My Life Starts Over

me in a random selection of words

Month: December, 2013



In the past seven years, my relationships have taught me more than I could ever from my parents, school, friends, books, anything. I’ve become a better person and met amazing people I probably would have never met under different circumstances. The most important thing I’ve learned about is Love.

Love is complicated. It’s a lot of things: stupid, confusing, spontaneous, frustrating, beautiful, surprising, but most of all, complicated. I think I hate it. Not because I’m afraid I’ll lose it, but because it can take so much out of a person. Constantly giving yourself (with the possibility of getting hurt), always feeling crazy and second guessing yourself. Are these supposed to be the things that make love fun? Being so crazy with love that you just let it engulf you. Maybe at first, but after a while you can lose yourself. Or are you supposed to lose yourself and become a completely different person? Someone you don’t recognize. Maybe if you become a better person. You stop throwing things during an argument or learn more about your sexuality. But is that enough?

There’s a fine line you must always walk: between compromise and selfishness, the whole truth or white lies; it’s dizzying. In romantic comedies, everything falls perfectly into place at the end and you never see the happy couple hate each other. In real life, nothing ever falls into place; you just deal with it and hope things change. Doing the right thing and trying to be even a little perfect—if there is such a thing as perfect—is impossible.

What if you communicate with, trust, and love your significant other completely, but things still go wrong? How do you really know when to just walk away? When you start questioning it? You could take a break, but does that ever solve anything? Wouldn’t that just mean one step closer to breaking up, to giving up?

How much trust, communication, honesty, and perfect can you have before everything is right?


Random Thoughts: Selfish

The most difficult part about a relationship is not being selfish. I can communicate all day, jealousy is not a problem, the trust is there, but my selfish tendencies keep sneaking up on me. The want for something so bad is a burn in my chest. When something doesn’t go my way, it makes me sad. I know, I sound like a baby, but it’s true. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t get rid of it.

Long distance relationships carries surprises (not the exact word I want to use, oh well). No matter how much you plan or how far ahead of time you prepare, something always goes wrong, and there is nothing you can do about it. I’ve developed a “it’s not going to happen” mentality just so I’ll be prepared for the worse. It doesn’t always work. When we make plans that have to be cancelled last minute because his job decided they wanted to be assholes, my selfishness flares up and I become this pouty baby again. I hate it. I hate his job. I hate loving him.

Your Words

You’ve always known how to use your words

thanks to the way you were raised.

You’re eloquent speech makes you stand out

from the background that surrounded you

Now you use those words to pass on your wisdom

reveal hate, stupidity, the obvious.

You also use those words to hurt

the one person who is always there for you.

You don’t see it.

You think it’s normal.

She cries to herself, while you feel justified,

a winner.

Your words burn more than anything else.

You don’t see it.

You say she hates it when you’re happy,

but it’s the opposite.

When she twirls, dances, and sings not so perfect,

it angers you and you defend it.

You treat her like a child.

As if she’s some annoying little brat you can’t stand to be around.

So, she stays quiet. To you that’s petty.

I can’t get it right.

Keep busy and work, wrong.

Be happy and twirl, wrong.

I’m not normal enough for you,

and you can’t handle it.

You hate everything I do,

and wonder why I stiffen when you touch me.

Why I stay in my room while you enjoy your laughter.

Avoid the Comment Section

I had planned on posting a poem, but my encounter with this random lady on a website was so ridiculous to me. I just had to talk about it.

Yesterday, a website posted this picture:


Of course the author of this article was appalled by this picture:

“Cut it out. Seriously. We don’t wanna hear all that crap about ‘self-expression’ and being ‘in touch with your feminine side.’ Men can learn to understand women by TALKING to them, NOT by wearing their clothes!”

Mind you, I don’t even think they read the article since no excerpts from the magazine were posted on the site. Usually, I stay far away from comments because people are stupid and I hate the ridiculous arguments that develop; however, this time for whatever reason I decided it would be OK make a quick comment. I said, “I get what they’re trying to do. It’s funny to me.” I understood the point of the cover. It was meant to be funny. No, understanding a woman is not a joke, but this cover was meant to lighten up the mood, get your attention, and make you want to read the article. Apparently, not everyone felt that way.

A woman felt the need to reply to my small, minute comment:

“Let the record reflect that wearing a head wrap does not signify one being conscious anymore. They start with the heels, then add a strand of pearls, followed by a skirt, then lipstick and nail polish. Next stop, a maxi pad on a pair of panties. I find no humor in that. If a man wants to learn what a woman experiences, there are better ways to study her than wearing heels.”

What? I sat in front of my computer just staring at the screen. I was baffled, but her comment made me chuckle, a lot. I didn’t even think anyone would notice my little comment. Maybe because it was short she felt comfortable with replying. I responded:

“I don’t think they are trying to be literal: “Hey! Throw on some heels and you’ll understand a woman’s struggle!” It’s just a picture showing the saying “Walk a mile in someone else’s shoes.”

DUH! Why would anyone take this magazine cover so seriously? I thought it would end there, but oh no, of course it didn’t. She came back:

“All women don’t wear heels. Heels can symbolize a tool of oppression for women. Heels don’t do anything but break down your body. If you knew how the bones in your feet are, you’d realize the damage you can do long term by wearing heels on a daily basis. Women in the 70s and 80s wore skirts or dresses and heels to work because they were required to. Many of those women had to have corrective surgery to fix their toes or even knee surgery because of their prolonged wearing of heels. If you want to walk a mile in MY shoes, you better buy some Gucci loafers. I don’t do corns, bunions or callouses.”

What? What! Really lady? Are you being absolutely serious right now? I guarantee, every single woman on this planet, at one time or another, has worn heels. If you find the right heels, they won’t hurt your back or give you—bleh—on your feet (sorry I just can’t type those words). Do you really think the person who set up the photo shoot really thought “Heels mean oppression, corrective surgery, and ugly feet. Let’s put these men in heels to show they understand the woman’s infinite struggle with heels!” Using the heels was a general way of saying “walk a mile. . .” and to make the cover funny. She mention Gucci loafers just to make herself sound good I guess.

The most unimportant things are offensive now. People have arguments and debates over the dumbest things. Meanwhile, not enough people are talking about the racism and prejudice too many people have to endure each day. I don’t mean models wearing African garb on the runway. I mean kids being arrested while waiting for a school bus to their basketball game. Not enough people are talking about our failing educational system or the fact that America has all this money, while all these people are living on the streets. No most people are focusing on being faux intellectuals, rather than being a better human being. Am I wrong?


My words are trapped inside my head

trying to break free from the prison I created.

It’s made of brick, no doors, no windows,

but I can hear their screams and whimpers,

muffled by my criticisms and my “you’re not good enough.”

That is louder than any trapped word, any compliment, any like, any favorite.

I’m trapped inside my head

trying to break free from the prison I created.

Everyday is a losing battle,

but I try.

I still look for that glimmer of me from before.

The one who was free,

but she is slowly disappearing.

Being replaced by someone I don’t know,

never thought I would meet.

We must learn each other

and fight for what we want.

To free those trapped words inside my head

trying to break free from the prison I created.

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