I mean, can we talk about it....

Ummmm....somebody please explain why I feel like he is....



So

Damn

Fierce???

If Gramps wants to see you....

Sometimes we need a little comedy to get out point across.



The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Your Notness

My absolute existence is not the total sum of you. When I am mad, you are not the other thing that pisses me off. When I am sad, it may not have been you that saddened me. I giggle when you don’t make me laugh. Piss when you don’t pour my drink. Bathe when you don’t make me sweat. Shit when you don’t feed me. My life, my thoughts, and my emotions are not always about you. I have desires and epiphanies and memories and needs and thoughts and hungers… none of which are encompassed by you.

If they were, they wouldn’t amount to much. They would only be thoughts of desires, never transferred into actually being anything. Since we’re on the topic of you, what is it that you will be?

Actually, what I really mean is when. When will you be something…anything??? When will you actually have a job and not a short-term paycheck? When will you actually master your insecurities, masked in the guise of temper tantrums and volatile behavior? When will you become a woman and stop being a child? I am leaving you because of the many things that you are the plentitude that is your notness. (I like that word: notness. It describes you perfectly.)

When days and months and semi-decades become silly inside jokes and mental photo albums and you’re still a plentitude of notness, remember me and be ashamed. Be ashamed for trying to share your notness with me and being angry because I don’t want that bitchassness you call a relationship. Be ashamed that you wasted my time and resources and orgasms on your notness by somehow confusing wishing for determination.

Yes.

You be ashamed for every scratch, every misnomer, every red cent paid for replacements and your needs that came out of my pocket and deep from my soul.

You.

Be.

A-fucking-shamed!

I am. I’m ashamed of myself for putting up with you for so long. For mistaking your wishes for lack of determination. I am so ashamed that I believed in the false reality that will not be our future. Ashamed that I boasted of the infinity of our love. Ashamed because I believed in you when you never believed in yourself.

Endings Begin

So is this how it ends?
Nothing like it begins?
No legs in air no nerves on end?

Now that you're gone,
I claim: MOVED ON!
But seeing your shadow often proves me wrong.

Still don’t want u back,
At least not like that.
Wish you'd just get right, like facts.

Now it’s just me.
Not this idyll you see,
Nor pen nor tears give remedy.

Anew I begin.
No fret-filled ends.
My new life starts where ours rescinds.

Dayum!!!!

It's such a shame artists aren't judged by talent anymore....

Mustn't I?

Not really feeling an intense urging to write but I wish I were. Wish I was able to come up with quick quips filled with debonair wit. Wish my pen flowed how it used to. Wish I flowed how I used to. Wish things were how they used to be…but with growth added.

So I guess I don’t wish things were the same. Just that they were different than they are now.

Without the insults.

And cruelty.

Feelings of being the only person alive with compassion, understanding, empathy.

Is empathy the same as understanding? Iono.

I’m just so sick and tired of being tired of being sick and tired. I’ve been this way long enough now to know I need to make some serious changes in my life. The first: my pen.

Why did I stop writing? Lack of an audience mostly. No one around to give me interesting feedback so I lost interest in my own shit.

Funny though. They say when you’re a writer you MUST write. No two ways about it. Is that how that cliché goes??? Iono but it’s finally dawning on me. The thing missing from my life isn’t friends. Isn’t sex. Nor drugs. Not money. Well, maybe money. Maybe sex. Quite possibly even friends. But even with all those things, I still MUST write. Write of our antics where we spend all our money on sex or some variation thereof. I miss them … my words. My quick quips filled with debonair wit. I understand now. They’re just a free writing away.

The Code

So, right now all I can picture is your tongue wrapping itself in seemingly undecipherable patterns on my clit. With each clitoral jump, the code is slightly decoded moving me closer to solving the orgasmic mystery I feel deep in my center.

I clinch.

You feel the need on your chin and extend your fingers as assistance ... first two ... then one more ... then just one more ... yeah, right there Daddy. You massage that ... that ... that spot right THERE Daddy.

Damn.

You go in slow ... (shit) ... and up ... (yes). Then out quick ... (fuck) ... in slow ... (mmmhhhmm) ... and up.

DAYUM.

The throbbing intensifies. Again ... you feel the need. My hips, initially rocking to your rhythm, find their own tune, each note carrying messages of my proximity to the paradisiacal destination I'm sure the code leads to.

Can you feel me Daddy? Can you get in there a lil deeper...

please? I've been a real good girl.

Get.

Your.

Pussy.

I kno i kno

but i just cant help myself....something about dropping base lines....

Surreal Confidence

There I go again

Hinting for her to come hither

Almost instinctively

Automatic even

I just see those baggy jeans

That hooded sweatshirt

It's like I lose all my home training

Only for an instant though

For a moment,

I am the whore my mother taught me not to be

I lust this stranger

Want her to sit next to me

Quiz me on my hobbies

Ask me what I'm doing tonight

Want my number

My bra size

Shoe size

I just want her

To want me

When she does, I'll shy away

I have home training

But within this moment

I desire her attention

A smile

A glance

Anything

Any slight hint that she wants me

At least wants me to want her

I thought I'd outgrown this

Selfish

Emotionless

Need

To feel desired

But time and again

I find myself

Comfortably hidden

In the depths of a masked insecurity

I've been acting confident for so long

I've even fooled myself