Mermaids.

I came across a quote the other day that I can’t escape.

“I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

Before you ask, yes. Yes, I do believe in mermaids and their existence. You ask why, but I ask why not. Why not believe in a creature so mystical, powerful, and evasive?

By the way, the quote is from Anais Nin.

Growing Up Millennial

Perception isn’t always reality. Exactly.

The Captain's Speech

Screen Shot 2015-05-09 at 3.54.51 AMAs a person born in the 90s, I am classified as a millennial, which means I am everything that is wrong with the world today. I stare at a screen instead of talking to people. I expect everything handed to me. I am lazy. I binge watch television shows. I overuse the word “binge”. I expect a trophy when I fail. I take selfies everywhere. I am narcissistic. I am entitled. I don’t read the newspaper. I spend too much time on “The Twitter.”

Or at least that’s how I’m categorized.

As if I’m a book and my date of birth is the summary on the back, telling everyone exactly what I’m about.

I feel as though there is a sense of pride that people have for growing up when they did. I look back on the 90s and am thrilled to call that decade my childhood. Just as people born in…

View original post 1,031 more words

I Can’t and I Won’t.

I’m sorry

That’s what you want to hear from me

I’m sorry

Choking on apologies

My tears staining my face

My sobs cleaning our slate

A new beginning

A forgotten ending

I’m sorry

Is that all I have to say

Well

I can’t

I won’t

Your dick fucked her

My heart hit the earth

Your tongue pushed its way in

I’m left coping with your sins

I can’t and I won’t apologize

One day you will sink beneath your lies

I try to believe

I try to trust

I try to love

But you make it tough

I’ll never be enough

No

‘Cause I give a fuck

I’m the one who loved

You left me behind

You left me in the dust

And I’m stuck here

Trying to find a way to cope

I’m stuck here

Alone

‘Cause you’ve stolen all my hope

Lovely.

Our hands are everywhere at once.  His full weight on top of my body yearning to be touching skin instead of clothing.  He is placing butterfly kisses down my neck, and I try to remember how to inhale and exhale.  Our ragged breaths are drowned out by our racing pulse.  I push my hands under his shirt trying to reach skin, but even as I feel how flawless he is, it is not enough.  I start to lift the shirt up but he nips at my neck, causing me to forget my attempt to remove his shirt.  I arch myself, molding my body to his.  He emits a sound between a moan and a growl, and I place my hands back onto his body.

As I lift my arms a final time, I slide them up to take the offensive material off of his torso.  My fingers feel like ice compared to his scorching body.  I scratch my nails down his back and feel him curve into me.  His shallow puffs of heat coast over my collar bone and drift into my ear.  He somehow gets my bra loosened and sits up to straddle my hips.  I groan from the lack of contact and reach up to bring him back to me.  He smirks and runs his fingers under my back and into the inside of my bra.  I hear three distinct clicks then feel a rush of air between my breasts.  The feel of his warm fingers against my back causes me to lean upwards.  His hands are not just resting against my skin anymore, but they are bringing my body up to meet his.

But we never collide.

“Why do you do this to me,” I whisper to him as he pulls his hands away, causing me to fall back towards the bed.

And that is it.

I lay awake in my bed, panting, with an ache between my legs.  I groan and turn over in my bed, checking to see how much sleep I got tonight.  Two thirty-seven is flashing back at me in red.

Awesome. I slept for a grand total of two hours and seven odd minutes. Lovely.

These dreams, nightmares almost, seem to get worse the longer I go without seeing him.

Quiet Moments of Stillness.

Six years ago, we were inseparable

But since you walked down the aisle, I’ve been chasing a ghost

And I admit to you my friend, I don’t know how this will end

But I cannot risk a broken heart again

So I’ll say goodbye now

I won’t lie and see you later

This is my silent final bow

I pray you find laughter

And in the quiet moments of stillness

Allow your heart to fill with greatness

So I’ll say goodbye now

This is my silent final bow

Random Introduction

There is a beautiful component that comes with heartbreak. It’s something that you can see and feel. You can watch as someone’s face crumbles, as someone’s shoulders droop.  You can watch as someone’s lips tremble as he or she tries to accept the harsh fact that the fairy tale love has come to an end. You see the failed attempt of a fake smile. The visible pain is tormenting. However, I think the internal damage not only lasts longer, but is more exhausting to live with. Could you imagine having to endure a day when your heart feels like it’s been shattered inside your chest? Or a night when you cry and cry in your bed, alone, begging God to explain to you how and why everything went wrong so quickly. Could you imagine convincing yourself to twitch your face into something that society would be appreciative of?

Something that would cause society to think, “Oh, see? The girl is just fine! She’s able to mosey around town, and she’s able to smile! I call that bouncing back with courage!”

Or for a guy, “He is such a man. He just got dumped, but he has the strength to stand up tall and continue on. Such admirable traits.”

            Little does society know that your head is swimming with ill thoughts about yourself, and little do they know that you would rather sink to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean than face another day.

Now, let’s put you in the shoes of the heartbroken. Well, I guess I’ve already done that. You can picture an individual who’s enduring a broken heart, and you can feel the emotional turmoil. Maybe you, yourself, have had a broken heart. Maybe you know exactly what I’m talking about. Maybe you’re nodding you head in silent agreement. I’m glad that you’re able to sympathize with the broken hearted, but that makes me sad  knowing that you endured such a rough experience. Still, I’m glad that you have a visual of this broken person, but, for my sake, let’s pretend that the broken hearted person is a girl.  Actually, I’m going to take it one step further. Let’s pretend that this shattered girl is me. Everything you’re about to read is a completely made-up, creative experiment kind of situation. I’m just explaining this false scenario in case there are people out there who feel like they’re all alone. Did I mention that what you’re about to read has absolutely no truth, no honest foundation? Yeah, completely made up.

It all happened when I turned twenty.  Well, supposedly happened anyways…