Let’s start in the middle

Let’s skip the beginning where games lay and you suppress your feelings.
Let’s start in the middle; where you share your fears, goals, and dreams and you are open to love and the idea of laying next to me.
Let’s start in the middle, where toying around won’t define your ability to catch feelings and games won’t cloud our vision from seeing a happy ending.


Crazy Women

Crazy Women,
Don’t let the world make you stiff.
A man has made you believe that you are insane, as he confused you into disbelief.
Causing you to confuse hardness for strenght, silly woman you are not crazy!
You see, we as people label those who are more knowledgeable than we are “insane” because we are envious of their gifts and strenghts.
Your inability to feel and understand is considered an ability to survive.
So let him call you crazy, for it only means he is no fool, and he knows what your capable of and that nothing can get through you.
He knows you are real, as real as they get, and that you are gifted to feel emotions some can’t yet comprehend.
So go ahead and feel deeply girl, and cry, laugh, love how you need to and proudly be “crazy.”
Because you should be smart enough to know that your strenght is not defined by your emotions and neither is your insanity.
It’s called being human.


Here I am…

Here I am on his bed once again.
His dirty little secret is what I am.
He doesn’t love me, he never will, for I am not relationship material.
He loves another and this I know, yet I have no one to call my own.
So here I am on his bed once again, as he talks dirty to me and rips off my dress.
He takes my panties off with his teeth, and for a moment I feel pleased.
Until I think of her and I, and how I can’t compare to her and what she’s got.
Here I am on his bed once again, the other woman, the one who feeds him his piece of cake.
The one she cries about, and hates so much, the one that doesn’t let him arrive on time.
I sometimes wish I could explain myself, tell her he’s the one I love, but I don’t dare.
For what I feel doesn’t matter here, I am just his little whore and she’s the one he can’t let go.
Here I am on his bed once again, degrading myself because I have no one to call my own.


I wrote this, only because I can only imagine how mistresses feel and why they must continue on with that role.
Is it love?
I’d wish I could understand what makes women betray other women in this way?

I want you

I don’t need you, and that’s what makes you special.
I want you, and wanting you like this feels so much better than needing you or anyone, as a matter of fact.
I want you, me wanting you is pure, it’s actual, it’s honest, it’s real.
I’ve never wanted anyone in my life, but somehow you have come along and I want you.
I want to continue to feel the emotions you bring me upon.
I want to continue to see your smile on mornings when we can sleep in.
Only to be followed by morning love making and yummy breakfast to finish.
I want to continue to laugh so naturally like only you have made me do.
I want to bicker about the little things we bicker about on purpose to mess with the other.
I want to continue to get to know you, and I want to see where it all goes.
I don’t need you, I want you.


Deja vu nightmares

She walked out the door, unsure if her body was tagging along.
She didn’t understand why any of it was happening.
It felt like a dream, a nightmare she wanted to wake up from.
Nothing made sense, how could this make sense?
With frustration she whispered…

“Cancer? Why the fuck would she deserve that?”

Nothing made sense…
She took a deep breath and then she looked up to the sky and said…

“Take anything away from me, take it all if you will; but please… please, let me keep her, let her win this fight.”

And then she woke up, only to remember she was already gone.