Inspiring Writer

Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Inspiring Writer?



After eight months lived out in the jungle surrounded by the same bleeding disgraced women, all us addicts of sinful, immoral, acts to ourselves and others. I believe I’ve done my time. My 9-5 hours were over and I came home.
“Welcome to Miami”
“It’s nice here, doesn’t feel I’ve been gone so long”, say in the car watching the day begin all over the cities see from all the highways.

So far, so good. Can it get better? Of course it can. But can it get way worse than before? –silence.
Eagerly I thought about who would be the first one to accomplish a sort of ritual after such long torment of absences during slowly passing time.
Enough

I absolutely have to write about him…
She Australian looking, dirty blondish hair thrown around me the surf,tight in weight, thin but thick enough to handle his board to perfection. “Hello, nice to meet you,” he says. I smile back checking him out with long batting lashes, deep sparkle in my eyes. “Where are you from? I ask directly. Smiling back he says in the sexiest accents I’ve heard in, let’s say enough for me to rub my nipples right now with my eyes closed saying, ahhh”. Let’s just continue on from one important factor to another. “Israel and Argentina”. My panties cream. I guess you just know, you know, when a chick digs you, and wants that there. Was it the extra kiss I gave him good bye? Or the walking me deep into his upstairs bedroom to use le toilet? The reason for that gently whisper as my friend hurried to the car as I lingered out of his pad. “Excuse me?” I said blushing with a kinky smile on my face. Throwing my hair to one said asking to speak up with his sexy naughty words. “You should get my number from Susi” with a rather some conniving smirk on his sexy face that I’d rub my pussy all over. Ughh, walking away was the hardest but as a new, dignified woman, “If he wants it enough, he will find me”.
Point is that there is constantly better out there. Some days you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t. The change in the soul mating of my days, change within minutes, breezes of air, weather, and opportunity. I have been celibate for 8 whole months. I feel the hounds smell it. Problem is, I want to play back and that would mean, I’m no better than I was 8 whole months ago.
Dismay. Why the fuck does my life always end in dismay? Fuck it, I want to live for myself.
I think I’ll go get a tattoo today. 

Monday, May 02, 2011
Wow, so I’m finally going home.


I think back at all the fucks I’ve had. All the lays I’ve laid down and gotten laid on. I listen to “Re-Arranged” by Limp Bizkit. I have no true, real, healthy relationship to think back on. It’s all good. All I can think of is some good ‘ol sex right now, but I know better than to go solemnly for the pleasure of a 45 minute ride, if I’m even lucky Mr. Homeboy can keep along with me. I look at all the smilling, passing faces that I’d like to share saliva and interesting moans with, but my life has changed now. Although my sexual drive hasn’t, I know that I must conserve myself and allow my personality to shine and not just my vagina. Haha

Thank God it’s over.

“Convenience is for those who are worthy” –nat 5-12-2011


Today is Friday, May 13, 2011 and I feel like writing. So brand new with so many different people around, I don’t know which to choose from to chill, smoke, eat, party with, even fuck. The opportunity has come time after time during the not even two week presence of me in my hometown. So many occasions wanting to rip clothing off and just stick thick hard cock into my over a year, untouched pussy.

But damn. I’ve decided to be who I am, who I’ve always been deep within and never noticed before until total isolation of all I’ve ever known washed over me as a dry cleaner repairs broken stains in you luxurious masked outfit. But all that was and now I am, am here in my room after being the real woman that I’ve never known, nor believed in, here in my bed, with my pussy still between my crossed legs writing down my thoughts as to what would have been had I just forgot all morals and overlooked what strongly sticks out of my chest.

Lustful Love

Why is it that women fall in love faster than men do? What is it about women that makes them more caring, sensitive, sweet? I sit in bed wearing nothing but black stripped pink lacy panties and the purple rings through my nipples wondering why I clung to her so tightly and why I told her I loved in during our drunken, passionate love making night. “Hmmm,” I ponder, “blame it on the alcohol?” I can’t.

I dial my past and reach my good friend who I, too, told I loved during the same scenario. “Typical you,” she returns as I slyly try to defend myself but can’t. I love sex. I love making love. I love being in love. Whatever that is. I love the infatuation and the sweet things that come with it.

“Did you just turn off the upstairs lights?” she asks in her seductive tone. Puzzled, I shake my head in disbelief. Has the stalker switched been turned on? “Yea, I did” I respond. “Aight, do me a favor, go downstairs and look on top of your car and then call me” she requests. My nervousness turns into excitement and soon I gallop down the stairs with a smile on my face. No one but my neighbor across the street chatting on a phone, I search the streets for any sign of her. None. I discover a narrow box on the hood of my car. Still smiling, I grab it. A small, white teddy bear at the bottom with red roses behind leading to the top, my smile grows.

On a scale I have both the sweetness of the act and the sour thought of my freedom and privacy being breached. The idea of living in a gated community suddenly doesn’t feel as convincing as it once did. I don’t know whether to just smile and enjoy the thoughtfulness or to be cautious of the breach of privacy.

“Hmmm…. More to ponder” I say to myself before turning off the radio and pulling the covers over my cold, erect nipples.

Cherry Tree

Once we were, now we’re not. Far from then, we are here and don’t know when, the next time will be when things are what they were, back once when we we’re lovers-engulfed in one another, never to be separated in thought, never too distant, it would break us apart. The minds of others swam around our smirks and the whispers projected insecure feelings we brushed off with laughter. They knew not what we were once and here we are now, never again to feel as one. Looking back at the breeze that blew the cherry tree, its leaves falling on my floating hair as you brushed the sun off my eyes with your lyricist mind filled with catchy phrases of intentional purity that said one thing while your eyes portrayed another. Devious trends of adulterine and deceitful obligation to what you feel and what you show them. This tree we stood under, one here the other there, space filling between the large air we used to separate the right from wrong, the way you looked at me, the way my mind knew what it meant. You hid, I shone. The brightness cast wrinkles on your face, squinting away from the cherish-able light illuminating the dull, dry, brittle life of you. The seed sprout, the color brightened. The smile, half moon, and never again would you be the same. Once we were, now we’re not. Back into the fog, the sun set long ago. The leaves are gone, autumn came and went now the branches are twigs held up by bitter frost clenching for warmth. The ground is a solid rock of heart, no more green sways as waves of cleansing water radiating the deep night’s sea of life. My hair whips onto my chapped lips, no more moisture, no more warming looks of affection. No more. Now we’re not.

A Quest for Monogamy

I pushed him out of my doorway with a smile that covered the feelings of guilt and disappointment. He kept pulling me towards him so that he could steal more kisses with a piercing stare almost as if to reveal my inner thoughts, plummeting them to the surface of the conversation filled air between us. I stare at the floor not at all paying attention to it, but instead avoiding all that surround me. Not only am I cheating myself, but also exercising the cheater abilities within him.
This all creates confusion, adds to the fire of incomprehensible disaster. I pull away, I think of the other. “The juice that’s worth the squeeze”. Is it really? What is and what is not? I beg to know. Is it real? Is it temporary? What is this? I hate not knowing. My heart was flustered and weightless, but now confusion clouds my judgment and I sit in my own manifestation of thoughts. Am I jumping the gun? Was it all fake? I think I’m thinking too much and instead I will try to silence my mind with sleep.
If we are not, but are so some, the other one a dud that fills gaps in weather changes forbidding a monogamous trend that I so want to bend, oh why, oh why must I not know what I would cherish so, in my heart, in my mind, for all eternity, to the end of time.
The thought is neither him nor her, but instead it is a process in which we reap what we sow.

Devoted Emotion

As the rain poured, I starred out the window watching the distance between us grow. Tears filled my eyes as the feeling of “us” flowed through my veins. My skin misses your soft caress. My mind craves those sweet words spoken through the most ever kissable lips. My insides quiver from a simple thought of us being one. What shall be of us? What, when, where, how? I love you. My heart is sad without thee, come to me, be with me. Now. My world is dull, come lighten up my tree of sadness. Come sweep away the sadness, from emptiness, that the tragedy of distance brought to me. You grow within me, I sprout your seed. When does all this turn real, and no longer make believe? Happy is the heart that is warm with joy. Happy am I, to be with you. Without worries or doubt, I stand by your side.

Bleed It Out

Friday, August 22nd, 2008


Let is snow let it pour, out of my nose onto the floor that grounds the just and lays distant to the rest. Instead I spin profoundly upon the gravitational force that yields my existing habit of destruction. “It feels so good”, how could it not? The burning sensation corrodes inside the pathway, doesn’t spark interest until an hour later when it can no longer be done. Yet still I crave for that intimate moment within myself where thoughts are forgotten and only feelings of immense satisfaction swim around my rotting eight-pound muscle. Who needs it?
Next day occurs the usual drainage of different dimensions of colored fluids leaking through my breathing glands. “Can’t do that for another couple of days”, I say to myself as I wonder what other concoctions I can come up with to bring joy to the current boredom state of deprived serotonin and inconclusive alternatives for mood modifiers. Some call it the easy way out, it is always harder to do what’s right, but “it feels so good”. I remain in the affected state and reminisce on the past weeks escapades up and down mount evergreen. See you later Colorado, until then I remain sunny in Florida.