Chronically Healing Through Writing

Thoughts of the end -so through a pen I share rawfully honest thoughts. Thoughts about my relationship with chronic pain. Thoughts about the fantasies of romantic love , and the agony when this illusion disappears. The goal is to learn from my own journey through words.

Month: April, 2014

Borrowed

I’m single by choice and circumstances. I am not a stranger to having casual relations. It’s just difficult to let out all sexual inhibitions to someone who feels borrowed. Borrowed time, or borrowed emotionally. In essence, I’m cheating myself from full pleasure. I’m not holding back by choice. I just can’t stop the honest the thoughts. The truth is…he is on borrowed time. No discussion of a future; just being in the .moment. Ironically I was more open to a stranger. It’s easier to let it all go. You either consider the odds of more,or live in the immediate moment of the fullest pleasure. Comfort in the idea of no expectations to speak ever again.  Oppose to hoping for more than borrowed time

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Drunken rant of womanhood

Double standards are inevitable because men and women were made for different purposes.
One to create life while the other just remains on the surface.
Incapable of empathizing with what the other goes through  because we can’t even phathem how we do what we do; why we do what we do, and who made these rules. Every time I get my period I say dam, God never forgave me. Why would he make me suffer monthly?
Why would he broaden the wedge between man and woman externally?
Making the woman the reason man can not be patient or treat the woman kindly.
God played this horrible trick.
One month I’m a size 12; the next I am a size 14.

Our sex diminishes with our emotions, fatigue, and with age. I fear the day I will need assistance keeping my vagina moist, just to have a seat.

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We must do more when we are older,
while men get a mid life crisis and purchase a new range rover.
We get menopause, he gets a younger model.
We continue to drink more red wine in bigger bottles.
How can I be so grateful, thankful for who I am,
when no one else seems to give a dam.?
Because I am a woman and this is what I’m supposed to go through, and it’s not fair I only have this “man” to pray to.
The one who created all this shit
because the rib coerced the body to do foul shit.
Why am I only a rib any fuckin way?
Who says I even believe this story?
Life is as fucked up as this story
A set up, a mind game  all for your glory
I guess I believe in Adam and Eve.
I defy the stars that put me in a world to live under a ruler who will never forgive me.
Forgive me for being a woman
Forgive me for falling for the trap that made me weak.
I take nothing from him I just need all 4 weeks

I no longer want to find comfort in wine, comfort in his arms and lies.
I no longer want to fear child birth, or worst;
fear that  my love will not empathize with how I
how I deal with the curse  of this tale
of being of being born a female.

Yes we are told to appreciate our curves sashay our hips.
Poke out our lips 
Bat our eyes and elude everyone to this special prize.
But nothing changes our anatomy. We can’t avoid the pain of our emotions.
Suffrage for our devotions.
Sickness monthly or as years pass.
The agony of child birth,  or hormones that gives us a personality similar to ass gas.
Because I am a woman and I have to deal with hot flashes

He has the nerve to be annoyed while I suffer

Shut up!

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