Never once did I ask to see
An uncensored pic of your D. Should’ve known that your persistence Would inevitably reveal your business. You could hardly call it flirting; Solely conversation perverting. That unwanted image is ingrained Would’ve thought twice if you had a brain. But you’re obsessed with your other head And number of girls coaxed into your bed. Trying to mask that you’re insecure Reassurance you won’t get from her Much for you to learn, starting with respect Like your mama taught, or did you forget? No one wants your naked body plastered on their phone All because you’re intoxicated, horny, and alone. Women deserve better and if they want one, they’ll ask If you make it that far, since decency you lack. It’s understood that everyone has their needs, But pushing your agenda isn’t the way to proceed. Save some mystery for the bedroom The only setting for Fruit of the Loom. Sending nudes taints intimacy— ever crude. And asking her for pics heightens the rude. So put it back in your pants and focus now on etiquette While the poor recipient(s) of your pic, are dying to forget The curve, the shape, of which you corrupted her eyes And you wanna know why she hates all guys. So stop trying to angle it right And see it from another light. Would you like dicks to fill your screen? Burning your eyes and evoking a scream When all you wanted was a genuine conversation But left blood-boiling in aggravation Blaring a loud “should have known” Another thirsty boy that just wants to bone Staining reputation of a decent guy Leaving the next one wondering why She’s haphazard about pics and his intentions Dozens of dick pics, she avoids to mention Because then it would make her appear As if she evoked it.. such a relevant fear. Sad but it’s true, so she’ll remain distant All because of purvey ones too insistent. Since jerks will never ask I’ll make it clear with a little sass The next time you’re naked, please keep it to yourself We are NOT interested in virtual, fornicating stealth.
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News Flash: Your Dick Pics Are NEVER WarrantedWhen did it become kosher to send a girl a dick pic? I’m not talking about an intimate conversation with your significant other, long-distance or what have you, where there is reciprocation of such an x-rated picture. No. You know what I’m talking about. A zoomed in, poorly-lighted selfie or mirror shot of your penis. Never sent to just one girl, but to several, if not close to a dozen. NO girl I’ve ever met has thought, “Hmm, 3 new snap messages. I pray to GOD that one of them is an uncensored dick pic from a guy I’ve never had a meaningful conversation with.” In this day and age, it’s quite the contrary. Anytime I get a picture after 10:30 from a male of any sorts, anxiety wells up in my stomach. My finger is ready to tap past the uncensored, unwarranted surprise. Then again, girls receive them at all hours and all days; holidays too. I had the unfortunate surprise, this past Thanksgiving, to find a dick dressed like a turkey in my snap inbox. Yes, you read that correctly: a turkey. He decorated it with the drawing capability on Snapchat and sent it with an 8 second viewing. I was so shocked at what I was seeing, I just froze for the whole 8 seconds. Whh-what?!?! The holiday symbolizing gratitude and family was now tainted with a cheap thrill at a poor turkey’s expense. First, they are born birds that can’t fly and now used as a sex innuendo? GOBBLE Most women don’t care how hard you work out to get those chiseled hip dimples on each side of your package. That’s something you can show a girl later on IN PERSON. The principle of the matter is, the “models” of these pictures have not attempted to converse with the recipient. There usually is nothing more than shallow greetings, not to mention, the conversation was not even REMOTELY sexual. It's just a spur of the moment nude from a stranger. I'm not here to bitch about girls seeing a dick when they "weren't in the mood," it’s about respect. This seemingly harmless action is degrading towards women; it's as if the sender is making the assumption that they are "that kind of girl." I don't know if guys just assume all girls are like that or what-- but like it's exhausting. The setting doesn’t matter: shower, bed, bathroom, football bleachers (oh yes, it’s happened), or locker room. The time of day isn’t really relevant, nor is the level of inebriation. Let’s be frank, we’ve all done something shameful and blamed it on intoxication when we had a pretty good idea of what we were doing— we just didn’t care of the repercussions. "Hey how long have you lived in Charleston?" Dick pic COME ON! You could have at least attached a pun with that one… “I’ll show you long.” Okay, I would definitely still block them, but gosh, are they that desperate for a hook up? "Oh, that’s cool you have a great relationship with your grandma; I think they play a crucial role in a child’s life." Dick pic What would your grandmother do if she saw that picture? "Hey what are you up to?" Dick pic Yeah, my tone was certainly frisky; I asked for it. "Just got back from church and about to make dinner, you?" Dick pic Yeah.. there's a probability you might be headed for hell. Just kidding, or am I? I received 3 dick pics in the last week in conversations just like these. One of which, the guy had never uttered on constant or vowel to me— just a nude. That's unacceptable. My best friend receives much more because she's blonde and beautiful. But they're never warranted and it's incredibly degrading. I'm not a feminist, but I am also not some cheap entertainment. Good for you for being proud of what you’re packing, but if you keep sending it to girls who didn’t ask for it, one may just be crazy enough to try and chop it off. Okay, maybe not but… have you seen the news lately? Thanks to google and technology, not much is impossible. There is almost always no context for this ever popular pic. It’s unacceptable and here’s just a few more inklings as to why. There’s 8437 other things you could send a girl or things you could do to express you are intrigued by her. Maybe send her flowers, a love note, a DM with words in it, a pet rock, a meme with Kevin Hart, ANYTHING but your dick. Then again, some of these dick photographers are strictly looking for hookups… they certainly have that right, just use your words. There’s PLENTY of girls looking for that too but, sending your junk is not the way to initiate that conversation; you look desperate and you just made her lose her lunch. Some of you may be thinking, but it was just one drunken picture. Maybe so, but it is so much more than that. It's aligned with the culture that we've adopted and reputable women are not okay with it. Sure, I do fit some of the characteristics of a millennial like frequenting bars, staying up too late, active on more than one dating site, and kissing strangers but, I don’t post anything that would make my mother cringe and my grandmother cry. I never have intentionally put off a vibe that I’m seeking that kind of direct message attention (and if I ever do, my guy friends put me in check real quick— thanks bro;). I imagine it is the same with many other ladies out there. We are just trying to find a relationship to the capacity we are ready for (fwb is a relationship too) by conversing with someone or someones to see if they “vibe” and then take it from there. Starting out with a naked pic is classless and arrogant. Who would pursue that, honestly? What does a dick pic say about the guy sending it? I surveyed 30 ladies ranging from 20’s to 30’s in age, living from NYC to Dallas and in-between, and with status of married to forever single. These are their stories (Law and Order music). "If it’s unwanted. That he’s misogynistic. He has no real grasp of what women want when talking whether it be a romantic relationship or even a platonic one. It also shows that he has no boundaries and that can be problematic if you continue a relationship"
"Totally weird and creepy." "it's kinda overinflated cockiness (pun partially intended) AND insecurity at the same time. And there's so much male ego and entitlement tied up in it, like we are just SO lucky that they have deemed us worthy of seeing their magnificent manhood that they automatically deserve sexual favors because we are just SO blown away by their impressive cocks. But if a woman did it, she's a desperate slut and she'd be shamed on the internet forever, so there's a whole issue about equality in there as well." "Insecurity!!!" "It goes back to the lack of manners. Like, it's not that we don't eventually want to see their dicks, but put a little bit of effort into earning that privilege!!!" "I just laugh at them now and show it to all my friends." "He wants you to know what it looks like and he’s ready for you to take it lol" "Depends on who sends it..." "It says to me that he doesn't value you as a person, only as an object to be used and tossed aside. " "Desperate douchebag who's dick is probably small." "Excuse me while I go throw up." "For lack of better terms...DOUCHE BAGGGGG!!! " "That he's insecure and doesn't value you- all at the same time." "Two Words: fuck boy. If I get an unsolicited dick pic it’s already a deal breaker and there’s no chance lol" "They’re shallow." "Its like, wow a dick. Cooooool. It's like. Way to waste my time. Now I can't unsee it. Creepy." "They’re making an attempt at compensating for their tiny pea brain." "Then that’s a sexual predator!" "It says he’s obviously confident and a bit desperate. It depends on the situation, if it’s like a mutual flirtation and I’m sure some people flirt that way, it’s alright. It’s like a tease. Now if they just send it out of nowhere, then it’s desperate, and a bit arrogant for him to believe that’s what you, the female are interested in. It also almost displays his mindset to the relationship, encounter, courtship, etc." "It's actually an indicator of his intelligence, or lack there of. Any chance he had with me is shot to hell with his common sense." "Desperate, just looking for sex." "It's almost a mind game because it makes you retrace your actions to see if you did anything to warrant it. Showing too much cleavage, because you have a bellyring, or because you like selfies. But then it happens again and again. Alas, you were really just living life and being you. And guys wonder why girls say they're all the same." "Well honestly? It depends on if they're wanted. If he sent me one randomly with no warning, I'd be really grossed out. I'm not into it. I think.... personally dicks aren't cute,,,, they're kinda gross imo." "The smallest dicks I've ever seen have been dick pics... so I developed a routine response: 'It's a small world after all' followed by the block button." "Means they are insecure. That they feel the need to send an unwarranted dick pic. Because the rest of them is equally uninteresting" "Is he packing? If not then no haha." "Overcompensating for his shitty personality" "Impulsive and insecure. Obviously no one taught them to be proper men, and not enough women gave them the right attention." "I'm actually super pissed that its like socially acceptable for guys to send it when they very well plz. The last two guys I requested a picture of them like of THEM, didn't think I had to clarify of their face, they sent me a dick pic in SECONDS. Are you effing kidding me? You hesitate when the bill comes but you can send a dick pic on demand? I hate men." Reflecting over my past dating experiences of 2017 and absorbing the stories of friends and acquaintances that have also experienced swing-and-miss relationships, I've come to the conclusion that there's a different category of daters that isn't really talked about. Sure, we've heard of the ghosters, the haunters, the serial daters, and even the fuckboys but no one has ever talked about the in-towners. I've coined this term, so go with me here. In-towers are people that when you're physically with them on a date or hanging out, things are fantastic! Conversation is fluid, flirting is cute and engaging, and the kisses are perfect. That's when the person is quote-unquote in-town. Now when they are not around the person they are seeking, it all goes dark. You hardly hear from them, they take hours to respond your text messages, they seem less than intrigued by your humor, wit, or any other thing that used to captivate them. After a couple attempts, you're able to schedule another face-to-face and at that date, everything is the way it was before: laughing, kissing, overall enjoyment. You could see this as a real thing. The train isn't necessarily at relationship station, but it's making great time on the track to it. Alas, almost at the very moment that date ends, silence falls again. There's no good morning texts, no goodnight texts, but you wouldn't be too hard-pressed for a drunk text. Oh boy (hence sarcasm). You know the enjoyment at the date was not one-sided so you're left scratching your head of why and what to do now. The answer is simple but the execution is not. End it. Unless you're content with the popular "yolo" or "it is what it is" culture, you're going no where fast with this person. Let's face it— they're not going to end it nor do they exhibit enough interest to initiate anything aside from occasionally accepting your proposal. They're not engaged until they have to be ie. the face to face meeting, hangout, hookup, date, trip... whatever it is you want to do together. They are only with you when they're with you. They don't do this to hurt you; they don't care enough to hurt you because they're numb for some reason unknown to you. Break-up, unresolved grief, daddy issues, hung up on their ex, fighting an addiction, miserable in their social life... this list goes on but you'll never be on it nor will the list be revealed to you. How do I know this? Where did I even get such an idea that people could be this selfish? I have been guilty of this dating technique... probably as many times as it's happen to me. We're not going to do the math here (carry the one) but, just be weary this is a growing dating tend and protect what you need to when you stumble upon an in-towner. In-towers thrive on convenience. If it doesn't come naturally, they won't exert any unnecessary effort or energy.Warning signs you're dating or "talking to" an in-towner:
Granola bars are the appropriate choice of daring desserts since these daters are always on the go. Quick and satisfying (for now) is their primary goal. Sometimes they are so lackadaisical, they don't pay much mind to goals or plans.
In-Towners are comprised of:
The most heart-wrenching, lip-biting, and awe-striking stanzas from my poetry posted in the last couple months. Which are your favorite?Past the hate, deceiving strings of promises, and rejection. Fruition and strength is more than my projection. I’m not striving for best-seller but I refuse to be forgotten; Regardless of his spoken verses, crafted to make me rotten. We were the "perfect storm" The perfect mix of furious rain And betrayal gusts. A sprinkle of humid sighs And arctic question marks. Exhaustion overcame him as you lay barely alive. How could you possibly let in another guy? He’ll forget attraction, anything that you were At the night’s end, you’re just “her” Her independence is boisterous, humble it Her self-esteem is tired, sedate it Her despair runs wild, leash it When your cake is as dry as his conversation, you need to add frosting, cover it in chocolate, and roll it in sprinkles. Once I put a guy’s story in ink, it’s like I’m letting a piece of him go, which ultimately, was a piece of me. Your own power is threatened with rejection and the nature of being used. Others at the brim of her concern. Self-help, something she’ll never learn. The mirror, something she doesn’t gaze; Beauty quickly passes like the days. Longevity or, alluding to it, is another deceiving tool. Who doesn’t want to feel like they are worth keeping around? Use me like an extension cord to broaden your reach to things much greater. Use me like a free trial membership, but you never intend to commit. This mentality dresses us in stripes to focus on the approval of others. Imprisoned by our own selfish intentions, we have no one to blame when we don't quote-unquote measure up. They plucked your strength and any petals of hope you had left, leaving you a mere stem in the ground. Cold, lonely, and bare; now with stunted growth. ½ a month the messages cease ½ a month his name doesn’t fall off her lips 1 month and moving on isn’t the only drink he sips. Of all the months to come and all the months that were He will never forget the 13 months of “her.” Your sideways smile and your outlandish claims,
And the fact that, for now, you can remember my name. Your smile is average, but mine you haven't noticed. You're trying to settle a bet: who can get closest. Daydream-crafted, Disney-sculpted, rom-com hope of a Mr. Right. Face it- he's not even a right now, he's a how about never. You'll never be beautiful, truly radiant, or lovely but, he had to say something... He's not interested in your scars because, subconsciously, he knows he'll be hindering them. There have been many male suitors proclaiming [she's beautiful], like slander in a rumor magazine; they too lie in a stack at the grocery check-out but her barcode is scratched. Her value is illegible. Maybe your silence is attributed to the curves of your mind or your ability to write her best ending. Maybe words are not instruments of compassion here and your silence is more reassuring to you. Deciphering your intentions are like attempting to break a federal in Cryptid code, it most often ends in imprisonment. Longevity wasn’t part of your deal. You’d rather be a memory only lined by film. On a roll; rolling on. I want my world turned on its side. I want to slide down altitude in the hundreds. I want to delve head-first into the unknown, swim with the sharks of fear, dream with the poets of the hills, and create with the crafters of imagination. Most of all, I can’t stand your words. Delivered with deliberation- Passionate, yet they remain and you don’t. Over-sensitive, over-analyzing, over-reaching But you can't possibly cast the anger he evokes Because in the end, it's your own heart you broke. So crawl back into the box that's designated Chaos and interest alleviated You're only as sharp as the sharpener allows Your tortoise heart floating in the gray clouds But beckoning black won't bring you down Fire engine heartbreak is where you're bound. With the optimism of yellow and integrity of white Little box of emotional colors, you'll be alright. Bad at acknowledging what she deserves or how these destructive encounters will continue to feed her insecurities, practically in famine. She’s bad at harnessing confidence and instead, allows her worth to be harnessed so tightly that it’s stifled circulation cuts off her breathing. Her self-esteem is motionless. It has passed. It’s too late; she is nothing. She is bad and unworthy of good. Now there’s a concept that’s certainly foreshadowing The conniving nature that leaves your victims battling The crave, the hankering for another piece Because of the promises left, definition of a tease Forget the ingredients wasted You're what I wish I never tasted. Shut me out like you loved the idea of me but again, your ideas have changed. Shut me out because I was never really welcomed in anyway. Memories can procreate in any environment or season. The only state she’ll forever reside is a healthy state of mind. She shoots for the treetops because she needs a higher vantage point to even gaze at the stars, much less shoot for them. She smiles because she chooses to make the most of the travesties that have built her; pebbles make for a strong driveway. Are we not like sugarcane? By name, so sweet but appearance off-putting. It is like your expectations of this world-reknown plant superseded you. Sugar has countless forms that cause the original form disappointing/surprising. Are we not like vanilla extract? posessing an aroma so tempting but once it touches the lips, there are no words - no pleasure - just disgust and hesitation for future endeavors. Are we not like the seeds of a jalapeno? No where and then everywhere upon our first cut. The more cuts we endure, the more our spicy contents spill. Our "soul" purpose is to engulf a mouth in flames. Are we not like radishes? Seemingly harmless and bland on the outside but add heat and they release a certain smell in which the word foul comes to mind. Are we not like corn? We too have "aww shucks" moments. We can't stand being confined to a cob our whole life and every once in awhile, we just wanna pop someone! Of the copious things we are not, there's one thing- just one that we have to remember that we are; worth it. Not monetarily or in stature but within. Within the epidermis walls that provide a certain image. Within the image a family name provides. Within the profession regardless of how begrudging or fulfilling. Within the music fleeing from speakers into the drums you were born with. Within the soul, crowded with the contents of Pandora's box. We are the hope hiding inside, just waiting to be kissed by the sun. We are sunshine hope; stay bright. This bartender didn’t give off the same skeezy vibe I’ve experienced with past guys in that profession so I gave him the “good ole college try.” He was polite and seemed to like me so I visited him at his bar. The smile that covered his face when I walked in was enough for me. Genuine, kind, and intrigued. He didn’t even show signs of jealousy when the guy next me kept hitting on me when my body language and my polite rejection were as disinterested as possible. Mr. Emotionally Inept just kept smiling at me from behind the bar and feeding me more shots. My wallet never left my purse. He even walked me to my car and kissed me when the clock struck 12. Hey— it was a work night, after all! Date number two was sushi, boy was on a roll! He picked me up, which is a seldom act of kindness offered by only the guys truly interested in locking something in: that may be just getting laid but at least they are determined and work for what they want. The other type of guys that offer to pick you up and are interested in locking something in are the guys genuinely into you and eager to see where this will go. He was the latter. He got my car door (more brownie points) and let me choose booth or table. Quite frankly, I would’ve interjected anyway… what I wouldn’t do for a booth! Okay… there’s actually quite a lot I wouldn’t do for a booth but it’s the principle of the matter. The conversation was a little strained but I thought maybe that was attributed to nerves. No, no. That indeed was not the case. The problem lied in his perspective of emotions. In conversation, he said, “ I don’t get why people let life get them so down sometimes.” I said a little of my piece because my last job I was a crisis counselor so emotions and empathy are two things I’m grossly in touch with. To my input, he inquired of my health status. Cocking an eyebrow, I though of my broken heart but then scanned my physical and reported a timid, “I guess…” Then the conversation shocked me like an electric current. “Do you have Cancer?” “Wh-wh- what?” “Do you have Cancer?” he persisted, leaning over the table closer to me . His facial expression made me strikingly uncomfortable. “N- nooo,” I stammered. Then he drove the conversation to the destination of suicide. I did NOT like where this was going… He boasted, ”as a war veteran, I’ve known dozens of guys that would’ve given anything to live and people that get sad just throw their life away.” I am still utterly appalled at his statement and shocked that I didn’t cause a scene. I said the following:
He tried to combat them with stories of his upbringing and how his parents never hugged him but, I was no longer engaged. We did NOT have a third date and it was quite surprising how hard he took it because I definitely wear my emotions on my sleeve and one would think if your opinion makes the other person visibly upset, it's likely they are not going to agree to a second date. For the hole that can't be filled, I baked a Butter Pecan Bundt Cake.
DIRECTIONS
Caution*** this is not a jovial poem but, it's powerful and written with too much love to measure.Another young one has departed us The glimmer left is only dust. The hurting hundreds and things unanswered Things that take them, from suicide to cancer Of ridicule, violence, and depression And other things I should not mention But to stay silent would be a disservice To the ones lost, unfulfilled with their purpose. What a devastation to die at 22; There’s too many journeys, yet to pursue Oh the experience you’ve yet to feel at 25 And the relationships taken for granted, dreams still alive. The copious wisdom and promotions yet to earn Building new memories quickly have been burned. Painsteaking to say, celebrations cease. No candles to add, an absence of peace. Individual hourglass tossed on its side; Emptiness/devastation won’t subside. Many copious moments they’ll never see; How do you expect to ever again be happy? Shattered hearts flickering here on the ground Tears on our pillow, cause they’re not around But what about the more seasoned of us? The forty-something-year-olds, so robust. Vanishing from the loving life that they knew Fruition fuse prematurely blew. Leaving behind one that took a vow Expected to keep living— but how? Not to mention the little ones, so impressionable Standing in the parlor suit, dress, and all Staring in disbelief: breathing less than steady Anything to see you again, Jesus, I’m ready That’s not how that works— not quite that naïve Once called to heaven, how could you ever leave? The memories are all that remain But is their story all that plain? The life they lived cannot be condensed Into one sermon, one obituary to recompense The jokes, the laughs, and problems solved Good times spent and strength involved The impression they stamped runs deep-- Evokes emotions of their absence to seep Through my day to day and I’ll never be the same My heart will forever sing tribute to their name. The love will never fade, it’s just long-distance I wouldn’t be who I am without their existence. This is just farewell for now I’ll see you again, somehow. Thanks for your time and simply being you With you on my heart I’ll make it through. I love those I’ve lost— wish they were here ideally But our lost loves are not lost-- no, not really. Dedicated specifically to the souls of Kalem, Dennis, Cindy, and Joan.
He said he could read me like a book, but could he see the pages missing?
Probably lost in the holidays spent or in the shuffle while kissing. He only creased the book’s spine to illustrate that he did begin To read my tale from the prologue but in reality, only skim. As calendar days turned, like the pages he claimed he did too An epic journey with a selfish prize was what he’d primarily pursue To steal the warmth within the sails of my non-fiction His heartbreak timeline surpassed any expert’s prediction My soul’s blissful editor, published him his own chapter Oblivious to the havoc plot twist and remorse following after. Painted as an unconventional prince with villainous DNA Eternal commitment was unknowingly a façade he did convey Finalizing the first and drafting a sequel leaves me speechless I’m stuck with writer’s block and exposed in all my weakness. In utter disbelief, I turn back to the pages of him; Desperate for a revival story that maybe I can spin. Hours grow up to be days, then fathered into weeks Hopelessness beckons as creativity has seemed to peak Then my computer dies, what the metaphor I lay next to it, with chalk at a crime scene to contour The investigators would be clueless because I’d still be alive, At least medically speaking, but emotionally, unable to sigh. Scrounging the hardwood floor for the collection of writings in my book As the edges graced my fingertips, I peeled it open and my body shook. I wish he wasn’t part of my story; I wish I could rip his pages out. But the memory is engrained on his chapter and what it’s about. Even if I got up the nerve to rip his chapter from my book’s spine, When I open the book, the missing pages is what I’d first find. Then it’d be incomplete, even more than he’s made me feel, And it’d make it much harder for a recovery chapter to reveal What I’ve gained after what I thought I lost Reconstructing a girl once so easily tossed. Not even worth recycling, even though I can be renewed Give it a couple months, and more of these pages will be viewed. I’ll come back bigger and brighter— a sequel, like the sun after an eclipse Eventually not occupying my mind of him and if I’m sorely missed. I’ll slow the cancerous demise of the infatuation cells And spike the white blood cell count in order to propel Past the hate, deceiving strings of promises, and rejection. Fruition and strength is more than my projection. I’m not striving for best-seller but I refuse to be forgotten; Regardless of his spoken verses, crafted to make me rotten. Invincibility has been obtained and my momentum will not slow One day soon, it’ll be impossible to shade my glow. So, his chapter will remain in entirety and I will make my peace No blueprints for revenge, I’ve much sweeter lessons to teach. Henceforth, my ambitions and hours will be spent on rejuvenating matters The prologue of my sequel: how to rechannel your past disasters. "My chest shot had nipples. I'm pretty sure. I was just now trying to be funny." "Nope you are so I'm your own head. I actually did/do wanna meet up with you I dropped the ball but then again I've been gone on biz for the last three months...I'm just trying to open up and you got them boots kicking me back." "Think for at least one sec If I was interested why would I reach out and stay on it? You are bitter." "I've been trying and haven't been here now you are lumping me in category that isn't appropriate. It's ok tho. Ima stop." "I thought it was a good idea and I can tell now it's not. I can't fix what has been broken for you and I'm sorry." "I don't have time for this tonight I'm tired. And exhausted. You already have beat me down I'm going to bed" I'm starting to lose faith in humanity...Tonight, I decided it was suiting to make Gingerbread Jerks; there is no season for these cookies.
DIRECTIONS
Gingerbread JerksWhat are we doing? The end is inevitable. Wanna cut? Cut! End Scene! Cut our losses. Cut each other loose. Cut before the cut gets deeper and infected. Or, Would you rather endure the rinse cycle-- Spinning furiously into oblivion? On autopilot, nearly off it's gears and hinges. Shaking the walls of the antique machine Shaking the wall it's sucking energy from. What a metaphor to us. Wall-shaking and energy-sucking. Like a milkshake through a straw, You're difficult just for your own sake. Ignorant to the frustration of the one on the other side Not caring if they throw a fit; Unphased if they walk away. From you, I shouldn't walk At least not shy of briskly. And from me you should have ran; Ran marathons, Ran light-years away. But you don't care to lace your sneakers. So instead, you ran us into the ground. Pavement, grass, it didn't matter We nose-dived into disposal-- garbage. We were the "perfect storm" The perfect mix of furious rain And betrayal gusts. A sprinkle of humid sighs And arctic question marks. You didn't board the windows. You didn't fasten our dreams; Monumentally failed to iron out our plans. You marveled in the destruction, Smiling at the uprooting of our time. Just another not-so-stale conclusion To regret when boredom overcomes you. National Poetry Month~ going strong!Not knowing what went wrong or if you’re hurt,
Abandoning me as your past, merely a spec of dirt. Summoning new help, probably already aligned Awaiting a replacement more refined Reverting to the life you knew prior Thankful for my contributions— liar Your stature should be accompanied by finesse Walking around my eggshells, you’ll no longer stress Retreating fast with footprints in the sand Withering intention of ever being my man He made me hate me. It’s all my fault.
Looking for affection while his thoughts are in a vault. Could flirt with a wall, you know it’s true But, for some reason, tonight he picked you. He remembered your name but is that a reason To undress your mind and fall with the seasons? You’re sitting alone in a hotel window sill 7th floor, 30 degrees because he received his thrill. Exhaustion overcame him as you lay barely alive. How could you possibly let in another guy? You’re to fault, you’re to blame Another two hours he’ll You’re to fault, you’re to blame Another two hours he’ll You’re to fault, you’re to blame Another two hours he’ll forget your name. He’ll forget attraction, anything that you were At the night’s end, you’re just “her” You’re empty again, but were you ever fulfilled? How stupid— the emotions you spilled. Alone again. This should be familiar. Wish my words could release, no filter. But instead I lay sprawled out by a window. Used up and bent with nothing to show. Don’t hold me, don’t touch me— oh wait, you wouldn’t dare Don’t hold me, don’t touch me— oh wait, you wouldn’t dare Don’t hold me, don’t touch me— oh wait, you wouldn’t dare He’s to fault, he’s to blame Another two hours you’ll He’s to fault, he’s to blame Another two hours you’ll Forget his name. This is an innuendo for sure...This boy was a sweet country boy but had many secrets… I don’t mean like bad habits that he wanted to keep the girl he was in hot pursuit of from knowing or that he can’t hold down a job; nor was it painful scars from his past. His secrets were run-ins or inevitable future run-ins with the law. But that’s not why I left him. He took me to shooting ranges in great forests and ones confined by white walls with adjustable targets. The more knowledge I gained about the guns he possessed, the less I knew about him. But, it’s not like I lowered my walls. He didn’t know of my past life in Texas… it was like a different world. He didn’t know of the dark places in my heart or the two other guys I was presently dating. He didn’t notice I would go four hours without responding while out with another guy and I didn’t notice him sink down in the car when we passed a cop car. I visited him on his on-calls at the fire station which was riveting. I felt like I was behind enemy lines. No, there was no fire pole but, the firetrucks didn’t disappoint and neither did the company. Most the other firefighters were older and I don’t mean silver foxes… older like in their 60’s. I don’t know where they find those heartthrobs for the fireman calendars but, I assure you it’s not in Charleston country. He introduced me to his father, the Firehouse Chief, in which I could not have been more awkward, but it didn’t haunt me like it should have. Maybe it’s because I knew, deep down, that we were just spinning each other’s wheels. He began pushing the boyfriend button and I retreated. The more he pushed, the further I pulled back. I just was not in the *dating season* to have a boyfriend. It’s not that I didn’t want one… I just hadn’t found one that could light my fire. This one sure could extinguish it though… I just could never place it on why. So, I hit him with a friendship proposal because I thought I wanted to pursue one of the other two seriously and he kept kissing me at our “hang outs.” Obviously, once you are demoted to friendship level, the term date is no longer appropriate. So, I severed it. He wasn’t thrilled but understood, as much as a guy being dumped could. Months later, I was texting with another firefighter who knew him! He went on and on about this guy that took his girl and how he couldn’t understand how she would pick this other guy when he had warrants out for his arrest. He briefly described his physical features and instantly, Mr. Firearm’s face entered my mind. I texted his name with a question mark and instantly received a call. He went on AND on about Mr. Firearm’s and his dad as chief. Apparently, his dad got him out of plenty of controversies at work and he had many unpaid tickets. It’s not really relevant if this new intelligence is accurate because I obviously ended it before learning of that possible allegations. But hey— he’s a great addition to my dating collections: Alcoholic- check Pothead- check Cheater- check Warrant of the state- check Double Chocolate Chip muffins so good, they’re criminal. Worry-Free of Tickets, Gluten-Free of Muffins
In honor of National Poetry Month, I decided I'm going to start sharing a couple of my favorite poems and how they parallel to my life experiences. This one needs no explanation-- enjoy!
Gross. Language says it all. Quite frankly, when you are communicating through a screen, what else do you have besides your words? My guess is, this guy would never have the guts to say something like this to my face but I sure as hell wasn't going to test that hypothesis. Experimental Stupid was not on my agenda for the day. The block button is a beautiful thing.For such a "blockhead guy," I decided to make a chocolate block cake. Appearing like a sensitive, Hershey's bar but once you take a taste, deception sets in as yellow cake graces your taste-buds. Find and grease a silicone ice tray. Mix cake mix according to "yellow cake mix" recipe. Then pour into ice tray with high walls and cook according to box directions on a shortened cooking time (reduce at least by 8 minutes). You can cook the remaining cake mix into cup cakes or consume. You can guess which way I leaned... Once the cake is removed from the oven and cool, flip the mold and press the cake out of the ice tray gently. Then cut a sliver off the four edges for a cleaner look. Then melt a bag of chocolate chips in a double boiler on the stove. Once melted, pour 1/2 into silicon ice tray and spread with a brush or spatula. Then place cake down into ice cube tray and press down lightly. Then cover with remaining melted chocolate. Wait at least 30 minutes before flipping cake. Then flip cake instead of flipping out on the boy above, not worthy of another minute of your time. A block cake is a beautiful thing. |
AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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