They don’t see the hate that’s in your head.” This quote from Les Miserable captured the dramatic self-loathing felt by young woman living in the heart of Philly. Utterly disgusted with the demise of another fling, she writes: The friction of the two bare bodies reminds her this is the only warmth he’ll provide. She’s not worth a 5 word text following this encounter. This satisfaction was temporary and he’ll soon crave another quick fix. She’s not worth breakfast in the morning because, why stray her further from reality? After all, it isn’t right to lead a girl on. She isn’t worth a hug goodbye; any desired contact was already obtained. She isn’t worth confirming her name; he won’t ever use it again. When his friends inquire of the escapade, it will be referred to with vulgar sneers and high-fives. The best chance for her to be referred to for more than 3 minutes is if she is comparable to past bare experiences, or worse, if she was “bad.” If he only knew how “bad” she was… Bad at acknowledging what she deserves or how these destructive encounters will continue to feed her insecurities, practically in famine. She doesn’t have poor judgement, just poor execution of that judgement. She’s bad at rationalizing his words and the language his body speaks with a slur. She’s bad at allowing her desire for affection trump logic. She’s bad at giving the benefit of the doubt when it’s not earned. She’s bad at lumping all men in one category: the dating pound. They are all dogs to her. She’s bad at patience. She sees potential and jumps, head-first, only to discover his depth doesn’t exceed 3 ½ feet. She’s bad at measuring her merit; where’s the ruler in the realm of shallow dating? She’s bad at rejecting a train wreck; she rides business class. 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. "Strawberry Fields Forever""The hate that’s in her head" today is pink, reflecting her overcasting womanly desires for affection. She’s berry positive she’ll find it— she just has to search in some seedy places. To pull her from her sulking state, she removes three round cake pans, decreasing in size from a cupboard.
For the Buttercream:
Cake Instructions:
For the Buttercream:
Assemble the Cake:
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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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