A Poem About Some Guy

Pull me close and shag me senseless
Grab my hair and dazzle my senses
Lick your lips and show me the way
The way you do, the way you sway
An afternoon sun, dances in the air
As he smiles with his eyes, and gives me his share
The share of his love, his touch and his mouth
The touch of my skin, as he moves down south
Back and forth we move with ease
Day or night, let’s do as we please
Blankets to bed, blankets to floor
Pillow talk pillow talk, share me your stories, and more
I’ll play with your dreads, but not with your heart
Trust this girl, she’s good from the start
An innocent demeanor, of giggles and fun
A cute girl in pink, he knows of her none
Little does he know, there’s eggshells about
If he learns of my tales, I think he might pout
So let’s take a detour, to the lighter side of things
Where I’ll show you my moves, and the love I can bring
In my piece of heaven, we can hug all day
Where you can touch me all over, and go all the way

“Friends”

I’ve written so many people out of my life once I learn how they really are.
There’s always something that ticks me off about someone, then find they’re not worth having them in my life. Do you have an all “about me” attitude? Are you negative all the time? Overindulge in complaining and talking about other people? Are you very flaky? Are you fake & superficial? Are you always asking me for things? Ugh. I don’t want to talk to you again.
I’m not miss perfect, but I can be TOO nice. Sometimes I can’t say no, cos I don’t know how. I can be a bit of a pushover which I deeply hate about myself…
But I’m taking baby steps on improving. Maybe if I was stronger, I’d still have some of these people in my life cos they’d respect me more and not try to take advantage of me.

But fucking god damn, how hard is it to be nice and show a little respect/consideration?

I had this last friend that came to town for a visit, and one of the first things he did when we hung out was getting me to sign up for his marketing survey bullshit. I was clearly reluctant, and initially refused, but he did not. He wanted me to sign up so he can earn a couple dollars off me through his referral. Ick.
He also makes really boring art (low quality generic landmark photography), but went on about it for most of the night like it’s the best thing ever. I’m trying to lighten up the mood by showing him something I found hilarious, and he starts shoving mundane postcards of his art in my face. Come the fuck back down to earth.
I was glad he took a flight home early so I don’t have to see him again.

I wonder if I could ever be brave enough to find some good friends. Friends I can have quality hangs with, instead of waiting for degenerates to pick me.

I also wonder if I could ever be brave enough to be assertive.

I just need to get out more.

Dear Dr. Mario

My saviour,
My agony uncle,
My therapist.

Dr Mario beams me his finest smile, and takes all my thoughts in and makes me feel better when I’m down. Just look at him heroically throwing that magic pill of happiness.

Jesus fucking christ this WordPress blog was hard to set up.
The look and layout of my personal/private blog isn’t even up to par with my standards, but it’ll do.

Who am I?

I’m your old school (dare I say a mentally old?) bitch, that can’t even work a damned blogging site. I may as well be my parents.
I love writing. I absolutely do. But technology is defs taking over, and I find that I can truly be private here on the internets. I write about (not too) personal shit.
Funny because nothing is REALLY private on the internet here, but I can conceal myself a lot better here than having all my thoughts in a book, laying around somewhere in my house.

I also use quite a bit of coarse language, it gives me great relief, and it’s a great way to express myself.
I’m also pessimist, but I force myself to be an optimist. I don’t enjoy being upset, yet I still dwell on the fact that shit’s going to be fucked, or it can be fucked.. But 8/10 it always turns out great. Awesome. Sweet and wonderful. It’s like the older I get, the more stressed I get.

I’m also a hooker, and this is my private and personal diary.

Welcome.