I Choose Love
An Obsession
Everyday it seems they take more of what makes us away. I used to get a new page when I wanted to write, and now they confine me to this little box of ill imagined possibility. What do they want of us? Except to make us swine? Each day I see the posts a little less, a little smaller, filled with tiny misspelled words, and overused vocabulary. What happened to above and beyond? What happened to skylines and horizons where the stars were our guide? Maybe this is what happens when 20 something becomes more like 27, and thirty is a word that sounds a little bit like I’m a grown up.
Impending birthdays sometimes have a way of making you think about things, and life seems less like splendor and more like something I’ve been doing for awhile. But it can’t be just that. I look at the roads I’ve taken high roads of hope and low trails of circumstance. In the rear view it all kind of looks like life in the undergrowth. I am grateful for that. I feel good about the rocks in my shoes and the dirt on my feet, the skinned knees, the bumps and the bruises. I wonder what I’m supposed to be learning next.
I just recently came home for a visit, and it has proven very difficult not to draw comparisons of my last trip home. I have thought about my father so many days of my life, and the year that followed are falling out have been no different. I think often about how I am probably his least favorite idea of a daughter. I think about how much shame a person can feel in the course of a lifetime, and how useless it is to feel worthless like that. I have robbed myself of happiness by trying to fix something that just is. My parents decided to have me, and now I’m stuck with this life. I’m here and it is now and forever my personal responsibility not waste it on becoming someone else’s idea of myself.
I would be lying if I said I did this all on my own. For some reason I cannot understand I am loved, but I have stopped asking why and started asking only what is possible in that light. I have been happier with myself for it. I think of Rumi everyday, “Let the lover be.” Yes. I see the bulbs begin to flicker with comprehension. I feel myself finally coming back around, out of the smoky collapse of what I thought was right for myself. Sometimes I think I may find myself again, sometimes in the quiet I think I may meet myself along this road. My soul bubbles with anticipation, but I feel older and softer and patient. I think that’s good too.
“It is okay to want your own happiness. It’s okay to care about yourself the most. You are not obligated to sit there and smile and swallow every bit of shit everyone heaps on you. You are more than furniture, you’re more than window dressing, you’re not their shiny toy. You’re human, and you have the right to say “That was shitty of you”. You have a right to protest your own mistreatment and set boundaries for respectful interactions. The rest of the world doesn’t realize you have this right, and they will act offended and appalled when you exercise it, but it is yours.”
(Source: sonneillonv, via anaisdevora)
THOSE WHO HAUNT THE EARTH: LILITH
Lilith is a figure in Jewish mythology, developed earliest in the Babylonian Talmud, who is generally thought to be derived from a class of female demons (Līlīṯu) in Mesopotamian texts. In Jewish folklore, from the eighth- tenth centuries Alphabet of Ben Sira and onward, Lilith becomes Adam’s first wife, created at the same time and from the same earth as her husband. This contrasts with Eve, who was created from one of Adam’s ribs. The legend was greatly developed during the Middle Ages. In the 13th Century writings of Rabbi Isaac ben Jacob ha-Cohen, for example, Lilith left Adam after she refused to become subservient to him. Adam complained to God, and three angels were sent to bring Lilith back to Eden, although she refused to return. Eventually, Lilith became a lover to demons, producing one hundred offspring a day. When she did not return to Adam, God punished her by taking away her children. Lilith was believed to haunt new mothers and their infants, especially sons. She was also viewed as a seductress, using men to create her demonic children.
(via jaimelannister)
“Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don’t want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you’re doing here. Believe in kissing.”
(Source: larmoyante, via anaisdevora)
“Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.”
(Source: sadexistences, via vi-nous)
“Everything passes. Nobody gets anything for keeps. And that’s how we’ve got to live.”
(Source: durianquotes, via jaimelannister)
Drinking down
All the things I don’t have words for seem to find themselves a place to bed between heart breaks and fault lines of disappointment. The words will come, and for now this shameful thing I dare to call my tumblr will wait. Till then the bartender will grant me another, and make it a cold one.
