I find myself used and in tears, yet again.
I really tried.
I dared to put myself out there and forced myself to give it another go.
But his scent was wrong.
He smelled of twos and sevens, like shades of yellow and brown.
His snore was too violent.
He couldn’t feign interest in my take on existential philosophy or Darth Vader.
He was too fancy- his t-shirts too adorned.
His arms were too wide and his face was too bare.
His mind was too closed.
He was all wrong, but I liked him, so I tried.
I’d lie in his too comfy bed with his too wide arms around me, listening to his too violent snore, and wish he was you.
I’d try to pretend his snore was yours, like a fat, happy baby.
I didn’t w...
He said he’d teach me how to play chess so I could cross it off my bucket list.
He said WE’D “remedy” all the places I’d never been like Biltmore and the Outer Banks.
He said he wanted to go sailing with me.
He said I was his best friend, his partner in crime, the best soul and the smartest woman he’s ever known.
He said a lot of things, like “I Love You”, and I believed him.
The moment I laid eyes on him, life, as I knew it, ended. Yet, I want his to be the last face I see.
He can’t be trusted, yet even though every honeyed word that falls from his whiskered lips would be a lie, I want his to be the last voice I hear.
The scent of other women may mingle with his own, he always smells of shades of blue and green, yet I want his to be the last scent I know.
His hands would probably have touched or texted half a dozen women in the preceding days, yet I want his to be the last touch I feel.
I believe in him even though I shouldn’t; I have faith in him even though he’s given me nothing but reasons to abandon it. Loving him was my undoing- it destroyed me, but if ...
People think having an eidetic memory is a gift (thanks Sheldon), but it’s not. I don’t just recall memories, I relive them. The most insignificant catalyst can send me back in time, back to the taste of vomit in my mouth when my father forced me to swallow it; back to smelling gasoline and cigarettes on my date’s hand as it covered my barely 18-year-old mouth; back to nine months and one day later, when I lay on the lawn chair in the sun next to my mama and marveled at the flat, doughy belly that had been round, turning and kicking just the day before; back to the moment I rested my forehead on my desk to hide my face after answering the phone, hearing only the sobs of my Dad, knowing it me...
I had to shoot a deer the other morning.
As I was driving down the 2-lane state highway on my way to work, I saw a doe sitting in a shallow ditch by the side of the road. At first, I just kept going, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her- how scared she must be as she lay there watching commuters fly by at 60MPH, how the unfamiliar noise of engines and the smell of petrol and exhaust fumes must have been overwhelming and how confused and frightened she must have been, so I turned around.
I pulled my truck onto the grassy shoulder, got out, and slowly approached her. She looked at me with her big, brown, doe eyes without even the slightest hint of fear, as though she could sense my empathy...
She gave him her spiral bound mind, lined with her words, heavy with graphite thoughts and leaden memories, so he could turn the pages of the block print pain that wrote her.
She gave him her body. Branded by adversity and scarred by experience, she was ashamed of the bones that built her and the bark that blankets them, yet she bestowed him the vulnerable bareness that burdened and embarrassed her.
She gave him the last vestiges of her ramshackle heart. Derelict yet devoted and nothing but salt and ashes, she painstakingly knitted it together as artfully as she could with purled tears, stitched prayers and promises, wrapped it in warm consecration and placed it on an altar of hope- hope h...
I am a damaged woman- irreparably broken and permanently scarred. All I know of men and relationships is manipulation, deception, betrayal, abuse, neglect and disloyalty. Every man in my life has mistreated me in one way or another; from my father to my ex-husband and everyone in between, each of them has lied to, deceived, betrayed, neglected, abused or been disloyal to me- more than one of them is guilty of all those sins. Of all the romantic or intimate relationships I have had, of which there have been only 6 in my 42 years, each of them was fraught with misogyny and abuse to some degree. Whether it be unfaithfulness, emotional manipulation, physical abuse, sexual abuse, chicanery or just...
I wonder what would happen if I told everyone... everything-
if I called each of them and their spouses, or better yet, presented myself in person and told them all everything they didn’t know, everything they’ve all been hiding.
I wonder what would happen if I showed them all everything I’ve collected over the years.
Would I feel better if they all lost everything?
YES I WOULD.
I recently read something that implies women who criticize other women aren’t personally “progressing”. That’s a cheap shot, aka deflecting- a tactic, typically, employed by women with loose morals and narcissists who are desperate to direct attention away from their actions (the truth) with a red herring.
Women are automatically supposed to have each others’ backs without question? Is a wife or girlfriend betrayed supposed to encourage her female usurpers? Are women who work their asses off to legitimately get ahead through hard work and due diligence supposed to sit idly by, silent, while women with no integrity use their sex appeal to advance their careers and garner favour at work at the...
People only seem to like it when you write about beauty, nostalgia or the pretty parts of life.
Not everyone has sweet memories to keep them warm at night.
Some of us only have the bitter taste of our sad pasts as bedfellows...
and so that’s what we write.
I may not write what people seem to “like” to read, but I refuse to pander to the public for approval. What I write is real, raw, unaffected and often not pretty, but it also hasn’t been designed to garner accolade or attention.
Getting this off my chest...
Someone told me recently that I’m “thin-skinned”. I don’t think that’s true. Sure, I’m sensitive, but there’s a big difference between being thin-skinned and being hurt and pissed off about being mocked behind your back by someone who claims to love and care about you, and calls you their best friend, partner in crime and the best soul they’ve ever known, in particular when that someone forbade you from discussing your relationship with anyone else while they’re mocking you behind your back to bimbos, phonies and frauds they meet on social media like Instagram.
I’m not thin-skinned, I’m a kind, caring, thoughtful person who doesn’t do callous, hypocritical shit li...
Lord help the next person who tries to pull one over on me or do me wrong, they’re going to need all the help they can get. For that person will suffer the consequences of their misdeeds and all those who wronged me before them, but they won’t see it coming until it’s too late.
It would be foolish to be the next person to betray or deceive me. Just being honest...
It’s a funny thing when you decide there’s no point in giving a shit anymore...
you just stop caring.
No one on earth really gives a shit about you (they only think of themselves), so why bother concerning yourself with what happens to others?
I have nothing and no one to lose and everyone is a liar I can’t trust.
This is where I’m at.
People are far too quick to offer platitudes like “things will get better”, “you’ll get through this”, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and “who knows what the future holds?” to someone who’s hurting. I realize that they’re well-intended, but, the thing is, those kinds of ubiquitous statements are all complete and total bullshit.
Sometimes, people don’t get stronger through adversity, it just tears them down even further or breaks them entirely; sometimes, people don’t get through it, the pain someone caused them was, finally, more than they could bear. Sometimes, things don’t get better, they get worse. And, for crying out loud, obviously, no one knows what the future holds, but...
Imagine a room with one door and no windows filled with all the people with whom you're intimately, emotionally and/or romantically involved. Imagine this room has speakers so you can talk to them, but you can't hear or see them. Now imagine telling them the unfiltered, unedited, uncensored truth. Imagine disclosing everything, no detail withheld- the whens, the wheres, the whos- every secret, every lie, every kiss, every touch, and every sweet nothing you'd ever said to each of them so that everyone knows everything and no one person knows more than another.
When you open the door to that room an hour later, who do you think will remain?
What if each of them were offered millions of dolla...
If you have to go to any lengths to hide, if furtive measures are suggested and/or taken to conceal something, you should be asking yourself who and/or what it is you're protecting and why.
If it's not wrong, why are you hiding it? The fact of the matter is, if you aren't doing anything wrong, you should have nothing to hide.
The truth always finds a way to surface. Are you brave enough to rise and meet it?
You can only forgive those who've wronged you.
Yet it's usually those who've hurt someone who deflect and try to make the victim of their wrongdoing the one at fault for not offering forgiveness.
FYI, that's a textbook play of narcissists.
I often think of my mother's hands, my mama's hands, and the wonder they held.
She always said her hands were ugly, but they were beauty personified. They were the epitome of the purest love ever known.
I remember every line, every scar, every minute detail and hallmark that made her hands uniquely hers, but, mostly, I remember all the things she could do with them- the effortless magic they could create.
From hearts to hydrangeas, her hands made everything grow; she cultivated compassion and creativity.
She could use them fill your belly and your soul with homegrown southern goodness, planting seeds of change for the better as you sat at her table.
Her hands gave hugs, not handshakes, a...
You gave me courage, convinced me I was more than I am and encouraged me to stand up for myself; that's just what I did. I defended myself and it cost me everything. I lost my home, my security, my stability and my future. I could've lived that way; I could've stomached the abuse indefinitely, but I believed you when you said I was the smartest woman you know, the best soul you've ever known, that I deserved more. I believed you when you said you love me, that I wasn't alone anymore.
I defended myself against one oppressor and it cost me everything. I've lost everything and everyone, quite literally. I'm alone in life.
Now, here I am, years later, alone, and I'm defending myself ...
To Whom it May Concern,
I refuse to be diabolized for being honest about how I feel. I've done nothing wrong. I've not gaslit, lied to (neither by commission nor omission), betrayed, deceived or otherwise mislead anyone. I've not been disloyal or unfaithful to the person to whom I've professed my undying and unwavering devotion and to whom I am wholly and irrevocably committed. I've not deluded anyone I care about and I haven't obfuscated the truth or been furtive or surreptitious about my actions or my intentions with anyone who's important to me.
I'm neither too proud nor too vain to admit when I'm wrong and I have no ulterior motives; I hold nothing back- whatever's in head is precisel...
Truth will out.
Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away.
• Elvis Presley
Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.
The only people mad at you for speaking the truth are those living a lie.
We have art in order not to die of the truth.
• Leo Tolstoy
I have to believe that people eventually step in the bullshit they've spread to fertilize their lies if only because there's always one person who knows the truth; best not piss that person off.