Last Impressions.

When I first observed your shifty ways,
I glimpsed a foggy, underlying haze;
What is essential remained forever vague,
What was potential went black as plague;
Always heard it within your loud tendencies,
Your repeatedly blatant discrepancies,
Big stories, loud T-shirts and MP3s,
Oozing broken deficiencies,
Your endless supply of one-liner quips,
The total lack of any intact etiquette,
Your falsified versions of all kinds of shit,
How I wish that I never heard any of it;
Because now it’s a puzzle that boggles my brain,
How I bought such a lie sold by the insane,
I cringe at the close shave of taking that name,
From a dirty player playing in a filthy game;
With your perpetual spouting of little known facts,
The effectual role-play of good and kind acts,
A contextual manipulation that deviates from fact,
A perpetual accumulation of memories you’ve hacked
There was a gnawing feeling that I ignored,
Put to the side of who I thought I adored,
I forfeit a wager that I couldn’t afford,
I stupidly missed the big, bold underscore;
Despite your perceptions and points of view,
Your recollections are historically skewed,
With so many imperfections ever seeping through,
I should have spotted early on: the ugliness in you;
It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself to justify,
The bigger picture painted is a tainted, ugly lie,
The glory fizzled out then shriveled up and died,
Left it on the curb with your sulfuric sense of pride.
But you made it so simpler to strap up my boots,
To finally stamp out embers and sweep out the soot,
I won’t remember much of some thieving crook,
Or the irreplaceable piece of equipment he took.

Aftertaste.

Here it is:

 

The truth is never kind, remember?

What’s kind is rarely true.

You taught me that.

It was a lesson that actually sunk in, too.

Now it’s part of me.

So I guess you are too.

But, just not in a good way.

I was very upset for like a half hour this morning; after tasting the semi-familiar flavor of your words and how you use them.

I used to be so impressed by your wordsmithing; you know it’s true.

Today’s flavor, however, left a wretched, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

After actually looking at your face again for the first time in over a year, it’s strange to me.

The vague and foreign-feeling man I see is a stranger.

There’s no stirring in my guts of those long gone butterflies.

There’s no emotional spark up my spine.

A smile no longer reflexively cracks across my face upon seeing yours.

Today, I realized I’ve really made a big mistake.

I was always in my own right to hate you – who you are.

Lately, the way I have been feeling so confusedly heartbroken over you again like it’s a fresh slight.

It’s like I stepped out of a time machine and am lagging in past circumstances while the rest of the world has gone on without me.

So I went back over things associated with the period of time from which I dissociated and checked out – specifically, things attached to you and me.

I learned that my alter ego dealt with you swiftly and coolly, as was only appropriate at the time.

Given how I had somehow managed to completely block out all the low-blows and cold-hearted actions on your part during that time-frame (not to mention all the venomous things you spewed at me non-stop while my Mom was newly diagnosed and dying), it’s a miracle I ever began to tolerate your presence in the Universe again at all, in any context.

I look in my settings on different websites to find your username and old IP Address on the blacklists everywhere.

Upon re-familiarizing myself with the sticky cobwebs, ghostly threats and promises of it all (and I do mean ALL of it), my mind became better able to recall the better portion of everything:

√ My desperation to shake you off my leg,

√ My feelings of suffocation and my anxious state of mind,

√ My fear of the overwhelming weight of it all,

√ Your incessant neediness and misdirected anger,

It was not “love”…it was not “love” at all…

It was just another missing chunk of time from my life that some buzzing sound in the back of my head tries to embed as having been “love”, historically.

Because, my brain needs to feel as if it has been “loved”, known “love”…actually felt “love” somewhere in those missing chunks of time, by someone.

It didn’t have to be you.

If it wasn’t you, it’d been the next guy down the line.

So it’s true: You are nothing special and neither am I.

WE are nothing and never were and I see that now and agree with you.

Kidding ourselves…

Not cut out to take a stroll through a park together.

Doomed from the gate.

Aye.

 

Face of Mendacity.

Yes it has, and admittedly;

Come to pass unpredictably,

The blades of grass are far from green,

No matter how fast I rearrange things.

In a palsied flash I see everything,

I cry and I laugh at what it all means,

Hope gets smashed to smithereens,

a high-speed crash into humanity.

A skinned carcass hung out and withering,

A trophy the hunter left disintegrating,

A nothing that no one can recall clearly,

Something hung in the sun to spin limply .

Yes it does, and quite totally;

blows my mind dumbfoundedly,

spends my time confoundedly,

by stinging my eyes perpetually.

But the tears I produce don’t mean anything,

just another excuse to curse the deities,

my tongue’s gotten loose and lashed back at me,

for speaking the truth in the face of mendacity.

Go On.

Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go on.
Go live your life.

Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Bent.

I am the face blended in on the train –
with open wounds bleeding blame and shame –
I am the darkness that protects the light –
blinded by a goal in sight –
I am the reasons why I hate myself –
just me to blame and nobody else –
I am the hatred in the moments alone –
when the place is quiet and nobody’s home –
I am the purpose that drives so many vessels on fire –
I am the face of the weary and tired–
I am not satisfied with the way things have become –
I am not going to accept what you’ve done –
I am the one who meant each word I said –
I am the one that you lied to instead –
I am the one who is sullen and down –
I am the reason none of my friends come around –
I am the cause of all things tragic –
I can make people disappear from my Life like Magic – 
I am the cultivator of this poisonous place –
I am afraid of my own body and face –
I cannot tell which creatures won’t bite –
I will eventually resign to this fight –
I am convinced that I’m better off without –
I am aware of what they’re all talking about –
I am the one who tied the original knot –
I guess that that’s a detail that each one forgot –
I am not filled with any cold from the snow–
I have mastered that defense system, you know –
I am a human fucking being –
I have a heart that pumps and bleeds –
I am not interested in dramatics and games –
be decent to me, and I’ll treat you the same.

Sinking Me.

Have you ever felt its slice? …
Never seen the flash of light? …
Weren’t you there –?
a winding road up –
to absolutely nowhere…
indulge me with your disguise;
who is to say
stupid or wise? –
I’d made up my weary mind,
treading circles in square boxes
has been suiting you just fine;
I got up off my knees,
walked away
no goodbye –
I haven’t the energy, or time;
My darling, it’s gotten old,
tired and spent
like a tooth filled with gold;
soft enough to give with force,
and allow its form to shape new mold,
but too hardened at the edges,
scarred deeply
by tragedy –
carved in her skin in big bold;
the slice that you refuse to see,
the load you aren’t willing to pull
in turn with me,
You’re sinking me.

Be.

I asked only ever to be loved honorably,
I don’t want to be resurrected,
dragged under each armpit from the trenches,
No, I just want to sleep,
just a thoughtful mind to be alongside of,
in a body of armored weaponry,
to spoon me while I dream,
to prove I can believe in some kind of silver lining,
believe in something,
I don’t want to be spoiled,
or bought and paid for,
I can pack a lunch and keep my own gun clean,
I don’t need a Daddy,
I want someone to listen,
when I am not even speaking,
someone who will love the good and bad,
there’s plenty of both in me.
to only somehow make it a reality,
to simply be able to just “be”.

Deep Blue.

It’s as if a snake,
has slithered its way,
down my esophagus today,

a darkening haze,
spills over my scene,
making static in my periphery,

the noise it makes,
sucking down the drain,
until it’s just an empty bathtub again,

genetically hungry,
a deep desire for your cake,
my tears fill the moments and my belly aches,

bleeding your name,
screaming final resignation,
begging for the warmth of your heavy domination,

body in detached withdrawal,
my heart’s never been this broken before,
and it won’t get better til you come back for more,

nothing else much matters to me,
as trivial as a granule of sand on the beach,
the world stops spinning when you step out of reach,

but, you know these things,
how I only dive this deep into blue,
on the days that follow a night spent with you.

Envenomed.

I see it slithering its way to the spot where I stand,

from a distance, with persistence it knows where I am;

 

I know it’s after any remaining peace of mind,

a new disaster if I fall for its lullaby this time;

 

it has this way of coiling tightly about my feet,

ratcheting and squeezing the life out of me;

 

it whispers the things I dream someone might say,

it tickles the most secret parts of my brain;

 

I see it slithering its way back onto my scene,

from whence I sent it packing for behaving cruelly;

 

trying to maneuver a snake-like body in ways,

that go by unnoticed, without causing any waves;

 

I keep trying to run but I can’t claim any real ground,

like a clown-house with warped mirrored walls all around;

 

like the jingling of bells – that sweet tinkling noise,

the rushing of wind and the river’s raging voice;

 

I see it slithering through sand, grass and snow,

it’s on my heels wherever I think to cleverly go;

 

I don’t want it near me, to touch me or hear me,

this snake they call “Love” lives too venomously.

What Else?

I think you nailed it without meaning to,

how you said you lived somewhere arctic,

and that I would absolutely hate it there…

…what else?…

I think you spilled the truth over the brim,

how you put the blame on my poetry,

for inspiring your meaningless expressions…

…what else?…

I think you must have known from the beginning,

how you singled me out with your destruction,

because I seem so strong and hard to break…

…what else?…

I think it was a drill that you run regularly,

how the floodgates opened and flooded the course,

with a new mental illness and old childhood issues…

…what else?…

I think you must feel happy with yourself,

for being a weak wolf in a hokey sheep costume,

at least, I hope you are.

 

 

Bad Seed.

What were you expecting
by reaching out to me?
a disapproving stranger
without any sympathy;

I have nothing left to give you
you’ve stripped my being clean
Put that red hand back in your pocket
when you’re in my vicinity;

Your struggles and your sadness
are not lost on what I perceive
The creature you’ve turned into
was somehow born to me;

Yet, in spite of such genetics
you remain a foreign entity
I may be your mother
but my daughter is deceased;

People blame and name me
pass judgment cruelly
And perhaps, I am a failure
I don’t deny these things;

Whatever I stand up for
in the end of such tragedy
I will not be standing
for what you’ve grown up to be.

The Empath and The Opportunist – Continued.

He is carrying on about the business; about profit and loss…I am sitting here across the table from him, wondering why the Hell I even have anything, much less such a co-dependent kinda thing, with this fucking guy of all people.

His father just died, after a long and trying illness, he is sad and needy right now; yet, he only wants to talk business, as usual. Whatever dude…let me print out a P & L and we will comb the fucking books then, fine with me.

Men are so puzzling this way: so likened to a fucking light switch when it comes to using the experiences we have in life as a means of enriching our relationships with each other. They don’t know how to approach it, they just kill the whole operation; they can’t figure it out, they just tune it out; they can’t accurately compartmentalize it, they simply pretend it isn’t there.

Men seem just as happy (or so they like to believe) with stuffing it all down until they are no longer capable of stuffing. And then: Ka-Boom. Right?

This particular man has the capacity to say the right things and do them too, when it might suit his fancy for whatever reasons…but, those times hardly ever overlap with my own times of receptiveness these days, after all that’s passed between us. He has that shit-eating smile that can stop traffic from across the street; but he also happens to be one of the very last people I would ever lean on for any reason – as I have learned the lesson in his case that I will fall the fuck over, should I lean even the slightest bit on him. He always said he loved me because I am “built with so much substance” and am “so deep of a person”, and the reason he thinks he “loves” this about me is because he lacks these things completely. He sings such horseshit as “stability” and “security” (please note: he straight the fuck up tossed me like last week’s milk like two years ago and badly broke my heart), while sporting me on an arm that he can detach from his shoulder at any time via some hidden release mechanism. I am honest with him about how I can’t and never could again – trust him on the levels that matter (to me, at least)…he seems to care less. I don’t sleep with him any more either, and haven’t for almost two years, so he knows that I’m not just talking shit. Whatever, let’s file a tax voucher instead.

Pushing Buttons.

What…?
You honestly thought,
that my DNA forgot,
the dealer of
such a lethal drug?
When you’ve
got me tethered,
weathered and wrought;
and you’ve
got me pleasured,
treasure the thought;
What…?
say you didn’t mean,
to imply anything,
through the carelessness,
of your pretentiousness,
When you’ve
got me all twisted,
insistent on foolishness;
and you’ve
still persisted,
pushing buttons like this.

Sapling.

What does this woman want?

She wants to be secure,

wants to be assured,

wants to feel beholden,

to bring warmth to the touch of her master;

And, what does the man want?

He wants to greedily admire,

wants to be twice as admired,

wants to burn eternal,

to forever sizzle within at the sight of his object;

The equation seems simple,

closeness shall draw the rest together, in turn,

a man and a woman are natural companions,

the admiration one holds for the other,

is not enough – has never been enough,

will never be enough to purge,

from the spirit of the man,

or from the soul of the woman,

the sapling that lies within the belly of both,

grown from the seed of Lust and Blood,

one, the child of Fear and Jealousy,

the other, born to War and Desire,

now together – now ripped at the seam,

the dark hours are the battleground,

on which we strike our most memorable,

and powerful of blows,

to behold the single rogue,

sweat drop as it defiantly rolls

from your brow down the bridge of your nose

and disappears in the corner of my eye, as usual.

 

Since You Asked.

The very time when

you came lumbering in

the dizziness began

my head wanted to swim,

 

a spank on a slippery butt-cheek

swallowed by lust, immediately

happy to thrust myself on your feet

an instantaneous subservient deed,

 

I suffered fits of double vision

a drunken, poisoned intuition

intoxication of the madly driven

strained my ears to better listen,

 

I entertained thoughts of you and me

while I sat in the corner so quietly

watching how you were successfully

strong-arming me, telepathically,

 

I swooned at your easy speech

I ached for your hands to dominate me

I would’ve begged, just as easily

you struck me most exceptionally,

 

all I will as say to what we became

how I never tire of screaming your name

You’ve said I’ve proven impossible to tame

and that was no matter, it’s all in the game,

 

you know I’m fragile and broken to bits

it never stops you from handling shit

when it comes to me, you still so “do it”

there it is: I dare you to chew it up and swallow it.

 

 

 

Unnatural.

We were unnatural together,
the shock between the eye and the brain,
when the eye sees what can’t be explained,
a dangerously intelligent couple of thugs.
we were forbidden together,
the thunder’s reliably furious crash,
as it chases the lightning’s inconsistent flash,
poster children born to jealousy and greed.

Death Throes.

Down breaks all constraint,
dull and numbed out skulls,
talking losses and gains,
in a world over-full,
of colossus domains,
consumption of souls,
with a sickening array,
pulled from pocketful’s,
from martyrs to saints,
from diamonds to coal,
the world that we’ve made,
from the crust of its core,
elements we’ve bled,
‘til they bleed no more,
which circles back again,
to the masses of numb-skulls,
blind to it and talking shit,
being swallowed in the folds,
in an ever-sinking tar-pit,
failing all across the globe,
a state of perpetual bullshit,
encoded in the frontal lobe,
a self-renewing cesspool,
that every one of us calls “home”,
there’s no blowing through it,
it’s right beneath the nose,
submerged electrical conduit,
live wires and eyes exposed,
we have each been told this,
will come to violent close,
safe to say recent world events,
are simply Her final death throes.

HATE.

“You get justice in the next world; in this one you have the law.”
~ William Gaddis

I’m not angry at her; it’s hardly her fault at all – what she has become. I am angry at myself, at her monster of a sperm donor, and at the failed juvenile courts system of the United States of America. I am angry at the useless social workers who weren’t paying any attention to what I told them when I reached out for help with her so long ago; I am angry at the many handfuls of children’s services that miserably disappointed her needs back then; I am angry at the laughable façade called the JUSTICE that remains only through legend and lore.
I am angry at the judge who has sat back for over six years now and watched with a wretched smile as my only child has been spiritually battered to death under her “care”; I am angry at the court-appointed legal representative that gets paid to protect my daughter’s rights as a clueless child in the midst of a heinously constructed legal process; I am angry that my community doesn’t give a shit about my daughter’s demise; I am angry at the various grown men (at least one of them, an employee of above mentioned failed court system) who saw it fitting to have sex with my underage child, beginning when she was only eleven years old.
I am angry at the case worker who claims to love my daughter and truly care for her…she is undoubtedly the BIGGEST piece of shit breathing air at present – the one who could and should have stopped many things many times, but didn’t. I HATE HER. And, I hate nobody else in the Universe.

Couples and Dogs.

Tell me, Gods –
why it might be…
tell me what,
overcomes me…
in the moment,
of times like these…
when I feel like,
just up-chucking…
at your stars,
on my knees…
especially,
when I see…
couples and dogs,
strolling happily…
it gets me,
to thinking…
of very dark,
long-gone things…
like I start to,
wondering…
kinda hating,
unconsciously…
questions that I,
unfortunately…
am not debating,
from my own history…
where are my dogs?
and where’s my intimacy?

Alloy-Plated.

A most precious cargo,
as simple as it may list,
alongside of faded signatures,
on scribbly packing slips;
ideas for abandoned projects,
hesitancy strewn between,
teetering almost maniacally,
strung up by unfinished things;
washed out again,
bleeding out,
in a lion’s den,
much too weakened,
to beg mercy of them;
the stars are tired,
the moon is pale,
the pathway ahead,
paves the road into Hell,
a lick for a kiss,
a pump of the fist,
a slug to my own,
alloy-plated breast,
it’s an uphill march,
it turns out,
I guess.

Thinking and Speaking.

In a small circle broken only by,
the tiny space by which hopefully, I,
will make an escape at the end of my –
musings made public in the blink of an eye;
I lift my sword and point now,
to you: hazel eyes, six-foot-two,
you know exactly what it will be,
that I naturally recall about you…
the way that your shimmering eyes –
were a mask covering so many lies –
and how those lies eventually outweighed any truth;

Now, on to the one right next to the first:
top lip’s so tight his mouth might burst,
your body language says that your brain works fine,
the stance of your stature doesn’t look so self-assured,
you have kept your ignorance segregated, indeed –
by everyone – especially women – quite successfully –
that crap works great in the military, so why not go, soldier?

And on to the next obliviously smiling wise guy,
born and bred from the blood of some godly divine,
I’ve known of dead animals with better morals than you,
sporting tattoos that belong only in the skin of dead swine,
your very breath reeks of poisonous hatred –
a desire to destroy what any other finds as sacred –
wretched: your kiss is of Sulfur and your touch is of brine.

Wrapped Up.

When you keep being knocked by the force of the wind,
it’s your real Mother telling you to just let up, and lean in;
and when the days seem to fail to let to let the sunlight brighten,
it’s your own mind’s moonshine that is keeping things dim;
so while the people around you let everything die that they tend,
it’s the whisper of freedom reminding you of your own salvation;
while the snakes pass on their’ venom to the ones they’ve bitten,
it’s your own callousness that creates the protection of your skin;
those nights you were wondering where the Hell I might have been,
just know I wasn’t with you because I can’t always pretend;
when your hands are shaking badly and you can’t get hold of them,
it’s because Lady Karma’s come to teach you another lesson;
when you fail to recognize the fault in your own disposition,
just know that it will be beaten into your essence until it blends;
that there is no way to escape all of this Life’s toughest decisions,
to try to do so only creates a much more lasting ultimatum;
when the world is kicking your ass in front of your friends,
you begin to wonder if you can ever face any of them again;
the odds are stacked against you worse than they have ever been,
do not look to me to glue your eggshell back together, my friend.

Sinking Me.

Have you ever felt its slice? …
Never seen the flash of light? …
Weren’t you there –?
a winding road up –
to absolutely nowhere…
indulge me with your disguise;
who is to say
stupid or wise? –
I’d made up my weary mind,
treading circles in square boxes
has been suiting you just fine;
I got up off my knees,
walked away
no goodbye –
I haven’t the energy, or time;
My darling, it’s gotten old,
tired and spent
like a tooth filled with gold;
soft enough to give with force,
and allow its form to shape new mold,
but too hardened at the edges,
scarred deeply
by tragedy –
carved in her skin in big bold;
the slice that you refuse to see,
the load you aren’t willing to pull
in turn with me,
You’re sinking me.

Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Try Me.

Try me, spicy,
cursive Roman lettering…
A secret alphabet,
Dicey;
enticing the skin
of my fingertips;
dividing the places
between my hips;
underneath, and
in between,
how did you know?
How can you be?
The Keeper of
the lock and key…
when I
can’t even find the thing?
Try me, scarface,
nemojte me obožavaju?…
Made of bones –
Which dialect
Do you know?
si me obožavaju?
can’t you understand?
Made of flesh –
And strung
around your neck,
you want it wet…
I’m in your net.
Please?
Release…
Try me, Handsome,
I’m yours for sure
Your unsecret whore,
Of the North Shore.
Made of stones,
tell me…
who is right and wrong?
It does not matter,
It never will,
Let me in –
Let me kill;
Your darkest chatter,
Be it gone,
so that my ears
will hear…
your every love song.
Push me and pull me
Carry on…
I hear you
I see you
I know your soul,
you know that I do…
it can’t be controlled;
it won’t be withheld,
that wouldn’t be fair…
tongues and tresses,
swallowed air…
necklaces of skulls and things,
bite marks and ink stains;
I love your pleasures,
you love my pains.
What the fuck
was my point again?

Reckless Abandon(ment Issues)

There’s never been any exception to the rule.

Every single person in whom I have ever depended or relied on emotionally – has not only abandoned me, but in most cases, abandoned me to a predetermined “Pack of Wolves” when the time came.

Image

 

Those who haven’t been chalked up with the rest of the weasels and worms of my glowing (in a radio-active pond scum sort of way) past never got the opportunity to abandon me – because those were the people who came after I was jaded and ruined already…after I had grown detrimentally cynical and paranoid of other human beings and their hidden agendas.

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I am a woman who is strange and complex by her own doing; I have grown resigned and tired in the face of human connectedness, of trying to find it anymore. I have done most of this to myself though; I do not try to deny such an obvious fact. On the other hand, I cannot explain my own actions when it comes to romantic behaviors and the lack, thereof.

I can’t acknowledge as my own, the things about myself that I don’t understand or necessarily want to understand – it becomes too heavy to be honest the way I was raised to be, even with myself.

The truth is a heavy burden; so it goes that few choose to carry it.”

-A random, but very memorable quote I read somewhere, long ago

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Never, was I someone who others would have considered to be “promising” or “wholesome”, nor was I ever the “one” that any guy would purposely take home to meet his parents for whatever reasons – although once I bumped into his Mom or Dad, I was almost unfailingly an instant family “favorite”, and always, at worst: respected and trusted by his parents. That has always been explainable in my own mind by the fact that I am a respectable woman, a respectable human being.

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As the years of life began to increasingly pass me by quickly, however, this point became ever more painful for me to exist within – like a scarlet letter branded to my forehead for anyone I encounter to recognize as the scary monster that it is: the fact that I am not lovable to men in a lasting and meaningful way.

I blame this reality of my life on two main things that I can personally take ownership of:

  1. My own warped sense of what a man should mean and be to a woman – born of the fact that I was reared amongst ONLY male chauvinists ranging widely in age and severity.
  2. The fact that I am a highly sensual and sexual woman – which inconveniently translates into very exceptional sex in each former beau’s point of view, and lots of it – all the time –too much sometimes – rendering it seemingly impossible for a man to forge actual emotional attachments to me somehow in the early stages of any relationship.

These two things in combination with the fact that I have grown into this awful, suspicious and insecure adult woman with a little girl’s response to so many negative experiences and endeavors in the realm of romance and relationships with men, renders me eternally incapable of building, much less – maintaining any relationships with men that mean anything more than have a single one of my “guy friends” I’ve carved years out of my overall lifespan in having non-committal sexual flings with.

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Despite this piece of ugliness in my cookie jar, the guys still greedily accept a cookie when I open the jar up and offer. I always wind up alone and lonely – wondering if I will ever find someone who can handle me on a long term basis…or if I’m just destined and doomed to feel this way now forever, always knowing deep down what it was almost like to grasp such an elusive thing in my palm.

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When given something similar to an “ultimatum” between all of me or none of me, because eventually even my frigid heart gets broken by such uncaring and cold-halfheartedness, not a single one of the chalked up worms and weasels chose to take ALL OF ME. Not one. Not one even tried to take on the challenge with high hopes, nobody has ever bothered with me – nobody has ever wanted to take all of me. TRUTH.

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I cannot bring myself to trust one, despite the achingly constant desire I harbor to do so – my pride wins every time, and I settle for being alone before being taken for another ride. This has come to define every element of my current state of affairs – or unaffairs – or whatever they are or aren’t. I say that I am happy and better off alone, and I truly mean the “better off” part when I say it; but I am far from happy and I want “happy”…just once in my life, if even temporary.