October 18, 2009
A song with no name for lack of imagination
janish janish janish. I love you.
just toldyou because I feel so confused and tired and I dont know maybe if my life wasn't going down the drains like it is now
I would not be sniffing and crying in front of the comp right now trying to picture your face in my mind's eye, and just feeling helpless. s****ms****m isn't it just a drearypainful thing to be helpless, knowing there's no one just no one who's out there to save you?
and yes, rescue syndrome is on.
but I can't help stop the visions of paradise. why why whyandwhy am i feeling like this i dont know. just tell me that i am not alone i am not alone feeling lonely and pained because the man i love is showing me pictures of another woman in throes of an orgasm.
I cant i canticant take this. dont ask me where the pain is going.
I dont know but i will probably go mad if i haven't already. tell me just tell me that i am not alone. i cant get no happiness re. no happiness. keno jani na keno jani na.
In the years to come, this shall be a memory too.
October 01, 2009
As a Friend said...
I walk like I am on a hunt. Its intimidating to unsuspecting males/females.
This is the same woman who once told me she considers her body to be a burden sometimes. With its millions of problem.
I looked in the mirror today and found those extra curves in my butt and around my waist and on my arms. I realized that I don't mind them.
When I was growing up, my body was one of the most mysterious things I knew. Far from unraveling and exploring it, I shied away from the mirror, covered myself in clothes far too large for my body, and put on glasses. I greased my hair with coconut oil, and refused to feel pretty. Too miserable in my own gloom, I used to think I was unlovable and that was the way it was going to be. Thanks to the upper body that refused to subside. Or the lower body that never seemed to get "right".
I grew up under the shadow of my mother. Literally.
The family unanimously agreed on her prettiness. She was the very beautiful woman. I used to think so too. My mother was, and probably always shall remain, the most beautiful woman I know.
But I never found her to be the most incredibly attractive woman. Strangely enough, the definition of a firm cheekbone attracted me far more than the delicate turn of an eyebrow, and the strength in a staunch pair of shoulders made me feel more happy than a submissive pair of downcast eyes. I grew up to stare at my self in the mirror, squaring my shoulders, lifting my chin, and walking on straight, without an apology for being who I was. All beginning at age 15 when I realized I needed to be proud, and not ashamed of what I was and who I was.
And thus began the walk. I still walk, shoulders squared, straight, without apology. I know that my body has thousands of problems in it, fitness and otherwise, but I somehow realize that they are all mine.
And I am quite proud of it.
This is the same woman who once told me she considers her body to be a burden sometimes. With its millions of problem.
I looked in the mirror today and found those extra curves in my butt and around my waist and on my arms. I realized that I don't mind them.
When I was growing up, my body was one of the most mysterious things I knew. Far from unraveling and exploring it, I shied away from the mirror, covered myself in clothes far too large for my body, and put on glasses. I greased my hair with coconut oil, and refused to feel pretty. Too miserable in my own gloom, I used to think I was unlovable and that was the way it was going to be. Thanks to the upper body that refused to subside. Or the lower body that never seemed to get "right".
I grew up under the shadow of my mother. Literally.
The family unanimously agreed on her prettiness. She was the very beautiful woman. I used to think so too. My mother was, and probably always shall remain, the most beautiful woman I know.
But I never found her to be the most incredibly attractive woman. Strangely enough, the definition of a firm cheekbone attracted me far more than the delicate turn of an eyebrow, and the strength in a staunch pair of shoulders made me feel more happy than a submissive pair of downcast eyes. I grew up to stare at my self in the mirror, squaring my shoulders, lifting my chin, and walking on straight, without an apology for being who I was. All beginning at age 15 when I realized I needed to be proud, and not ashamed of what I was and who I was.
And thus began the walk. I still walk, shoulders squared, straight, without apology. I know that my body has thousands of problems in it, fitness and otherwise, but I somehow realize that they are all mine.
And I am quite proud of it.
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