My Life Literally

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Ok, I get it. I get that relationships of mine have failed because I look for my missing pieces in someone else’s hands, and surprise, surprise they are not there. The truth also is, is that I am afraid ok. I am afraid that nothing great like that will happen to me again. I have to believe that something great can happen to me again, not that it will happen, but just that it is possible for it to happen. 

And I smile to myself in the moment, because I think how truly great something is, someone can be, and to add more lime to the situation, they, nor you know the gravity until later. Time can add weight to memories with the same ingredients that make others lighter. 

I have learned not to find my missing parts in someone else. I wonder if people know the grit it takes to look at one’s shattered self? I mean really look at it. The insecurities, where they come from. The anger, all that boils. The dark pit in the middle of you, where you find nothing is. And the ache of loss of something that you are not sure exists in this world at all, and if not; why oh why the heavens would curse you with one happy memory, followed by a million poisoned apples?

I believe that I have felt the pain of generations. It is not just me. And I don’t know if that brings me comfort, or it brings me a reason. I wish I could say that I am stronger for it, I know I like reading a happy resolution, something to end on a high note, and in some ways it has. But I have also lost some faith in some things. Perhaps I am now a bitter cynic, but I have learned not to listen to promises, but just smile because in the making of some oath someone became hopeful for a minute. 

The truth I realized a few days ago was this. I am cursed with a terrible and awesome gift: I can see into the hearts of men, as in males. All this time I never realized what I was seeing when I spoke to men, I always thought that my thoughts about them were some left over remnant of past trauma, personifying itself in the men I see. But I realized that all my instincts, all of my intuition was revealing hidden, deep truths, about certain fellows. And I can tell, and some of them can tell, that I can tell, and they think that I am special, or they love me, or that they could love me. Even if they are married, even if they never plan on coming here. 

They are so foolish. They tell me that they are being honest, that they always want to be honest with me, little do they know that their honesty is a disguise. What they are really telling me is that they are testing the waters to see if I am as immoral as they are, and if I am, then it is my own fault for getting involved with a married man, or a emotionally/physically unavailable man. But if I do not reciprocate, then I am the ‘good friend,’ the virtuous woman in their lives that is safe enough to lay all their fake proclamations of love, with no-strings-attached. 

All I would have to do to reveal their corrupt hearts, is lean in and say, softly, ‘I think I could love you too.’ That’s all, and their panicked faces would look at me, to say ‘You are taking it too far.’ When the truth is, they took it too far the minute they hugged me for a moment too long, or complemented me on one feature that becomes their favourite, or tell me that ‘I don’t think that you know how beautiful you are.’ 

I do know. I am good, and terrible, and full. I am a complex person, just like them and their fucked up lives. The only difference is, I know my heart, and unbeknownst to them, I know theirs, better than even they know them. How about that? Honesty? Please, they don’t need to say a word, they already told me with their hand at the small of my back, with the promise that they are ‘not like other guys.’ 

I can see the coward behind the cape, and the philanderer in the ring. And they are always shocked when I tell them I know exactly what they are doing, and exactly what I see. I am exacting, and our every meeting ends with them frightened of the truth of themselves. I can see their hands shake. 

After all this, this is what I am left with. 

And despite it all, or in spite of it all, or even, because of it all, I am still working on becoming whole. Because I think that when we are born, we are promised some kind of wholeness. Because, I think that when we are born, in space between one birth and the next, there lays hope. 

Filed under everything L.

52,175 notes

frickhead:

ATTENTION EVERYONE IN THE LA AREA!!
My cousin, TALLON, was reported MISSING today. He is an AUTISTIC BLACK TEEN AND IS COMPLETEY NON-VERBAL. HE DOES NOT RESPOND TO HIS NAME. This young man went out for his daily bike ride, unattended, and did not come back. Tonight, HE IS IN LA BY HIMSELF. He is 6’0, 200lbs, and was last seen wearing a white t shirt and khaki shorts. PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST!!

frickhead:

ATTENTION EVERYONE IN THE LA AREA!!

My cousin, TALLON, was reported MISSING today. He is an AUTISTIC BLACK TEEN AND IS COMPLETEY NON-VERBAL. HE DOES NOT RESPOND TO HIS NAME. This young man went out for his daily bike ride, unattended, and did not come back. Tonight, HE IS IN LA BY HIMSELF. He is 6’0, 200lbs, and was last seen wearing a white t shirt and khaki shorts. PLEASE SIGNAL BOOST!!

(via whitepeoplesaidwhat)

Filed under LA Missing person

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mindblowingfactz:

Researchers have developed a new type of solar concentrator that when placed over a window creates solar energy while allowing people to actually see through the window. It is called a transparent luminescent solar concentrator and can be used on buildings, cell phones and any other device that has a flat, clear surface.

mindblowingfactz:

Researchers have developed a new type of solar concentrator that when placed over a window creates solar energy while allowing people to actually see through the window. It is called a transparent luminescent solar concentrator and can be used on buildings, cell phones and any other device that has a flat, clear surface.

(Source: sciencedaily.com)

127,737 notes

rosiesays:

Oppression is cooking being “women’s work,” while the overwhelming majority of top restaurant chefs are male.

Oppression is fashion being a “silly girl thing,” while the top earning designers and CEOs in fashion are male.

Oppression is reducing women to consumers profiting a male system, even in fields that we supposedly dominate.

(Source: regular-snowflake, via politiking-eaglet)

40,365 notes

Do you think that your 16 year old daughter hasn’t masturbated already? Like, do you really think there’s anything in that scene that this chick hasn’t already tried when the lights go out at night, or in the bathroom, or in the tub, or with the shower head or something like that? I’m telling you, man, I’m not teaching this broad anything new. If I were to create a rating system, I wouldn’t even put murder right at the top of the chief offenses. I would put rape right at the top, and assault against women. Because it’s so insanely overused and insulting how much it’s overused in movies as a plot device, a woman in peril. That, to me, is offensive, yet that shit skates.
Kevin Smith (director) on the ridiculousness of movies about sex receiving NC-17 ratings while extremely violent movies get by with R ratings.  (via crackinthepaint)

(via feministsorgnow)