Dear Karma

Dear Karma,

I am sick and tired. Sick and tired of standing back and forgiving everyone who doesn’t need to be forgiven, of being stepped on, of being shot down. I am sick and tired of seeing everyone else being happy, seeing those who hurt me thrive. I am sick and tired of being ok with settling for less that what I deserve. Haven’t I paid enough for everything I did just about a year ago? What is it karma? You gonna throw things at me till I crack? Well guess what, YOU WON, I’ve had it, and I’ve cracked.

News flash you cosmic piece of worthless belief, I don’t think it’s fair that those who hurt me get to be happy after doing everything that they did, and that I’m still paying for hurting him. I know I hurt him, jeez, every person on the planet knows I still feel like shit, and yet I haven’t gotten my chance to redeem myself, to show that I’ve changed. I can’t seem to catch a fucking break in a world where, honestly, the only thing I have going for me is that I was born into lucky family, who in retrospect isn’t even that lucky because I have to deal with two 5 year olds who happen to be my parents.  And it’s not lucky anyway because I feel like shit for having what I have, it’s like a cursed label, but I’m getting side tracked here.

I honestly need a break. I want to be more than content with where I’m at, I want to actually be happy about something, not just be happy simply because I still have a shred of my sanity. So here I am begging you, me the proud midget who never asks for anything is begging YOU the bitch of the royal superstitious mindset TO GIVE ME A BREAK. It can be a simple week where my love life, sport life and academic life just seem to fall into place, and then you can go back to your malicious ways.

And it’s not just me. I know people who are so dead inside because of you that they have lost all faith in anything ever getting better. I know people who because of you, have gotten much more than what they had coming. It’s like you enjoy prying on the already messed up to drive them deeper into their madness so they can keep fucking up and you can keep doing what you do best: screwing people over.

Honestly, you either need to get your act together or leave me the hell alone.

Oh and tell your friend destiny that she is more of a bitch than you because after all that I’ve done defending her and believing in her and what not, she’s jut put me in a plan that my mother doesn’t agree with, and it’s just really messing things up for me.

With great loathing,

The hopeless romantic

 

 

 

P.S. If you decide to build up a storm when my Syracuse application is being reviewed and I happen to not get in, I will find a way to annihilate you because that would be just going to far.

 

Happy Hoelloween

Aside

So it’s hallows eve and I’m still not sure if I have a costume or not. It annoys me that I actually have to make a costume because all the ones I find are sexy versions of animated kids characters. I mean seriously, who’s weird fetish imagined a sexy Elmo?

What amazes me even more is that women have turned halloween into all time hoe fest. Honestly, if you’re a closeted wanna be prostitute go right ahead and do it all year round and don’t put up this act of false innocence or self respect that you obviously do not posses. There is absolutely no need to walk around in a corset IN PUBLIC and act like it’s perfectly fine because you’re supposed to be Snow White. I had no idea Snow White wore fishnets in the movie, I guess they might have been hidden under her skirt that actually covered her ass… 

If you wanna wear a corset and fishnets, be my guest, but please do it behind closed doors and stop ruining my favorite childhood movies. Seriously, childhood movies are pretty much the only happy thoughts I have anymore and I don’t need them to go into the dark side. If your man has a weird thing for a naughty Buzz Lighter, well I suggest two things, question his sexuality and also, please that strange craving in your four walls; I don’t want one of ma favorite Pixar characters to be soiled forever in my memory because he was made into a trashy piece of latex.

Isn’t halloween about goofing off? About getting drunk of a sugar rush? About exploring that lost childhood we thought was lost forever? Or is that just me? Because the usual thing I see when I look around on October 31st are breasts pushed up to women’s noses and men tying to push down their boners. That’s far from innocent in my perspective. And yes, this coming from a woman who defends casual laying about and has a mind that finds double meanings in everything. What can I say, halloween is the time of year that reminds me I’m not as far gone as I think.

Sexual Frustration

Oh sexual frustration what have you done to me. Why have you overcome me? Does it have anything to do with the fact I haven’t actually been with anyone for about a year? Cause I mean, I don’t count the last I was sort of with simply because he was a pathetic case of innocence dabbling with a dangerous dose of egocentric arrogance who acted more like a prude than what he talked up to be.

It’s funny how women think it’s degrading to talk about their sexual frustration. I think it’s refreshing, letting it all out there. God knows I’m not masturbating, so why not simply write about it? It’s a way to deal with it at least.

I think the most frustrating part about dealing with sexual frustration is knowing that if you act upon it you probably won’t make the most respectable decisions. I mean if a woman is really desperate she might – scratch that – she will make really dumb judgement calls and sleep with anybody, or sext with anybody for that matter. Side note: In regards to the matter of sexting, I don’t find it sad, per se, it’s a really good realising method, there just comes a point when you realize that sexting a total stranger is not really worth it cause you’re just constantly turned on. Regardless of your sexter’s his hot swimmer’s body, sexy glasses and fuckable attitude and mind (there is nothing better with a guy that has a fuckable attitude and mind by the way) it just doesn’t really fill you up.

Many females deal with their frustration in different ways, most indulge in chocolate, or shopping – my personal favourite – some even do exercise, like if it were a substitute for the real physical challenge. God forgive any of us actually go out and try to sleep with a man cause that would just be a loss of complete self respect and the word “easy” will be forever tattooed on our foreheads for believing in casual sex. And just clarifying, when I say “casual sex” I don’t mean sleeping around all the time and every weekend, I mean it literally; casual sex once in a while with no romantic entanglements just to quiet the urges. A man believes in casual sex and it’s completely normal; he can get away with hooking up with the girl from the bar. But that girl form the bar will be cataloged as a thirsty slut in that guy’s mind without him giving a second thought to the label. Could it have been that she was looking for the same thing he had? I mean, a slut is defined to be a woman with the morals of a man, so I guess it’s accurate.

Wait, so does that make me a slut for believing that there is nothing wrong with casual fornication? It is a manly moral to have, therefore I fit the definition. Most people would say I’m not, because I don’t whore around. But most people don’t realize the technical difference between a slut and a whore. A slut has self respect and self worth, she uses sex as her weapon and as her means of power, like any man. A man uses having sex as showing power, a slut uses having sex as controlling her power. Pretty eye opening technicalities if you ask me. A whore on the other hand, she uses sex to feel better about herself or himself. They sleep around all the time thinking that they overcome sex, but it in fact has overcome them. It has overcome them to such a point where morality is out the window and it has become a necessity by any means possible.

Under that logic, I really don’t mind being called a slut. I don’t sleep around, I believe in a casual fling once in a blue moon. I’ve made bad judgement calls I know, but I’m not going to let those define me any longer.

I’m a sexually frustrated 17 year old girl; fell free to judge me because I honestly won’t give a fuck.

*Chilché title bout college to be inserted promptly*

If I learned something this week it’s that college tour guides have and uncanny talent of walking backwards for extensive periods of time. I’ve been going around from campus to campus this entire week looking for the hook where I’m to spend the next four years of my life. What is my perfect fit? Is it the amazing prestigious combination of purple and white with a touch of elitism sprinkled with small town humility? Maybe it’s maroon and silver spiral of high-class hipsters who want to change the world one ridiculous prompt at a time. Or, could it be that imposingly bright combination of blue and orange whose dome is as big as the dreams and wallets of the people who end up going, but who care less about what anyone could say about them. It just might the speck of yellow and blue in the middle of a mountain with, well it has just about everything and nothing I could ever want. Could it be that my perfect hook is the world renowned twang of blue and silver who’s at the capital of honest and celebrated –often times overlooked – idiocracy*? 

If you guessed that I’m referring to Northwestern, University of Chicago, Syracuse University, Ithaca College and Georgetown then congratulations, you know a whole lot about different universities in the USA and probably went through or are going through what I am right now. Looking at these schools It got me thinking about what type of person I want to be. Obviously I want to be a journalist, a writer, someone who has a lot to do with words and little to do with anything but the construction opinions of helping to build the foundations for intellectual chaos. But, who else do I want to be? I think that’s what all this searching process actually is looking for, not an institution where your gonna sit your ass in for the next four years and get the education you need, I mean what you do with what you learn is what matters anyway. What this endless search and application process does to you is that that force you to think about what of yourself you want to develop the next years to come. That’s really a tough question to ask any 17 year old. Forget the mayor, that’s the least of your worries, where are you gonna feel home.

The only thing I have certain is that I’m going to have to become the girl that can endure snowstorms because all of the campuses I looked at will be burred under snow by mid-November. If I don’t become that girl you’ll see less of me that you already do.

As I look outside the window of this fast moving train into the wilderness of red, yellow and green (borderline hipster cliché I know) I just think about what the fuck am I to do, and the answer always seems to be that I’d look amazing in orange.

 

 

*It’s funny that my computer is trying to correct this word into democracy

 

El diablo cajuelo que me atormenta

“Porque nadie se tiene que dar cuenta”, 

He said with that wicked smile,

That got me every time, 

And melted me away,

Como burbujas en una pecera,

Que desaparecen mientras te ahogas. 

And he keeps me down, 

Doesn’t let me slip away,

Making me believe that I was safe between el merengue, 

Y el suspiro,

Not realising that I didn’t matter.

Never did.

Not to him.

My carnaval un 27, 

Became el diablo cajuelo que me atormenta,

Cause you pull me in with your color,

And power,

But scare me with it just the same. 

Y si te veo en La Vega corro,

Cause I can’t take another blow. 

So I loose myself in the rum,

Y escucho una bachata en tu honor, 

Cause your memory I can’t let go of.

From childhood comparsas,

To movies en el malecón.

From stolen kisses that felt right, 

To intentions that felt wrong. 

And those secret glances en La Romana 

That let me forget I was raised in la Pedro Enrrique, 

And reminded me that I’m more that who I seem to be,

But made me forget that who I was, and hope to sill be is strong

All on my own. 

 

Pain is relative

Dedication: To my fading self worth

 

Pain in relative

And as it burns through your memories

It becomes a part of you

A scar that you know like the back of your hand

Chemical burn that you learned to caress

And is always there when you’re alone

Cause the skin is so vile

And the scar is so great

That no one will want to hold you with your crippled emotions

And the solution would be to deal with it like the dead

Going back to those few moments

Very few unforgotten smiles an whispers

But you think it’d be best to deal with it like the living

It’s the solution of the strong

Because you have to be stronger

You can’t let the burning desire

Of crashing into vice consume you

So you deal with it like the living

Having it square in the face

As a reminder

A reminder that redemption won’t save you

And damnation is imminent

Damnation caused by your desires to be

And live in a way you believed to be beautiful

But in fact is just a tunnel thats getting narrower

And there’s no way out of it

So you drown in the vinegar at the end of it

To nurture

To feel numb

To not care

And then, you’re strong

In this context “strong” meaning empty

Cause you’ve hit rock bottom

Congratulations

No one can ever hurt you again

Revolution of the Hopeless Romantics

As I take a stroll down memory lane 

I run into the corner of nostalgia and broken hearts 

And run into the ghost of the past 

That leads me down three sharp turns 

And I end up un the end of Bull Shit Ave.

Right where it meets with Honesty Hour Street 

I’m faced with a huge cement bunker 

At the top in huge letters it says

“Institute of higher love”

I walk right up to it high and mighty 

With my heart on my sleeve 

And my dignity hanging by a thread 

Holding on to my independence

Can’t loose it in the mind games 

Can’t loose myself in the secret glances 

Or in the hand holding 

Or in the full words with empty meanings 

I can’t loose myself 

Cause I’m burning this place down 

From the inside 

And watching the false hope and promises of all the aching hearts 

Burn up in the smoke of the revolution