Carnage

It was the intoxication for you that made me realize that I’ve been getting drunk of the wrong things for way to long

I’ve been sober before your lips, before your hands on my hips

You made me rethink the concept of being in a state sobriety

Because I would always see my self staring at the end of a bottle for a daring push into the world of extraordinary cliches to feel a sense of normalcy, different than awkward social convention I shoved myself into 

But then I found myself drinking you, and felt at ease, felt at peace

Because liquor isn’t supposed to transform you

It’s supposed to bring out your truest shade out form the shadows

Shadows that were born out of the constricted norms embedded into my mind before I could even think about playing with my barbie dolls

And then I drank a tangy mixture of cheap vodka, expensive self-derailemt and an aftertaste of a misplaced childhood.

And for the first time in my predetermined existence

For the first time in my etiquette driven, formulaic personality

For the first time my mask fell of my face

Tumbled down on to the floor

And fell between your fingertips

For the first time I wasn’t afraid of pain

I found comfort in the scars you left on my neck

Open wounds that got infected with delusions and ill-adviced caresses

Because with every stroke they became deeper

And now here I stand

That result of your carnage

Battered black and blue but holding on to your control over me

Waiting

Waiting for you to bite deeper into me until I’m lost in my own oblivion

Only to find myself in your arms

Wanting to feel weak again

Craving the hangover 

Vent

I haven’t vented for a while and it’s really starting to get to me. This addiction of self-inflicting emotional pain is really getting out of hand and it’s all thanks to (bis surprise) a GUY. I can have my cliche moments once in a while and this is one of them.

I just don’t get it. Do men enjoy twisting the feelings and emotions of women for pleasure? Is it like a sport to them? What is it about driving women towards a downward spiral that they find so exhilarating. I mean seriously, how is having a girl go up and down a horrible emotional roller coaster for about 10 months FUN. Especially a dramatic girl, who’s actually going to get pissed at you because she, oh I don’t know, ACTUALLY FUCKING CARES ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING IN GENERAL AN TO HER. And COME ON, really? The bull crap that you miss her and you want to never loose her. (Well I can’t really call is bull crap I fall for it all the time, but the point is WHY THE FUCK DO YOU SAY THOSE THINGS WHEN YOU REALLY DON’T CARE). And don’t come with the excuse that you feel sorry for her, because if you did you would have walked away when you fought, when she told you she wanted nothing to do with you, but you didn’t. You didn’t walk away. Why the fuck did you stay. You honestly don’t think it’s best for the mental health of the both of you for you to just leave her alone. She’s strong, she can get through it. But you won’t, and neither will she. None of you want to let go because sadly both of you, deep down, VERY DEEP DOWN, care. BUT YOU. Oh you who can only think with that small penis are blinded by a morality you don’t posses are so convinced you have the world on a sting wrapped around your finger that you can get away with having movie night and not paying attention to them. Well you actually succeeded but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again, or maybe it will, or it won’t. Jesus why is this so goddamn complicated. WHY ARE YOU SO COMPLICATED. I’m actually trying to keep this as simple as I can but it’s hard, SO HARD because you except things to be fine. I’m not ok with “fine”. I don’t like “fine”. I want simple no baggage, happy go lucky, with normal *insert some socially acceptable label here* fights and not being terrified of kissing you or actually fucking you because there would be no moral implications involved.

 

I want my best friend back. All of him. And a little more. And I won’t ever get it. Because. He. Is. A. Fucking. Idiot

Didn’t take me so long to crack this time.

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.

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.