This Will Forever Be My Favorite Meme.

Lover

Lover Skin upon skin lies beautiful pleasure, To be devoured and released with ones breath. Cries and pleas whispered in sensitive ears, As the Heart explodes in pleasure. The pleasure is in the beauty of passion As it rolls off the writhing body. The chest rises and falls with every gasp, As the heart dies a little death. But it still trembles from head to toe. Lover stares down at the golden beauty, Smiling with pleasure and total hunger. A kiss is a just a kiss, and a Sigh is just a sigh as time goes on. Skin upon skin lies beautiful exstasy, As love comes together in passion.

I’m the mother to a wonderful 7 week old, and at times I get sad because I don’t know what he wants when he’s crying and I’ve done everything possible for him, and I come to the conclusion that maybe it’s just me.

I’m very calm with him, I love him, I smile sweetly at him, I say to him that I understand that there’s a divide between us and I wish I could help him more as I kiss his chubby cheeks. And when he calms down, if he calms down, I hug him close until he falls asleep, and I but him down in his bassinet. I stare at him in such awe that I’m in love with this little creature, that when I sit down and focus on my breath, I realize that I’m dying a little on the inside.

My child breaks me everyday, but when he looks at me and focuses on me, I pick myself up again and start all over.

I realize I’m very hard on myself, but with my history, I gravitate towards it because it’s my punishment. I’ll admit that I love my child more than myself, that I care about him more than myself, but I’ll keep going because he needs me, and I need him.

I need him.

Mind over mind

Sometimes the part of my mind that says, “you’re not good enough,” is loud and unrelenting.  It says, “Who do you think you are that you think you can be who you are, do what you do, live the way you do,” so on, and so forth.  But I’ve learned to stand up to it and say, “You are not stronger than my happiness.”  Over and over I say this, sometimes the little voice quiets down in a few minutes, or sometimes it doesn’t, but it never puts me to sleep, because my happiness wins out.

This one night

Short Story:

I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.

He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.

Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.

So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.

When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.

The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.

Smoking

I had my first cigarette in high school. Some gay guy taught me how to do it.

There are no words, just beautiful beyond expression.

An underwater martial arts performance. This video took the efforts of 50 people and had a pre-production period of four months. The filming itself took around 36 hours total.

Yummy in my tummy.

The aesthetic

Lynne O’Neill         ..enjoys a relaxing smoke break in her backyard!

I totally agree!!

Elizabeth Taylor