Made of Adam and Eve, Not Silicone.

We can’t all look the same. From the on start of your father’s sperm penetrating your mother’s egg, our genes are set. We have our mother’s hair or our father’s deep-set eyes. Our nose may go crooked when we smile and our skin may become rather dry in the winter but that is who we are. Perhaps our hair is unruly and doesn’t look like the model’s hair in the Pantene Pro-V ad. Our eyes might not be the “preferred” color for the opposite sex but they are a part of us. Why, then, do you think the beauty industry has such a strong grasp on young and older women? Is it to dissuade us from facing our real “face?” To make us unhappy with what we’ve got and to “better” ourselves? In a simple word, yes. Don’t get me wrong, I of all women have gone to the lengths so as to dye my hair an unnatural shade, to buy colored contacts and to apply anti-wrinkle cream at the age of twenty-four. Show me any magazine ad where the woman has not had 100 pounds of airbrushed makeup applied or twenty stylists succumbing to her every “beauty” need and I will buy that product. Show me a sustainable and un-enhanced beauty product and I might very well try it out. 

The question then arises, should I spend my time and money on such an endeavor in the chance the opposite sex would find me better suited for their taste? A much deeper and unassuming answer awaits. As a woman who has done the “dying,” the “bleaching,” the “plucking” and the “removal,” I can only offer this: If you ever plan on having a career or a family, don’t plan on having time to keep up such appearances. A family and a career and everyday stresses will lead to you looking, well, more like a working woman than a goddess. And therein lies the root of all our societies problems. If a man were to look for a wife who suits his aesthetic tastes, he should be ready to assume she will be spending most of her time preening and primping. Unless she has the money or the resources to hold up such a livelihood, he should be ready to see her bare all, unmasked and unkempt. 

Call me old-fashioned but in the age of woman’s rights, makeup was not a requirement but more of a luxury given to the upper class when the elite were seeking companions. In the same vein I wish to extend my comparison to men. A man nowadays holds much to his name and his credibility. A man in these times, during such economic turmoil needs to hold his own in such an unstable economy. Are these fair expectations for the male gender? I would say if men hold their self worth in their ability to provide for not only themselves but for a family, then they should expect their wife to be of substantial beauty. And by beauty, I mean by strength and respect. If a man cannot prize his family as a farmer prizes his land, then why does he work so hard to obtain such a life? I can only guess that what one finds fitting another finds distracting. 

Facebook: Friend or Foe?

As a functioning social-minded person of today, I find that Facebook lately has begun to grab more of my attention than that of my actual friends. Facebook is always there to advert my fingers from typing what I actually want to search for, such as “Adverse reactions to acetaminophen.” Instead my subconscious mind unknowingly types in www.facebook.com. There I am once again! Led to scroll through my friend’s status updates like a raccoon searching for his next piece of discarded buttered toast in the dumpster. Twiddling my thumbs for anticipation of the little red notification in the upper left bar, I anxiously await who saw my status update and/or newly updated profile picture and what kind of delicious comments I can gobble up. A feeling of accomplishment arises as I settle down in my green lazy-boy recliner and say to myself “Well done, you have shown the world a little piece of yourself once again and by the looks of it, people like you, they really like you.” Eventually, I forget what it was I wanted to accomplish on the computer in the first place and return to my mundane life, full of useless tasks such as work and actual eating. Sure, it might sound ridiculous to some, but Facebook has become my confidant, my friend in times of useless boredom and activity. It has become a place for the whole world to see who I really am.

On the other hand, I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to life than Facebook. People have survived for centuries without the use of frequent “Lol’s” on their friend’s funny Facebook photo or having to remember their new password because their ex-boyfriend kept phishing their account. People must have gotten on somehow right? Which leads me to my next pondery. I was at work the other day, having issues with my coworker wanting to exchange “words” so to speak and I became flustered pink with panic. At first my face had a quizzical expression as if he had just told me to go spelunking on the river gorge after I had finished my banana avalanche. The realization had hit me that he actually wanted a response soon, so my first thought was, “Go get your keyboard and post a status update asking your friends what to do in this situation.” Alas, I could not retrieve my laptop or my smart phone so I was faced with a dilemma, a dilemma that demanded an answer. When one becomes confronted face to face with exchanging “real” emotions and actual sounds, can we use our silly face emoticon or say, “ROFL?” You could, I suppose but it might merit an unsolicited response to go straight to the Looney Bin. Could Facebook be taking away the basic knowledge and skill of interacting with each other?  Quite possibly.

In conclusion, I leave the audience with this: What did prehistoric folk do when faced with confrontation? Did they take a swing of the bat, or aim of the gun if they knew their livelihood was being threatened? I’m sure they did, but we live in the 21^st century, the century of Facebook, and for that I am grateful no persons will be hurt in the manufacturing of new messages, links, updates, or photos. It is then up to you to decide if Facebook has made you a better person, a person like me, or if Facebook has left you wanting more out of life like actual friends or a “real” life (whatever that is), then perhaps facebook has become your foe. By the way, your grandfather added me as a friend, I hope you don’t mind if we hangout, on Facebook that is. 

Love Thyself

Do you love yourself? Do you find meaning in your beautiful soul, do you applaud your heroic acts of waking up everyday to face the glowing pearl in the sky? If not, well, news flash: You are not going to find love if you do not find it in yourself first. And how does one go about finding that true inner peace of contentment in our own skin? We see the woman walking down santa rosa avenue, a few extra pounds, shaking her thighs in too tight cut-offs, heels so high. She's not ashamed to show off what her momma gave her, even if her momma forgot to wrap her gift in perfect shiny ribbons and silver bells. No sire, she holds her head up, facing onward and loving every minute of her seemingly perfect imperfections.

And so, my question is, how does one love themself before another can delve into that giant four-chambered organ responsible for the good in mankind? We see ourself according to the silent expectations society slowly creeps into our minds by way of television, internet, bus ads, you name it. We are programmed to want more, want it now and to question something once we get it. The motto for today's young population is "Always want what you can't have and once you have it, trade it in for something better." In a constant state of limbo, a slacker's paradise, we are becoming a degenerative generation where the motives for improvement stem from the exterior god of dissatisfaction. We see something we like, we have to have it now. If we can't have it, we pine, we pray, we do everything in our energy to attain it. Once we have it, what now? Do we cherish it or throw it away? And that is just how our love for ourself reflects our love for others.

Do we base our inner love for ourself on the exterior pleasures of fast cars, skimpy clothes, and loose sex? If and when we attain such things, are we any happier with what we've accomplished and where we're going? To acquire the seemingly impossible, the unreachable goals, the likes of almighty Mt. Everest's glory. What's it all for? Recognition, money, fame? Things that you can't take with you to the grave. We morph ourself to fit into a world full of misfits, only those who "seem" normal or molded for this society build themselves up for it. They work out at the gym for hours a day to get the perfect beach body, they dye their hair to match their "inner personality," (when in reality, they all seem to have the same personality in L.A.) We mock what we do not understand, what is different from us. We flee from uniqueness when we really should embrace it. The world is not black and white, there is not one correct way of doing something or one type of look that is deemed "attractive." We are all beautiful in our flawed, imperfect ways. When we realize and accept this, that is the real meaning of loving thyself.

Catching Flies

Contemptuous thoughts that fill my mind, so many attempts at trying to do right in a world full of wrongs. I see her sleep on her soft white side, the pillow heavy with a ball of black wavy hair. Peace at last. The never-ending race of running towards heaven has now reached the finish line. But for a few hours, bliss can be known as our lids begin to flutter to the waves of thoughtless oceans. Crowds of hands clap to the appraisal of adoration, babies with sparkling blue eyes yearn for a caring touch. Friends and past lovers come together for the final curtain to draw.

Here we are, standing at life's boundless stage, ready for an encore or the flight of red fruit's regret to come our way. Hello tomorrow, today has come and gone. What was once a promise turns to a question, was it really real all along? It's easy to wander through this desert of quandary, to find shelter in life's casting shadows, but when it's all over and done with, will there be a light in a tunnel or simple dirt on our halos?

I see the quick-legged spider exploring each crevice as if he knew where he was going. Sometimes he stops for a fly, then picks up his brown body in search of refuge to build a home. Many times he goes unnoticed and his destiny is reached, but many times his path is interrupted by a giant flying paper, having the final say in this spider's life. Are we living unnoticed, building nests in safety's clutches or are we taking chances, risking the plight of paper's flight?

Sand

How many times can a heart break before it forgets how to put itself back together. If not once, but thousands of times I let you in to dance to my mind's desire and assume your way perfectly into this relational resume. You, then, being perfect and complete, find your hands on another temptress' bosom. Far away from our cheerful gazes and soft midnight embraces, you stumble into the darkness of her forlorn touch. You cast your eyes away from the one who is as a rock, grounded by the currents never ending tide. Now shaven pieces lay glistening on the sandy cove. What once was a part of solid promise, washes on the shore, waiting to be picked up and cleaned for perhaps a new chance at being adorned once again. A shallow blue wave swallows the dirt beneath my plight, two hundred more come to devour me in the night. Embedded in this earth of shallow soil, further and further I sink in it. I am no longer recognizable, the toss and sway of the oceans tumble, chips away at my being in this exposed state, left to fumble. Barrels of salt water flee from this desolate place. Wanting to savour the unbeknownst feeling of a true love's taste. Now I wish for eternal slumber and perhaps to wake up to a new horizon. Shh little darling, don't be afraid. One day the flood gates will burst, one day there will be no more pain.

Some food for thought in these hard times.

In turn of recent events and realizations, I've come to the conclusion that you can't buy happiness or love. You may think if you only had that ONE special thing, the everlasting gobstopper of youth or the infinite supply of coolness and style then you'd be set for life. For women, it's attaining that supreme level of attractiveness and sparking desire in the opposite sex, to gain security, understanding, and most of all, love. For men, it's being recognized for your strength, talent and sometimes, bank account. In a world that feeds off of instant gratification and gadgets that fill every need, it's easy to lose ourself and our patience.

We want things done now, our way, on our schedule or it's not going to happen at all. We would almost rather be alone than finding someone who makes us laugh but can't coordinate with your schedule or perfect ideals. I've realized, that when it comes down to it, there is never enough raw exception of another individual for who they were born to be, rather a constant tweaking and critiquing of their faults. Were we meant to go through life trying to fill that void with materials and perfection, or were we simply meant to live and let live? It seems the latter is getting harder and harder to do, but not if you look hard enough for the person behind the exterior.

Just a Thought...

Imagine for one minute, you open your eyes for the first time to the brightness of the florescent hospital lights. You take your first breath and cry your first tears. You have just been cut off from your main food source for the last nine months. You think, man, it was so warm and safe in there; now I'm in this cold, sterile place where people are fussing over me and putting me in weird contraptions. That's where I immediately thought to myself, "Why am I here?"

Still, to this day, I ask myself this absolute question. Why are there planets, galaxies, stars, atoms, and Rosie O'Donnell? Why do I have to go to school for x-amount of years, complete said degree to receive this rare green paper to buy the things that distract me from the ever impending question of who I really am and where I come from. I think someone should at least devote their entire existence to finding out how their existence and all other life came to be. That should be a career in itself and whoever finds the answer will become the first president of the entire universe. I know, you're probably thinking I sound like a certifiable nut cracker, but you have to admit you thought the same thing at one point in your existence.

Respect the Coffee

Today was what you'd consider a "bad day." The morning started out all right, I woke up, got dressed, yada yada yada. It's when I went to work the day gradually began to get worse and worse. There was quite a bit of people in the store, of course that's not unusual for Starbucks. I sign on for my shift and immediately get to work, no time for small talk or hello's. One by one, I take the money, I give them their coffee. I take the cards, I get them their pastries, etc, it's like this the whole day. Sometimes there's downtime, and that's used for cleaning and restocking. During these rare times, I don't know about you but I like getting to know my coworkers (you know, the people you end up spending a third of your day with). I strike up a casual conversation starting with questions like, "What did you do for Halloween?" and "Have you tried the new Gingerbread latte?" These answers are short and sweet, just like my favorite Starbucks beverage and they usually require very little effort on both parties. I've asked these questions long enough when I'm trying to be amiable and open with someone to let them know that I'm an okay person and that I like it when people actually talk to me. This is not the case all the time.

I've been there for a little over four months and have worked with pretty much the same group of people, some of them I feel more comfortable with and others I have to walk on eggshell's when I'm around them. One particular individual who shall remain nameless I had initially thought was a nice guy, friendly, genuine, and somewhat shy. I thought maybe he was shy around everyone but apparently it's just me he chooses not to engage with. So much to the point that I continually make the effort to talk to him, be friendly and retain a positive work environment. Otherwise, I'd feel like I were at a painstakingly boring gathering with no one but my in-laws to talk to. He answers me when I talk to him, but that's only when I need to know whether the drink is a grande or venti and when I ask him how he's doing. He seems to be more open with the new coworkers whom have only been there a month; he laughs and jokes with them. He even asks them politely to do something, but with me it's not asking, it's ordering. "Noelle, wanna get me some grande hot lids?" "Go get me some more chai, will ya?" It's almost as if I'm a golden retriever and he's the owner holding a biscuit. Now this guy appears to be a nice guy, glasses, a bit overweight and assumedly, pretty easy to go up and talk to but he acts completely distant and indifferent to me.

Why is this? Why do people in general, not just this coworker seem to act as if you're a nuisance in their life, a petulant insect just flying around their windshield, waiting to be squished by their wiper blades? The guy who throws you the money instead of politely handing it to you. The person who insists you remake their drink because they're "paranoid" that that one drop of milk in the pitcher is going to poison them? The woman who spouts off ten orders at once, barely giving you a moment to write it all down. Impatient, rude, juvenile, and completely unaware that the person behind the counter has real feelings and is, quite realistically, the same species as you, a human being.

I'm not asking for every single person to have a heart-to-heart with the barista, hostess, waiter, or any of those unfortunate souls who are stuck (yes stuck, because no one truly enjoys being in retail, unless you're well, different). I'm simply asking for common courtesy and the instillation of the good old motto of treating others as you'd like to be treated. We're all here in this crazy, confused and chaotic planet, we might as well make the best of it before we're gone. How will people remember you? A short, bitter cup of coffee, or someone with a sweet grande heart?

Absolute Harmony

Dark eyes captivated her soul, enrapturing with a deep mystery that left her in awe and wonder. She yearned to feel another's lips, and to be felt. The warmth that another could bring to her made it hard to focus. Thoughts revealing the anticipation and final attainment of a lover's embrace were rampant in her mind. Flashes of intimate moments kept her alive and hopeful for the comfort and release of all pent up desire. Borrowing glances, albeit short-lived, still for the time being gave her a satisfaction of being desired in what little way she was usually shown. Unfortunately for her, it was the quickest cure for her insatiable hunger.

For the years following her twenty-first birthday, starting from the precise day, she had begun to sew the roots of heartache. Stemming from child maturation into womanhood, it was difficult to derive affection from her home life with her schooling proving to be the most detrimental. Like a prisoner of her heart's wishes, a continuous wall was being built around the four chamber vessel supporting her. Attempts at destroying these barriers of neglect were made as often as possible. Drowning the guilt with whatever means possible seem to prove a temporary remedy, however the source came knocking at her door the very next day. So she thought anyways...

Joyous Existence

My body is eternally nylon, rubbed against jagged nails. My thoughts are those of consequential disaster awaiting the shattered pieces of the tilted glass. All it takes is one tip, one slight caress of all the right places and I'm spread into a sea of panic and desertion.

A sea of mirrors, reflected off me to behold the beauty of all that is around me to only use me as a passageway. The beautiful light is executed as it goes into an oblivion. An oblivion I can never reach. Isolated in this body that's been well abused in a number of devious ways, I am stuck like the ant who's become the affection of a delirious schoolboy holding a magnifying glass. As I walk, so too does the blinding light of the piercing rays that sting my person as I spin on this skewer of an existence.

Bright are the sparks and specks of their eyes that flicker off my person with every painful rotation of a new section. I now, can only feel the physical sentences running through my mind, thoughts that once were mere passerby-ers but are now the entire consumption of my soul and permanent guests in this temple.

Tick tick tock, I am now only a configuration of a person. My consciousness is only a dream, one that I will never wake up from. Who is this being in the reflection of cascading, radiant, and shiny objects? No one knows nor ever will. All one can truly do is make mere guesses as to unlock the mystery of our joyous existence.

The Girl who Cried on Wolf's Ears

Does it come from a place of ignorance or from rejection? A place of not feeling welcome, or a place of not connecting with the prominent male figure in your life? Do THEY know? Can they sense that you feel this way? You think, maybe if I was born with a penis then everything would be easier. I could play baseball with him or enjoy beer and watching Baywatch with him. I could at least relate to him and him to me. We could share similar laughs and pant size. He would actually hear my voice when I spoke. He would WANT to know how my day was and look forward to seeing me walk through the door. Greeting me with a smile and one of those half hugs that only men share, one arm around my neck and the other pseudo punching me in the stomach with good humor.
But if he had it to do over, he would have only had two kids, two boys who love their daddy and love getting horse-back rides on his broad back. Then came along the first girl in 50 years. Well it's about time the x chromosome had some competition, a shake of the family tree's limbs. Ah here's another apple, the apple of someone else's eye. Maybe she'll find favor in someone else's heart and hands. I'm sure someone will love her. But me? I don't have time, what with raising two strapping lads. They need their father time, she has her mother who can look after her.
Then the summer of '96 came to pass. During the summer of '96 he left our house to find work in Marin, that's when she beat me. She couldn't handle taking care of four kids, one of which was a hormonal teenager boy who threw chairs at the wall. So, one night after dinner after I had been out all day playing with the day care kids, I refused to eat my dinner so she sent me to my room. Half an hour later she storms in, raving with anger in her eyes. She had a leather belt in her hands and vengeance painted her red face. She grabbed me by the arm, pulled down my pants and wailed every single ounce of anger and terror onto my small behind. After that, I couldn't sit in the school chairs for a week without pain. I still have the scars, one on each cheek. Why did she do it? Why does my father choose to alienate himself from his daughter? I will never know but I will only have the constant reminder of what not caring can do to a girl.

Put down the bleach.

I'm beginning to realize more and more that we as people need to rely on ourself as individuals. The other night I had plans to meet up a friend for a drink, so I got ready and right before I left the house, I got a phone call from said friend that she made new plans with some other people and asked if maybe she could meet me up later at her choice of destination. Ok...this is not the first time it's happened. I showed up at the original meeting place only to hang out by myself for two hours before running into a guy I barely knew who's number I gave out through myspace. But I'm definitely noticing this new trend of flakiness and flightiness in people. It's almost as if nothing is concrete anymore and people's ideals are changing at rapid rates.

Take for instance, image. One minute pink is the new black, the next black is the new fat and thin was in but now it's out again, only to make way for one or two curves. But don't hold your breath because by next week, maybe curves will be in but only with red hair. And if you're brunette, stick to being thin because blondes have the hair for big boobs. You will never escape this constant stream of obsession with appearance and the media's excruciatingly harsh threshold on the minds of poor young women. It's not enough you have the likes of Paris and Kate parading on the covers of "Ok!" and "People" magazines but checking your email has become a show of "I've lost 15 pounds in two days with Dr. Oz's Extreme Fat Buster Syrup!" Yeah...because we all know that not eating any solids and only in taking liquids is "healthy."

What's happened to this society? It's almost as if we're victims to the fashionistas of pop-culture. Instead of admiring someone's sense of style or aesthetic appeal, we're slowly trying to BECOME that person and in the process, losing ourself. To that I saw, kill your screens before they kill you. If you're trying to find happiness through appealing only to the eyes, pretty soon no one will notice because they're probably already looking for something different. Just be the person you once were as a child, do the things you love even if you get a bit sweaty or dirty in the process. That special someone will appreciate you for that, instead of the clothes on your back.

Mechanics of Romantics

What "it" is is indefinable by human language. It's a feeling in the core of your heart, an all-encompassing warm liquid that fills your body with assurance and comfort. You know everything with this feeling is perfect, there's no need to make excuses for the reason you're experiencing it. And the same should be said for the other party involved. When one person feels this divine experience more than the other, it is not going to be coerced into existing, it's either there or it's not. Reading energy has it's purpose but a naturally warm person could be induced into any other person's energy and be seen as an invite for more than friendship. perhaps a romantic endeavor. Having a healthy and balanced relationship is like having a well-functioning automobile: The foundation, or tires in which it moves are firm; the emotional, or engine reflects the power of the car; and the gas that fuels the relationship flows in a continuous, even manner. Without an equal balance of all these parts, one side always suffers and eventually the whole car breaks down. Trying to turn a broken down '56 Chevrolet into a brand new Mercedes is just not possible.


And that's why I want to be with someone that I can take that road trip with, who is not up ahead spinning wheelies, but is cruising with me and letting me forget about the reasons behind the things that I say and not over-analyzing my facial expressions. I just want to feel free to let loose without constantly thinking about the consequences of my thoughts. You're a one-of-a-kind person and I know you will make that special individual feel like a million bucks. I know it in my engine and my heart. The way you've made others feel, the conversations that make you realize who you are and what you want. And so with that, I know you will find an equally passionate person in your search for "the one."

Plea to the Man Above.

I'm full of comparisons and fallen attempts. This is not me and it's not natural, it's not normal to do this. There are so many beautiful things and I'm just another face on the train passing by on the road. One you might glance at but one you couldn't get to know. Show me a beautiful woman and I'll show you a man who's tired of looking at her. Gauge out these eyes then! Take them for they mislead the heart, they unrighteously mirror the humans soul. I don't like being this way, I should no longer dwell in the filth that is the human condition. What will he be like? Will he not be discouraged when he sees the naked me, uncovered from the pretentions of false modesty and culturally accepted behavior? Will he still see me as the ruby in the sky, one that's meant to be cherished and loved. We are not plastic beings, we were meant to be real and not superficial. You say you could understand me, but I don't get you at all. I don't know how to act around the insincere. I wasn't meant to be, I am floating freebird a million miles swimming flapping and wasting my energy trying to be you, trying to be your perfect thing. Your beautiful, unblemished thing that you see on the pages of the book that is called life. The images you are in love with. I am only a reflection of my Maker, the one who made it all possible for us to be this way.
Time is clicking away, this heart is thumping another day and it's getting weaker by the minute. I am walking down the street, breathing in and black mailing my peripherals. If you give me this, I will become a better person, I swear God. Just give me a new nose, a new hairstyle, a new anything and I WILL be a better person. That's how it works, doesn't it? Doesn't it God? NO. It doesn't, it doesn't work like a pawn shop. This life I have given you is NOT a pawn shop. You were blessed with what I have given you and in those gifts you will mature into the creation I have planned you to be. Pay no attention to the ideals of men for they know not what their heart desires. They only know what their flesh desires and that is corruption, greediness, lust, contempt and hunger for the darkness of this world. Anything that will increase their wallet, their penis or their ego. Mostly, all of the above. Never to increase their heart, their soul, their self-worth as a human I have created in my image.
Oh God, why does my mind turn itself on me? Why do I need medications to feel normal? That is the way you made me. Isn't it?

Grandiosity

Truth. It stings like a bitch. When asking oneself, in all dead honesty, any sort of question we have to be truthful to our heart because, if we're not, we're not real. Last night, being once again put on a pedestal for the plague of high-nosed girls who still act as if they were still in high school, I was put to the test. Could I endure the constant scrutiny of condescending glances from these people summoning me into their clique?


It seemed relentless, the touching, the whispering, the pretentious acts of kindness. The main dragon temptress, with her golden locks and skin-tight jeans, she's the one you should be nice to because if not, well you're no longer considered viable material for a friend. Act like her best friend, and you're gold. Dance with her, hug her, hell, even kiss her for anyone who cares. As long as you care for superficial behavior and plastic attitudes, you'll fit in. Unless. Unless you've grown up with these girls, integrated into their social heirarchy as a male friend. A friend who, even though he's always the Designated Driver, doesn't admit to wanting to let loose and join in on the fun. He plays it nice, unassuming in that none of these girls would ever be interested in him other than a "friend." It's just too bad he doesn't know that, it's too bad that these girls have led him into believing the new girl at the party is interested in "that" way. They root him on, saying go for it, she seems to like you because you both shared a moment of laughter in the kitchen. She MUST be interested, right? Except when you tell her how you feel, she tells you she doesn't feel the same way and you're back to square one. Alone, rejected, and feeling like a fool. All because of what?


Sure, the pretty girl who you shared a moment with was never interested in you like "that" and you actually believed your "friends" when they said go for it, what do you have to loose? Apparently everything, your dignity, your self-preserveration. It's enough to make you doubt life and your reason for living. To be constantly put up for disapproval from the opposite sex, I couldn't imagine what that would do to a person. You reel your heart into the ocean of sharks, waiting for the next opportunity to eat you alive. And when you finally realize you're tired of this routine, people tell you to lighten up, don't be so serious. To them I say "Go fuck yourself."


I was the girl who was put on parade for these catalytics; I was yet another casualty lost in the line of fire for a man who clearly shouldn't be hanging around these pyrotechnics. None of them can identify with what he has to go through in the scary world of dating. They're just plastics wanting to play human. And here's the victim, saying once again he knew this would happen the minute he opened his heart to another shark. But I am not a shark, I'm more of a dolphin who's gotten lost in a sea of sharks. I just want to eat fish and make dolphin noises, not bite people and tear their limbs off. I told him that I'm not a superficial human being, I'll be honest with someone from the get go. I'm not out to hurt anyone but life being the way it is, casualties are a sure thing. It's not my fault I look this way and it's not his fault he looks the way he does. Genes can be a bitch. But so can girls. Ain't that the truth?

Simplicity

I'm the best kiss you'll never get to taste, the most eager to please on my knees, every breath of yours I take.

A New Emotion

You are finally real to me. You were always a fragment of hope, lingering in the corners of my temples, but now you've become tangible. Running fingers in these dark strands, floating crafts over my skin, loving me softly are your hands. Pressing your lips against mine, two lips like pillows so divine.

Breathing deep, careless sighs of relief you feel inside this body full of weakness and strength ready to embrace the wonders of the unknown. My silence is booming from the depths of my mind, thinking about you, about the terrors of life and the wretched worries of the future. But then you touch the crane of my elbow, hushing me with the language only you and I can understand. "

Shh...Shh...What good does worrying do when it produces no prize? I am right here for you darling, you'll never be left high and dry. For that I am grateful, no amount of goods would ever compare to this love. And love you I do.

More appropriately, Love.

I cannot contain it any longer. I wish so much to unleash the boiling passion that burns within my soul. Who will love me with such intense, pure, raw, passion? Most importantly, why would they love me? I am an honest, good and loyal woman who would set herself above the highest standards of today's society. I will not, however, lower my expectations or degrade myself for love of fame or money. Find me, find me pure, find me beautiful and exposed. My tears do not fall in vein, but they come from the very source I see you in all your greatness and confusion. This is how it's meant to be; I am vulnerable and unsure at times, but that in itself is a beautiful thing, a thing not to be taken forgranted. Love me for who I am as I will you. I am no longer afraid to let you in.

The Pandemic of Yesterday, Today and Probably Tomorrow

It's feeling regretful, desperate, physical pain and self-destruction. It's the constant nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you will never be good enough. Telling you that you should just give up because no one is listening and no one really loves you. It's nearly impossible to forgive yourself. It's the vicious cycle that you thought you had victory over but only comes back to throw you in the race of contempt. Desperate depression is what I call it. I've felt it more than once, and probably have felt it more than positive elation. Does God want me to be this way? Or is it His counterpart, Satan that makes me this way? Is there a good and evil or is it just brain chemicals that make people depressed, murderous, or psychotic? Are brain chemicals to blame for poverty and greediness or is there really supernatural forces behind this insidiousness? We should work together to figure this out instead of fighting each other for who has the better facts or debating tactics. We were all created human, therefore all have the same physiological make-up but it is our brain chemicals, our social settings, and our earthly environment that make us all individuals.
I wonder about those who don't have access to medical resources such as anti-depressants or psychiatrists. Are they just supposed to "shake it off" and hope that they feel better in time? Perhaps it's their culture that frowns upon the use of chemical substances for mental deficiencies. Or perhaps it's lack of government funding for such luxury products. Whatever the case, people for centuries have found ways of overcoming sadness and even contemporarily, most European countries accept sadness as a fact of life. Sometimes the best medication is laughter, sometimes it's alcohol (although not recommended for the on-going blues). Sometimes it's just finding an outlet to release your emotional frustrations and focusing your attention somewhere else besides your own genetic defaults.
I hope that whoever discovers the answer to this mystery will come knocking on my door, if not with a magic lotion then with a great big smile and a bear hug.