, I've gained at least two people who have never let my heart go unrecognized. They are truly, friends, two people whom I will love until the end of time, but whom, unlike some others, have granted me the distinct blessing of being loved back.

I remember crying, listening to John Mayer, many times over, as he told me that he believed that his life would see the love he gave returned back to him. I never understood what he meant. I thought I did--you love someone, and they love you back. Seemed right to me. In my life, I've given love away with little cost enforced for the other party... and although that has not resulted in what I thought it would, in what I thought it should--the I love you, you love me equilibrium of fantastical daydreams and Hollywood pictures--slowly but surely, I have seen this love returned to me in ways that soar beyond the bounds of my dreams. Real friends who have no problem saying "I love you" and expressing their thoughts towards me. My mother thinking about me and still getting little odds and ends for me even though I'm no longer in her house. Kids at my job getting their hair cut/done and then telling me they did that because they liked the way I had my hair. Someone thinking highly enough of me to consult me for advice on matters in their life.

This is much longer than I intended it to be, but I know I did the right thing in writing it. The shaky possession of my hands and my heightened body temperature that I experienced before writing have subsided. Clearly, this is what has been building during all those days when I kept my mouth clamped shut and my hands felt an aversion to these keys... it wasn't because I had nothing to say, but because I wasn't ready to say it.

Instead of being frustrated with people when they can't reciprocate the love I live with, I'm going to stop and wait. Because I know now that that same love that I think can't be reciprocated, can be. Maybe just not in the way I want it to be.

God handpicks our gifts before we exist. He gives us things that will suit the people that we will become. We do, however, have free will, and just because He gives us these gifts, doesn't mean that everyone will use theirs. Some will squander theirs away, chasing other things, or maybe chasing thoughts of conformity, as I had for my heart. If God gave me a deep, soft heart, why would I try to harden it?

I am who I am, and I am this person for a reason. I love the way I love for a reason. And even if I'm not aware of this reason, I know that it's much, much, much much bigger than me. And I know that I must keep faith in this notion, because there are many people who will not be able to see what I see. Some people can only see down the trail of their own path.

Exhale.

You know what? I'm going to love him. Even when he's long gone. Even if we never existed on the same plane like I imagined we did. Even when I love someone else.

And that's cool with me.

Unless otherwise indicated, all words here are property of Miss Malorie

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