My problem with “The Stork” story…
“Mommy, how are babies made?”
“Well you see, my dear, when two people love each other very mu-“
Wait a second.
Wait just a goddamn second.
When two people love each other very much?
That’s how babies are made?
I don’t think so.
What about the millions of women raped every day? Every minute? Every second?
The women, teenagers, children left with children to take care of alone after a traumatizing, life-shattering experience?
I have nothing wrong with this stork story if the whole truth is told. That some people have babies without loving each other. That babies are rarely planned and they sure as fuck are not delivered by a big white bird.
I realize this is shattering the image of happy couples’ explanations to their children, but what about the unhappy parents, the single parents, the noparents?
It’s hard for me to trust people nowadays. Mainly because in the past, when I have given people my trust, I’ve been taken advantage of and screwed over. If I trust you enough to tell you anything about my personal life, you best believe you mean something to me. I expect you to keep your mouth shut. My trust may be hard to gain, but it’s easy to lose.
I had my first kiss today… :D My emotions are off the wall! All I can say is that today was absolutely perfect. We went for a hike together up a mountain, he put his arms around me and we talked and right before I left, he kissed me. It was just perfect.
Sick of drama
If he’s calling you a “slut”, because you went out to the movies with another girl without telling him, leave him. If he’s making you angry and hurting you (mentally or physically), leave him. Don’t be afraid to let him go. If someone doesn’t value and appreciate you, then why are you even with them? Know your worth and what you deserve, because I can guarantee you, it’s more than that.
I was talking to this guy on the phone last night..and he tells me “I have a slight crush on you. How do you feel about me?” I told him I probably was crushing on him too. Later into the conversation, he tells me “I’d like to get to know you more and I’d like to be good friends.” And he proceeds to ask me if I’d like to go see a movie with him.
It’s all very nice, but what. the. fuck. Do you like me or not? -____- Boys.
The Act of Writing is a Fear
You want to know why it scares me to write? Well it scares me to admit it, but I’m terrified to write because I’m terrified to find out whether I’m actually a talented writer or not. While I’m young, and trying to enjoy life, at the same time I’m plagued by this horrible fear that I’m a terrible writer. This scares me to death.
If my life plan and future aspirations didn’t revolve around the idea that my writing has potential, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much. If my writing was just a hobby, like say, my playing violin, it probably wouldn’t cause me so much anxiety. When I play the violin I’m not consistently telling myself that I suck, and my music will never sell because that isn’t my plan for it. I’ve never wanted to be a super-star fiddler. I would love it if someday that’s the direction my life takes, but it isn’t the direction I’m planning.
I want to write. I want to be a writer that make a living off their writing. I want a career in what I love, and that just so happens to be writing. Whether it be for magazines, newspapers, advertisements, or of my own accord, so be it. I just want to write. And to think of the possibility that I’m not good enough to do that has me on the ground, with my hands to the air, praying to a god that I’ve never really believed in, but have never completely written off, as to avoid a complete crushing and sentence to hell if I were to find out there was.
I can never write with a free mind. I’m always distracted by the constant idea that I need to be writing in a specific way that will make a specific person, or group impressed. The fact of the matter is that my writing needs to be likeable in order to be good enough to write for anyone or any company that exists within the world today. So, I’m always worried that it won’t be liked. And if it’s not liked, then it’s no good. And just like that - there goes my dreams. Right out the door before they could even get it. And then what? I waitress my whole life, leaving my job every night, thinking about how much better life could have been if I had only had been a talented writer? I imagine that happens to a lot of people in this world. They think they are better than they actually are at doing whatever it is they dream of doing. I’m sure many of the garbage collectors of our time had once dreamed of becoming doctors, lawyers, even poets, but they just never actually had what it took to make it. They tried, and tried, and tried some more. And the trying added up to failure. And if you minus failure from life, you are left collecting trash in order to add up your cash to pay your bills - to pay someone to take your trash. Life works viciously, in a manner that for most, ends in a terrible defeat. And with this defeat comes submissions - submission to the dream defeat club that cleans up and takes care of those whose dreams didn’t fail. The people that were blessed from the start. They had whatever it was that you didn’t - the smarts, a good upbringing, common sense, money, looks. And all you can do is fan their feet as you pour their coffee, or package their kid’s children’s meal.
That right there is my worst fear - fanning the feet of those who make it farther than I do. I don’t want to have to report to anyone in this world. I don’t want a boss that I am forced to obey and please. I don’t want a company deciding how much I make - determining how hard I work. I want to work for myself. I want to write, and publish, and work hard in order to procure my fortune in life.
I don’t even want to make that much - I just want to make enough. I want to make enough to be able to drive a car that works, and afford food that tastes. I want to be able to buy books and books and more books, and maybe a bookcase to hold them. I want money for pens, computers, printers, and ink. I would love to make enough to pursue my passions - biking, traveling, experiencing different cultures. Believe me, I’m not asking for that much. I’m not like soldier boy - I don’t want cardboard cut-outs of myself near my front door, so that every time I come home, I see myself when I first walk in. I don’t need an eight car garage and a water park in my backyard.
I don’t want to spend the entirety of my short life span wallowing in the lament of my failed dreams. I want to spend it writing in a way that entertains, or maybe even adds to the change that I hope will one day build into a wave of reform that will mold the ideal society that has yet to ever be.
It’s so cute when a guy worries
When they take the time to constantly check up on you, text you multiple times when you’re delaying in reply. When they call you to make sure you’re doing okay. When they tell you stupid jokes just to cheer you up when you’re sad, and when they tell you to put on something warm when you’re sick. I actually find guys who worry really adorable, even if they’re doing these little actions unintentionally, as long as they don’t cross the line of annoying.
I’m a true lover
When I’m taken, I don’t even think others are attractive. My only focus is on the person I’m with. I can only be with someone if I can see a future with them. I don’t play around. I’m really serious when it comes to love, because it’s supposed to be taken seriously. When I’m in love with someone, I’d honestly do anything for them. They’re all that matters to me and their life is the only one I worry about. Our relationship is all that really matters..
Why He’s Gone
"He has to leave. He has to go before he does something stupid like spill his most heartfelt problems and issues, confess how he’s using her as a pawn in his great get-back scheme or admit how he’s learning to love her and rely on her so completely."
One Word Responses
I just want yell at boys who respond using words such as “ok” or “idk”. Sorry that I’m not interesting enough for you to talk to or that you have nothing to say to me, but why don’t you just go ahead and tell me. If you want to keep the conversation going, why don’t you come up with something more thoughtful ‘cause wtf am I supposed to say to that. How do you expect me to reply?