Just because the broken pieces shine…doesn’t mean the rest of what’s left is worthless

1

I want you to know I’m still alive
that only momentarily do I die
there’s something in your eyes
it makes me want to try
and if I can remember the words you told me last november
about the soldier, about the ember
the one who set fire to the heavens
to send his lover a letter 
to let her know that it was over 
because he had fallen for another soldier
I might remember what it was like 
to taste the kind of heartache you like 
the kind of irony you like to dip your hands in
to smear all over me 
and if I could remember your violence when it’s over
maybe I wouldn’t be so glad to kiss your face
to hold your hand and lick my tongue down below your waist 
and if I could remember that time last november 
when you told me it was over 
maybe I still wouldn’t still save you a place 
in the apartment you still live in
but haven’t visited since november 
that november, that november
when you told me it was over, when you told me it was over
I wish i could remember 
I wish i could remember 

2

ice

Surrender? 
Not on your life
Not for your life
Kisses slide frictionless
over the ice surface of my skin
a trail of water dews
behind their snaking trail
fiery breath of untold passion
licks the lips
of my frostbitten mouth
parted only to tell you
to let yourself out
my heart belongs to someone
else

3

Not dead, just sleeping

2

i forgot better shit than you ever thought of

(Source: bbones)

21

Wet is not Consent; an Experiement

“We just had sex.”
“What? Haha, no.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing any panties, why are you wet?”

Hm. 

Meet my unofficial boyfriend, and the bizarre situation I created. We’ve been friends longer-and sleeping together for some months now. He likes me-wants me to be his girlfriend, shows me he likes me by giving me mooney eyed looks..although sometimes I doubt the depth of his feeling. 
“Quick, please-I need a confidence boost! A compliment, anything!” I mewed when exams were crashing down on me, a new job was culture shocking me and the holidays were getting ready to butcher me.
“You’re a lovely person?…erm Every minute with you is awesome?”
…
Regardless, I bought him a christams gift that stretched me far beyond my means, built an impressive snowman on the roof of his car and left the package on the deck where he was house sitting last night. A couple hours later I recieved a ‘thank you email’, an hour later I was driving over to the house, without invitation-but with permission, to escape the party of girls my sisters had invited over. For the record I hate “thank you’s” I much prefer that soft eyed hug, or that deeply arousing too long kiss instead, maybe a back rub-you know what I’m saying?  
Sometimes in relationships I get the feeling that it’s time they feed the bank some how to honour the ‘give and take’ of relationships-something a little beyind the normal niceness. Like the items mentioned above, or a candle, a compliment or some shit. 

He answered the door sleepy, and I was disappointed-and maybe more than a little guilty for keeping him up last night. I politely placed the bottle of tequilla on the counter and joined him on the couch suppressing a disgruntled sigh. He’d had a few days to house sit and I suppose I was rather selfishly disappointed that we couldn’t do a better job at exploiting the privacy and freedom of some space to our selves (we both live with a set of parents we wouldn’t want to make uncomfortable to say the least..)

 Two episodes of ‘Community’ later he was heading to bed with me in tow. I played my part of annoying in an attempt to bring him back to life, made him giggle a few times until I was exhausted by the fruitlessness of my efforts and let him fall asleep. Well not before threatening to touch him inappropriately in his sleep. He whipped off his clothes for better access as I groaned and rolled my eyes. Truly-even if he wanted it, there’s something not quite right about fiddling with falcid penis while they could be dreaming of being eaten by a t-rex, or what have you…

    I laid awake for a few hours. Watching the inside of my eyelids, pingponging barely lucid thoughts off the walls of my skull. I had been working a shift at a joint open until 4am and my sleeping schedule was a little off..and the reason his was too. I had been sneaking in to sleep beside him at 4am and lets face it, sleeping next to someone isn’t always the best of sleeps. I heard him shuffling beside me.

The half snore rasp of his night time breath had suddenly become his “I’m awake” breathing pattern. Half hoping that he would nudge me awake so we could goof around and that maybe he would whip me into the shower so we could hit Denny’s up at 5am for fries or some other menial adventure…I waited to see what he would do. Maybe he was just up to take a piss. He siddled over to be and put his hands down my pants. *Sigh*-boys.

I kept “sleeping”. Then he tried to put his fingers all up in there, and I rolled over, put my hand on his wrist and pushed him away. He found a better angle and and proceeded. I was kind of flabber gasted at this point-yes I was awake and I could have stopped this at any moment, but I was so desperately curious to see how the hell this would unfold that I stopped making mumbling sleep sounds and went dead still all together. I was even more surprised to find him rock hard beside me (the last few days we may have had a problem with that). I was in no way stimulated in my mind. This wasn’t sexy to me in the least. Had he rubbed me gently all over, played with breasts and whispered for me to ‘wake up’ in my ear, would have been an entirely different matter. Funny how the line is so thin? 

I was wet and getting wetter. I noted this with detachment. It isn’t uncommon for women to get wet as some primitive built in survival skill, it isn’t uncommon for this to occur during rape, undesired (yet seemingly consenual sex) or molestation. Physical stimulation is seperate from mental arousal. I wonder how many men/boys realize this? I wanted to have an out of body experience. I wanted to read his thoughts, I wanted to watch his face-I wanted to know what was exciting about this. I wasn’t moaning, I wasn’t humping my hips, kissing him, panting-I was lying there like I was dead. Granted it was pretty dark-was he imagining my pleasure playing across my face? Was he touching me to pleasure me, or to get me wet enough for what was to happen next? He pushed my panties aside and let himself in. We were at this spooning postion for awhile, and then to my absolute amazement he very gently withdrew himself, quietly pulled back the covers and eased down my underwear. I was a complete dead wait, my legs were crossed, my socks were on. He had to untangle my floppy feet to remove them. I dully noted that he only pulled the one leg free and left them around the one ankel. Then he flopped my legs apart, propped himself up with his weight not on me (unusual, because he’s not the athletic kind that likes sex with a bit of work out) and went at it. I did not move, my face was stone. 
         Did he know I was awake? If he did why didn’t he say anything? I always moan-I’m never quiet, I claw I bite, I kiss, I gyrate I wonder why he didn’t stop to consider this? He is usually so conscientious of such..He had the good sense to quietly sneak off me and put on a condom. I believe he orgasmed-but he left the room after for awhile so maybe he finished elsewhere. I rolled over, still “asleep”. He came back awhile later.  
As he crawled in beside me I gave some indication I was awake, he may have caught me with my eyes open. I was looking so hard at his face trying to read his mind that I didn’t even notice him noticing me at first. When I did, I mumbled;
“What?”
“We just had sex.”
I was quiet, mumbly-still playing at sleep.
“What? Heh, no.”
“Then why aren’t you wearing any panties, why are you wet?”
I pretended to reach down to check, then rolled over falling back “alseep”.

I was just, hm, kind of…hm?

His breathing returned to it’s rhythm of sleep  and I watched the clock until I fell asleep with a head full of questions. Two hours later and we were waking up, I didn’t have much to say. 
“Are you upset that you slept through sex last night?”
…
I left the house in a little bit of a state. Quiet in that passive aggressive way, where you want them to know you think their a jerk but you can’t quite tell if they are or not so therefore can’t really build a case agains them….. I still don’t know if I was disappointed that there wasn’t some romantic kissey conclusion to our last night spent in a bed together for who knows how long…or if it was because he thought I was sleeping and had at me anyway? 

This is a nice guy, a very decent character…I would sell my pinky toe to know what was going on in his head and what he felt like in the aftermath…

The above I believe is a forgivable indiscretion (I think?) as it was a situation I was monitoring with some one I can trust (I think?)…but what if I had actually been passed out? Even if it were him-or someone else regardless if anyone told me to reach down and see if my panties were still there and they weren’t…jesus christ I would lose my mind. 

They teach girls how not to get raped, but are they bothering to teach boys how not to rape?

http://loveisonlyapromise.tumblr.com/ask

3

Truly nice guys, won’t tell you they’re a “nice guy” because it isn’t what they’re selling-it’s who they really are.

1

I know this isn’t right
but it was you and me baby
christmas of last year
when you held me real close
told me ‘shh’
and whispered
‘I love you’
in my ear
now I can’t help but wonder
since you and her this year
starting seeing each other
the same time as you and I
last year
if come christmas you’ll whisper
those three little earth shattering words to her
and mean it this time…

Funny how I really didn’t matter to you..and you took all back with such a cold apathy-you left nothing. Not even a quiet friendship, nothing but my incredulous look because I told you this is how it would end and you always said “Listen to me, listen to me-no matter how this ends I will still be there okay? I won’t be just another asshole in your life.” and you promisedpromisedpromised until you were blue in the face and against all my better judgement I started to believe in you.
mm guess what baby? I win. 

3

wrapitinwords:

Why do you write about love? I have loved, too. Should I spill my guts, pour out the pain and rage and blood it brought? Should I describe your eyes and what the back of your head looked like as you walked away? Would that make you happy?

Why do you write about memories? ‘I remember’, I remember things too. I remember the things that have been pushed down, away, away, far away. I remember the scent of burning. I rememember my mother’s song and my father’s fists. Would that make you happy?

Why do you write about writing? Spilling ink like blood and plank pages filled. I do it, too, we all do. Can we write about writing about writing? I will. Will that make you happy?

Why do you write about Alice, or Sam, or Carl, or Sasha, or Moonfly Goldenhair? Must I name my characters? Must I make them real? But they aren’t. Would that make you happy?

Must I write what you write? Will I be a writer then? Should I?

Should you?

20