I like breaking all of the rules


Under the Blanket of Night

How can you be comforted and terrified of the same thing?  I thought once upon a time I just enjoyed our beautiful desert sunsets because of the burnt fiery orange, the soft pink coloring in the wisps of the clouds, surrounded by the deep purple and light blue sky.  Now I know otherwise, it was what it represented to me that I looked forward to.  The anticipation of nightfall.  The pitch black that was to come.  As soon as that sun winked its good night, another day was through.  I could lean my head back and gaze up into our milky way.  Pretending I could teleport myself out to some far off star, or distant planet where I belonged.

As long as I focused on the stars, I was comforted, but as soon as I would pull my gaze away, I was reminded that I was not home.  I had the immediate urge to run to my bed, jump under the sheets, and pull my comforter over my head.  Ensuring every corner was tucked under me so the boogeyman couldn’t get me.  As you are well aware, he cannot get you if he can’t see you.  Breathe slowly so he doesn’t see the movement of you panting.  Don’t even think about moving, or you just signed your own death warrant.


When I was a child I remember running the streets with my friends playing hide and seek, climbing trees, riding our bikes.  As soon as those street lights would come on, that was our warning to get our rear ends home if we knew what was good for us.  Of course we pushed the envelope.  If there was the slightest bit of blue on the horizon, it wasn’t night yet.  We loved the shadows and the darkness making our childhood games that much more enthralling.

It wasn’t the impending smack on the rear end that created the anticipation, pumping the adrenaline through my veins.  It was the atmosphere, the electricity of the night.  I could see the best, hear anything and decipher between the croaking of the toads, or the katydids calling.  You could smell the changing of the earth with the sun no longer beating on it.  My senses were always heightened, as a wild animal slinking out of the forest coming to stalk its prey.  It still terrified me though.  I thought of my awareness, and what possible creature might be lurking out there that was much more aware of me than I was of it.

Now, in my adult hood, the boogeyman has a new face.  The creature in the woods is a real fear…and its manifestation is not only in my mind.  My cover and solace I found in the night represented that  I had made it through another day, and that I didn’t want the sun to rise because that meant facing it all over again.  The tumult of my anxiety starting to rise along with the dawn.  Life altering events where you cannot comprehend, turns your mind to mush, and logic goes out the window.  You want to just hide.  Pull the covers over your head…hold your breath..and let the blanket of the night conceal you.


The boys Only love Me when They’re lonely

Life has taken me down many paths.  I have played many different roles too, daughter, friend, lover, mother, wife.  The one that was the most haunting was the “other” woman.  Played out through cyber correspondence, or an affair in the back seat on a hot summer night, the lingering effects are taboo, but addicting.  Don’t get me wrong, this is neither to have pity for me, or inspire an affair you might have been plotting, just simply my story.  My feelings on the roller coaster of human emotions we either choose to keep subdued, or act upon.

I cannot tell you the first time it ever happened, but I do know, the first taste of the adrenaline rush was when I was innocent to the affair.  My first emotion was anger, then disappointment, then heartache, ending in confusion.  What had just happened?  I kissed his lips, felt his hand slide up my shirt and across my flesh.  The reel playing over and over in my mind.  Wait, I can’t see you again?  You don’t know when, oh…right..I get it..You are 1) taken, 2) engaged, 3) married…Sitting pondering the event, why had that just happened?  The thoughts of “If I had known..” crept into my mind.  Then the sensation of the thrill of it..these butterflies that returned after my stomach stopped churning were different.  I had done a bad…bad thing…and I liked it.


So what did that mean?  Was I a totally horrible person?  The after effects were a mixture of regret and anticipation to feel that same sensation again.  What would the other woman think?  Say?  Feel?  Would she find out?  I could only compare it to what I know I would feel.  I had been cheated on, we have all for the most part felt that heartbreak, and now I was participating in it..no..delighting in it.  The question was still “why?”.  I was not some concubine looking to raise my family into the higher court of the Kingdom.  I was just some chick, getting hers.  Technically, I was a home wrecker, slut, whore…yes, all of the above.  I never set out with intentions of it.  I didn’t troll around seedy bars to find my next poor sap falling off his stool looking for some overdue attention to his manhood.  However, I didn’t hesitate either when a gentleman caller would want a fix, and I became knowledgeable of the situation at hand.

Was it the affection I was craving?  That sought after feeling of being “wanted”.  Is this some poor “I didn’t have a daddy growing up” complex I am abusing?  Maybe, or maybe not..  We have the ability to change our paths, and to make our own choices.  Free will was the greatest gift ever given to us.  Without getting into religious quotes and bible thumping..yes, I do have a conscience.  So why did it keep drawing me back?  Why couldn’t I just say no?  Because I didn’t want to.

The rawness of an affair is unlike any other.  There are no shows to be put on.  No insecurities.  Your previously bound and gagged doppelganger is let loose and you can be who you have always secretly wanted to be in bed.  No prude moments when time is of the essence.  Passion and a need of release is driving you hard to the finish line.  The others eagerness intensifies the moment and it’s your time to shine.  “Oh baby that’s right, you wish your woman could do this to you..”, then reciprocated with, “I wish SHE would let me do this to her”.  Harder, faster, your heart is going to burst from your chest.



Then the moment is over..a quick clothes check, phone check..we are good.  Almost as if a business exchange just took place, we are now dressed shaking hands and turning opposite directions from the parking lot.  The come down now occurs and the self reflection always takes its place.  I am the one going home alone.  Empty handed.  My 30 minutes of glorious fame, yes please hand me my Oscar now, is over.  

Is this what I have become.  The fluffer for the others relationship.  To go home to a warm house, a kiss on a cheek and an “ignorance is bliss” maxim to live by.  I know what you are thinking..screaming at me in your head.  Karma bitch..haha..if you only knew.  It’s not a mistake if repeated time and again right?  So why do the boys only love me when they are lonely?






When I read this challenge I thought heck yes I can rock this!  I tend to be lean in my words with the few blogs I have already posted.  I am too afraid my readers will be lost in translation if I don’t cut my tangents short.  However, this was quite the challenge, which I say to that, en garde!!  Here is my go on the Fifty Challenge!



Mr. Spider with your tiny eight eyes, such an advantage you have over mine.  You stare blankly at me with legs spread, wound, ready to spring.  Captured corpses yuck, stuck in your sticky icky web.  Your fangs ready to eat my face, but I have my flip-flop, smack…squish.

Check out this link to learn more on this weeks DPchallenge!



You close your eyes as you pause at the entry.  At the threshold your heart races.  There is only one choice to make, and two different outcomes, but which will you choose?  You listen as the breeze stirs some leaves from their slumbering state.  The fragrant wisteria creeping up the labyrinths walls makes you turn your head slightly, following its romantic scent.  The decision is made and as you step forward, you open your eyes.  The ground under your feet feels slightly spongy and moist.  Like walking on pillows, you remove your shoes to feel the coolness of the moss.  Eager to keep moving forward, is where the beginning of the end begins.

The slight fear that clung to you fades away, the hesitation slowly dissipates.  You feel urged to break into a full sprint but the tight curves and winding walls slows your pace.  Any preconceived ideas you once had are slowly evaporating with your perspiration in the damp air.  You are slowly letting go…your worries of this trip through your mind are no longer present.  You hear your thoughts more clearly, you are now in a meditative state of mind, knowing there are no more options, only forward.  With each new turn, and twist, is another concern of the outside world left behind.  The contemplative state of mind you have now entered will be what you have been looking for.  No more right answers to find, or wrong doings to apologize for.  In this singular state, you are aware of your value, your attributes that you do not see when facing the mirror.


As you reach the center, you have your head held high, and you raise your hands, stretching out to the sky in content.  You trace your fingers along the damp wall feeling each detail, circling the rosette.  Finally, coming to a stop to revel in your illumination and self growth.  Your trip back along the same path is filled with courage, and purpose.  You have come to this place, you have conquered the fear.  As the twists and the walls seem less daunting then when you first entered, now becoming a part of you, you carry the strength this place has given to you.  You have been given the power to integrate what you have experienced, and take it back into the world, by sharing and paying it forward.

At the end, where the beginning received you, you close your eyes one last time.  As a blind man steps out into the open with nothing but his faith, you make your own leap..into ascension.


Washed Out


Being a woman is an amazing feeling.  So many emotions are attached to everything we experience.  Having the silkiest skin to be caressed by your lovers fingers.  Soft lips to be brushed over with another’s kiss.  We love to the fullest, cry the hardest.  My passion can never fully be expressed in words as there are none to bring forth the feelings provoked.  Like a cat we can purr when loved and scratch when spurred.  To love a woman to the fullest, you have written your life’s story with happiness and undying faithfulness from her.  I want a lover to find me hidden in the shadows..to coax me out and unlock my secrets that are hidden deep within me.  We hold secrets and take them to the grave..unless we find that man who is brave enough to learn and conquer us.  Reaching into my soul with his eyes..searching for the truth through the mask of smiles, the blurred vision of tears, and the ragged edges of my heart.  Until then, I am washed out…and hidden in the crowd.  You will probably miss me, pass me by..and never know what you left behind..



I catch myself staring off, aware of my surrounding, but unaffected by them.  I see the sun reflecting off of my skin, but do not feel its warmth.  I see the breeze flowing through the leaves on the tress, and flutter my papers in front of me.  Brushing the hair from my face, yet I do not feel its breath.  I see the birds sitting in the tree and their calls, I cannot remember the sounds.  I am leaving my body, not day dreaming, but more aware than ever before.  The void of the senses has opened me to a higher level of conscience.  I look down on my body as I raise my hands to my face in wonder, what are these strange things, and how do I use them.  More importantly, WHAT have I used them for?  What greater good could I have accomplished with them?  Just as I reach my personal aphelion of my “self”, the gravitational pull sucks me back in..and my newer wiser self pauses at the perihelion.  Struggling to hold it together, to remember what my higher self had just come to realizing as the reality rushes into me and I catch my breath.  Will I continue to have the dis-ambiguity that my soul traveled to its furthest point to uncover, or will the every day worldly problems pull the pillow case back over my head…will my aphelion be in vain, will I let my perihelion destroy me?

Band-aids are for blood



I often wonder who came up with the idea that a band-aid was a functional tool for covering up anything that was bad.  Even the name makes no reference to the fact you are placing a plastic flexible bandage over a wound to stop it from bleeding or protect it from the elements while it heals.  Its all in your damn head.  Does it actually stop the bleeding?  Does it make your cut heal faster?  No, its stickiness attaches itself to your hair and rips it out painfully and the residue that it leaves behind, is like the ever lasting memory of the event itself which led you to wearing the damn thing to begin with.  So why are we fascinated by them…why do we print happy cartoon characters on them for kids, why does it seem to make everything better for the time being?  Because unlike everything else in our lives, it represents something we can use practically in most situations, other than:  “My dog just got ran over”, “I had a miscarriage”, “I got fired from my job”, “My cheating husband finally left me for the younger woman”…”where are the f-ing band-aids????????”  Oh that’s right, they are found in the bottom of that empty red wine bottle you just finished off…And just as that red wine wears off the next morning and the event that wounded you and has now left you scarred…is still staring you in the face, just as that unfortunate stumble you took and scraped your knee, giving an unsightly scar to make you self conscience of wearing a dress…you are forever fucked my friends.  Or you can suck it up, brush yourself off…and stand right back up and do it all over again…fuck the band-aid..wear your scars proud.


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