I think the yearning for romantic love is all about wanting… hoping… to the point of desperation… for a “perfect” person to somehow complete “imperfect” us.
It’s total bullshit.
I think the yearning for romantic love is all about wanting… hoping… to the point of desperation… for a “perfect” person to somehow complete “imperfect” us.
It’s total bullshit.
Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.
Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!
More than anything…
I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️
P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️
Sometimes I want to go stand in the streets and yell:
“Don’t you realize how quickly time is running out??!!
If you want to love again, pick your love and begin loving as soon as possible!
Don’t assume there will always be another chance:
The only guarantee is that there is no guarantee, so do it all NOW!!”
But no one would listen.
I’m a sucker for a great big bloody love story, so that’s the primary reason why I am a Christian. They just don’t make better love stories than that, and I should know.
The problem is – and will always be – that I am a thoroughly self-obsessed, fully debauched sinner who is too proud and ignorant to listen to a god-damn word He says.
christianityquotes #imtoobroken #imasinner #religions #lovestories #philosophy
I thought my traumas aged me.
All the childhood crap, the losing of all my pregnancies, the searing betrayals, the fights with death and disease, the ongoing fights with death and disease, and the psychological fallout from all of the above.
Yada, yada, yada.
But no: nothing ages a person like wearing her (or his) heart completely exposed and unprotected on the prosaic sleeve; aware of the devastating effects of every tiny particle of dust and vaporous breeze that touches and then and has no choice but to scar it.
At which point you’re trying to fly low behind the radar, attempting to allude Cosmic Scrutiny and trying hard not to attract more pain than is unsurvivable.
Multiplied by the number of children you have.
That’s the Crucible that turns Ordinary Sitizens into Old Souls.
When you’ve got a hammer
All you see are nails
Welcome to the way that
It feels to be fe-male’
Cause when you’ve got a hammer
You’re looking for a hole
You like to force the rage out
That percolates below
And when you take your hammer
You shatter someone’s glass
It could have been my own date
Now grabbing at my ass!
We all can use our hammers
To put each other down
You even ditched your woman
To play “Man About Town”
The one who stood beside you
When things in life got tough
The one who always loved you
And thought you were enough
She even liked your hammer
When it no longer worked
So why’d you end up treating
Her like such a jerk?
Now here it’s ten years later
You’re acting quite the creep
You think a beer will buy me
Dude: I don’t come that cheap
The only way I’ll date you
Is Payment in Advance
And with no invitation:
Keep your hammer in your pants!
These are the second set of lyrics (poem?) I’ve written according to the beat of another song. Essentially, my tool for stimulating creativity. #ShapeSong
You’re always there, you never let me down.
When I feel used and beaten and spit back out from the underbelly of a cockroach carcass, your presence comforts me.
It draws me out of my pain; up from down; in from out.
It elevates me and makes me better a better woman and a better human being. Just because you listen to me.
Because you held me when I shed all of those tears that I just needed to shed in front of a man. I always had my mother, but I never had my father. I’m comfortable opening up amongst women, but I’ve never had many platonic male friendships,
You knew that about me. And since you’d done your own therapy and self-reflection, you were the first man who brought emotional weight and awareness to the negotiation table.
I ended up winning the lottery when I met you. I knew it when you let me cry in your presence.
The first time we met, you let me cry.
It didn’t scare you off. You were man enough to handle it. You knew that women cry sometimes. You knew that little girls who were told to stop crying still cried on the inside.
And still needed to be comforted.
Even when they found themselves in a grown woman’s body. They still need to be comforted.
For what felt like the first time for me, you loved me first. You somehow knew I needed that. That for this final go-around, I needed that.
That I needed to be courted and treasured; that just once, I needed to feel like a princess.
I needed to be one person’s “one person.” One person’s Greatest Love; First Choice; Deepest Bond.
Since I was always a second wife, you stepped up and loved me with an Adult Love.
The way a Grown Man loves his Greatest Treasure.
Only your criteria for what defined a “treasure” (a “gem”) was different than most men’s criteria: you complimented me on my physical attributes, but your love wasn’t skin-deep. You had eyes that saw me at my best; at my most radiant.
You loved The Lover in me, The Fighter in me, The Child in me, The Woman in me, and The Mother in me to (you told me that my 3 pregnancies made me a mother and that one day, I would be reunited with my children).
You also loved the Daughter in me, the Friend in me, the Cheerleader (with official cheerleading outfit) in me, and the Soul Mate in me.
You said it didn’t matter that we were meeting late in life; that a few years of what we had cancelled out any prior misery,
You said we could still redeem and restore each other, even if we only have a few years.
Your love enhanced me rather than diminished me; it radiated rather than obscured me; grabbed me close rather than pushed me away.
I had already done most of my mourning, so I was free to love you from a better place. But your love and acceptance energized and catalyzed me in a way I deemed impossible – at least for me.
You did all this just by being there. And listening. When I woke you up in the middle because I had to talk to you, you didn’t mind.
Our love was also a laughter kind of love. We laughed so damned much! I don’t think I laughed that much in all of the preceding years combined.
You let me be all of the things I needed to be when I needed to be them.
You never shamed or judged me. You accepted me. Welcomed me. Desired me. Just me and Only me. You wanted No One But Me. Ever again.
You said I was more than enough. That even if we only had five years together, that would be enough.
That we could die happy and fulfilled.
I had been so lost. Not in a bad way; just in a “lost my bearings” sort of way. You were my Lighthouse. My Horizon Line.
Thank you for Loving Me First.
Because you did, I was able to love you from my purest, unfiltered place. From my reserves. I went to my wine cellar and brought out my best and most expensive Cabernet for you. I carved, scraped, toiled and mined to find my Ruby-Sapphire love for you.
Rubies for passion and sapphires for loyalty. All for you.
My purest, most extreme, and most terrifying (for me) private love, I gave to you. Loving you made me a better human being and a better spiritual being.
From your core:
You loved me first.
I want to tell you everything.
Every gory little detail.
All of it. Every tiny infraction, every act of omission, every sinful thought.
Because if I own up to everything now, if you do stick around, you can’t hurt me with it later.
My once “Lifetime Love” stole my whole identity,
And all the while, right there in front of me,
He dangled with pride his shiny new love
Who, he proclaimed, fit as snugly as a glove
On the hand of the fam’ly who now said I was too small.
After years of gifts aplenty, I had given them my all.
My fam’ly’s new adventures were no longer shared with me,
All access was cut off, and my presence sold as cheap.
I was barely out the door when the new Queen took my place
Taking on my name and usurping my old space.
With barren, empty pockets, I was banished from my home,
And told to hurry up so they could shine the new Queen’s Throne.
As this richer, clever Queen with great cunning took my place,
The nine years of my footprints were summarily erased.
Is there room in my life for you?
Is there room in your life for me?
You know I don't come to you pristine, newly minted, or shiny and new.
I have felt hurt and caused hurt,
I have been broken by the random and the cruel - and by my own choices.
My body has been ravaged, charting atrocities visited on it by plague and progress.
Yet you love it - even desire it - all the same.
You don't love what I once was; you love me now, scars and all.
Of this much I am certain: where our lives intersect
There's a special space; a pocket of air, a sea of calm, a place of rest
That quickens the war-torn and restores its vigor.
You've fixed your circle on me:
Rounding out my sharp angles and smoothing the rough edges,
Like a balm against chafing.
Like sand against glass.
All without any intention of "fixing" me.
In answer to this gift, I will fight my baser self to love you back, with honor and devotion. I know myself; know this will surely be a struggle.
But I am committed to it.
And in the giving and receiving, I will be transformed into the beauty visible to your heart's eye.
Thank you. Bless you. I love you.
You start with a perfectly decent heart and a perfectly decent mind and a perfectly decent body
your perfectly decent heart
and your perfectly decent mind
and your perfectly decent body
And you wonder why I don’t take things seriously anymore?
You are beautiful and worthy and perfect just as you are. Follow your heart and don’t lose your passion.
ALWAYS choose feeling over numbing, no matter how terrifying.
Don’t let your tears frighten you, Little One. They are a gift from God Himself.
These efforts will require more bravery than you can imagine or even comprehend right now.
SO LET’S MAKE A PACT:
YOU promise ME you’ll never give up, and I can promise YOU we’re going to be okay.
I’ve seen and lived our future: we survive, but it doesn’t turn out the way we planned.
I’m sorry about that.
I tried very hard, but I just wasn’t strong enough.
It’s called Failure.
“Failure” happens when, as a Big Girl, you realize all of those happy, hopeful movies you made in your mind are never going to happen.
In that moment of Despair, when you notice your Dreams are slipping away,
LET THEM GO!!
Unfulfilled Dreams don’t hurt as much once you’ve learned to forget them.
Lastly, and this is what the dictionary calls a “cliché,”:
Life is SO short, Little One.
Every moment feels forever when you’re young.
Somewhere along the line, the pace picks up and Life starts playing in fast-forward.
Time attempts to escape our grasp, and we never have enough of it.
People often behave strangely when they recognize this truth.
I know us well enough by now that I can assure you we don’t deliberately treat others badly.
Instead, we’re more haunted by the risks and chances we DIDN’T take than by the poor choices we DID.
So please, I beg you:
STOP worrying about all the things you should, shouldn’t, could, couldn’t, can, can’t, will, won’t, or might do and…
PS. You’ll be DOing us both a huge existential favor
(try to remember to “Google” ‘existential” one day; I know you’ll find the topic interesting)
Everybody knows Successful “Social Medians” must have an Instagram account! So this is MY story of MY 2021:
I love you so much that
I’d like to Eat You Alive.
And then wipe your blood off of my mouth
with the back of my hand
that still has
chunks of your hair and scalp
threaded through my fingers.
after I burp up your digestive juices,
I’ll sleep more soundly
than I ever have before.
Photo credit: Catalin Pop. Thank you!
I have a question for you:
WHY DID YOU:
1. Feel compelled to
2. So that you could
3. In order to
4. While simultaneously
5. And refusing to compromise about
6. Only to THEN
7. And STILL insist you “had no choice but to”?
NO, DON’T ANSWER. It’ll probably just piss me off. Why?
1. I happen to think you’re a smug
3. [Yet] ultimately unsatisfying
7. You are.
Thank you, Afif Khasuna, for the pboto.
Effective immediately: I have officially “put out a shingle” with my latest career effort. Since it won’t bring in a dime, my motivation may be inconsistent, but I’m wiling to put my best foot forward…at least initially.
I have officially begun an “Agony Advice”/“Miss Lonelyhearts”/“Dr. Ruth”/“Erma Bombeck”/“Miss [Dating and Relationship] Manners” column which will be penned by two contributors: Miss SmartyHearts (for natters of the heart) and Miss LonelyPants (for matters of the body).
I’m advising you in advance that this advice of which I will be advising you will be from an unequally rare and rarefied point of view: that of a once-highly intelligent, well-travelled and -educated woman who is now equal parts:
1) Old, 2) Out of Touch, and 3) Immature.
But with good hair & nails and a lovely complexion (if I do say so myself). And of course, a winning enthusiasm and eagerness to advise you of my advice to your queries!
On the rare occasion I do not feel qualified to answer your question with my personal wisdom alone, I will conduct primary research in the form of: first person interviews, mall/bar/date/karaoke “intercepts,” video surveillance, long and irritating telephone surveys, and if necessary, “transferential experience.”
TE (copywrite) is a technique I developed after many years of serving in my capacity as a highly-esteemed market research professional (actually one of the best in the business, just ask 3 people I knew in 1996).
TE basically means: if all else fails, and I still don’t know the answer: I will go find out for myself!
And then share My Lessons Learned with all of my Beloved Readers! Because I possess bountiful generosity. Which will drive my desire to provide you with my best advice birthed from 1) my experiences, told from my 2) [again] uniquely qualified, broken down perspective. Always with my signature spunk and stubborn unwillingness to learn from my mistakes❣️
So, feel free to start addressing your queries regarding “matters of the heart” to Miss SmartyHeart and “matters of the physical body” to Miss Lonelypants (who will try to draw from her long-term memory, so no promises about anatomical accuracy). I only ask that you specify in the Re: line which Expert Miss is the recipient for your inquiry (because these can easily get blurred, difficult to read, and then who knows what kind of answer you’ll get?)
The Misses are also a bit jealous of each other, so if you have a preference, you should ask. If not, those old harpies might both answer your questions!]
And I’ve got to advise you of one last bit of advice:
Begin submitting your burning questions immediately because Miss SmartyHearts and Miss LonelyPants could begin sending letters to each other; and I honestly can’t predict what that might look like.
So you’ve been warned. And, my pledge: I will always bring my 💯 % authentic self and former work ethic to this incredibly humbling responsibility I am agreeing to undertake on your behalf.
Lastly: MEN❣️ You are also welcome to write to the Misses with your burning queries. I will change all names to protect the innocent – both yours, my beloved readers, and all research assistants, interviewees, and participants.
I would suggest you get your money’s worth [especially since it’s free]!
About we lie and laugh and laze
In these hot and hazy lust-filled days
Counting clouds amongst temperatures rising
A world of us two, and from others are hiding
Sharing personal jokes only we understand
Facing each other, you reach for my hand
And in that moment, a bond’s made and sealed
A secret pact good as long as we feel
These majestic moments that make up the “now”:
Which are as sure and as sacred as a vocalized vow.
Photo credit: Jennie Clavel. Thank you!
I want you to knock on my private door.
When I answer, I want you to come inside.
Let me welcome you into my body, my life.
I want you to invite me for dinner.
I want you to eat me alive.
I want you to kiss me and give me a delicious surprise.
I want to embrace all of you.
I want to give you all I have to give.
I want your heart to meet mine in the place that it lives.
Oh, I may look like a Republican senator
’s wife. I’ll grant you that.
But appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?
Yes, it’s true: I’m a tall, skinny white chick.
But I’m a FREAK. In the absolute Best Way Possible.
Most men are intimidated and terrified by a Sexually Adventurous Woman. Well, I’m the version of that woman who will send you running for your life, in a raining puddle of little boy tears, frantically searching for your mama.
I can even BE your mama if you want or need me to.
I can be your teacher. I can be your student. I can be the blonde cheerleader you never got to sleep with but used to jerk off thinking about. I can be the fucking blue-haired organist at your Southern Baptist church.
I’ll call you Daddy and let you call me by the name of your teenaged daughter’s best friend.
(Tammy, am I right?)
And we haven’t even started on my bucket list of fantasies yet.