I Love the Ones That Judge Me

I have privacy issues.
I don't let my boyfriend go through my phone.
Neither do I let Mani.
It's just out of the question. So why then do I post all my lovely almost sexual experiences online for all the world to see? Because all the world does not know me. It doesn't matter what they think. Just that SOMEONE reads. Listens. Attempts to understand.

What sucks is when friends read my posts.
And tell other "friends"
And have a lovely party of self-righteousness
Talking about how what I do is wrong.
And how their worried about me.
They tell other "friends".
And no one has the big boy balls to say something about it.
No.
They tell other "friends".
They don't listen.
They don't try to understand.
No.
They tell other "friends".
Maybe I need less judgy friends?

plain and simple

You wish life could be that way, everything written out for you
But that's not how God made it
We have to make our own decisions
And that is how we grow up
By deciding for ourselves
Saying this is what i think
And I am going to stick by it
Its really hard for me to know what i think
When everyone around me is telling me what to think
Its hard to have your own opinion
When all of their's are being jammed into
Your head all at once
And it's like no one listens no one cares
And then they'll yell at me for saying that.

My Struggle

I hold so much promise, it's crazy.
I am so driven no one can stop me.
No one except the one that I am.
No one hinders me like I can.

My decisions can make or break
This knowledge causes my will to quake.
I tremble under the weight of my ambition.
I stumble, but am steadfast in my mission.

I will be
Lovely.
Fierce.
Successful.

I will not
Fear.
Retreat.
Crumble.

For I know that with each breath
God provides strength to take the rest.
This battle is not mine, but the Lord's.
This depression will one day yield to His sword.

Pretty 4.0

So here's the thing... We all want to be "pretty". It's inescapable. But we should watch our definition of pretty. At the end of the day it doesn't matter how much makeup we wear, how much are clothes cost, how our hair is done, as long as we're okay with who we are. Here are the lyrics to one of my favorite songs, Unpretty by TLC:

"I wish I could tie you up in my shoes

Make you feel unpretty, too.

I was told I was beautiful,

But what does that mean to you?

Look into the mirror who's inside there?

The one with the long hair.

Same old me again today.

My outsides look cool. My insides are blue.

Every time I think I'm through, it's because of you.

I've tried different ways, but it's all the same.

At the end of the day I have myself to blame.

I'm just trippin.

You can buy your hair if it won't grow.

You can fix your nose if he says so.

You can buy all the makeup that MAC can make,

But if you can't look inside you,

Find out who am I to

Be in a position to make me feel so damned

Unpretty.

Never insecure until I met you,

Now I'm bein' stupid.

I used to be so cute to me

Just a little bit skinny.

Why do I look to all these things

To keep you happy?

Maybe get rid of you

And then I'll get back to me."

FAIL

The sensation that stems from being so completely bare in front of someone is one that borders on spiritual. Not magical like in the movies, but special. And real. It requires the shelving of masks and insecurities for the gain of a greater purpose. I completely underestimated the gravity of being so completely naked--physically and emotionally... Cuz when the clothes are shed, so are all the defense mechanisms. It was total bliss, until the pain. Completely unimagined: warm; soft, yet hard. (Shy giggle)

I stared at the god before me, muscles rippling, eyes hooded. Entered. Just a bit. Shit. Something's missing. He stood. I'm so easily read, my face whispered, Don't leave, to his spirit. Out loud he reassured: It's okay, we need Protection. That annoying hindering thing. Plastic barrier. Takes away some of the softness and warmth. I wanna ask him, BEG him to take it off, but I will not be a statistic. I will not get my ass kicked. I will not subject us both to screaming pooping joyous torture. And then he was back. He slowly inched inside. I closed my eyes, and tried to will the pain away. I would not ruin this. But it was too much.

Booboo, are you sure you're okay?

Mmhmm.

No, you're not. You look like you want to die.

Just... Go slower.

(He began to move again an then I really did want to die.)

Ouch! Fuck. Can you...

Stop? Of course. (Kiss.)

Sorry.

It's fine, Booboo. Are you okay?

Mmhmm.

(Kiss.) You sure?

Yes. I really am sorry.

Don't apologize. (Kiss.) I'd rather stop than hurt you. (Kiss.) What's that look for?

I really am sorry.

Stop. You okay?

Stop asking me that! I'm fine!

Sorry.

Don't apologize, you didn't do anything.

(And then I did the only logical thing to do. I snuggled up into him, hid my face in his chest.)

Are you hiding from me?

Yes.

So yah, that's how my Day Before Thanksgiving went. I suppose it wasn't a TOTAL fail. It was still fun, cute, sweet. After that we got dressed, and watched the Amanda Show with his little brother. And did A LOT of laughing and tickling and talking and HAND HOLDING! Like I said, it was cute.

But I suppose it doesn't change the fact that I'm a colossal slut-muffin. Oh well.