Category: Random Thoughts

Heart

On my way I roamed and wandered, till he turned my head.
It wasn’t till that moment that I realized I’d been dead.
His eyes, that spark, a newfound brand new beating heart.
I showed him mine, he showed me his, and we held love together.
Our love, our souls, our fears, our goals, we were birds of one feather.
With many birds we roamed the air and birds all lovely colours.
Our feathers matched so perfectly.
I thought that it would always be.
I trusted him, he trusted me.

But oh, those birds of all those lovely colours.

On our way we roamed and wandered, till he turned his head.
And what was once alive, went back to being dead.
I poked and prodded, tried to spark my lifeless now not beating heart.
I showed him mine, but he kept his, as he set mine on fire.
It screamed, it turned, it popped, it burned, smoking with desire.
Lifeless, stupefied, with awe, I watched it burn to ashes.
Those ashes now live deep inside.
In memory of the love I tried.
The days I had nothing to hide.
But nobody would ever know,
Unless I went and told them so
because:
I smile, I laugh, I live, I learn, I love to fuck, I sing.
But everywhere I go there is a secret that I bring.
So if you want to love me, know, you shouldn’t even start,
For nobody can love a girl with ashes for a heart.

I didn’t like this poem at first and I thought it was the structure and the pacing, which it is a little, but more so, it oversimplifies a very complex issue. Hearts don’t usually get permanently shattered in one fell swoop. We are stronger than that. But if we are repeatedly denied love, scorned, burned, hurt, not just by our lovers, but by our families, friends, strangers, we get turned off of opening up and being truly bare naked and vulnerable. It’s like we just don’t have the strength to be exposed to anyone, and the hurt is so deep, raw, and ugly that we don’t want to show it, or share it, or spread it. As bad as we may want love and a kindred connection, that pain pricks up fresh every time, and the risk never seems worth the reward. Sex, or fucking, can be an alternative method for experiencing pleasure and intimacy, without any risk.

I don’t hate the poem, but I wish it dug a little deeper than it does. It flows alright and it rhymes, so it is technically a poem. It feels really good to be writing again. Thank you for reading.

Ode to my Booty Call

Sitting here in my bathrobe.
Feelng dirty, used, and oh so satisfied.
He comes when I call. Like a pizza.
But he’s faster than a pizza.
Stronger than a pizza.
Harder than a pizza.
He fills me up like no pizza ever could.
He gives me sweet magic explosions.
Splashing fireworks.
Closeness to God.
My eyes are open.
My worries are gone.
And when we are finished with each other,
So is he.
Until, once again, I hunger.

My Funeral

A friend of mine was recently asking about songs for a funeral. Nobody had died or anything, I think she was just feeling a little glum. Hmm, maybe depressed? Oh geez, I should have asked…

hmm…

oh well…

I’m sure she’s fine.

Anyways, I started thinking about the arrangements I wanted for my funeral and I know I don’t want it to be sad. I’ve never been comfortable around sad people – my reaction is usually to make jokes until the person cheers up and usually it works, but sometimes it doesn’t and when it doesn’t, it REALLY doesn’t.

I’ve thought it out and my first funeral song, to welcome everyone to the service, is going to be I’m Never Going to Dance Again, by George Michael.

Guilty feet, I’ve got no rhythm, though it’s easy to pretend, I know you’re not a foo-ool!

I think it’s perfect because people will be like, “aww, that’s sad. She’s never going to dance again.” But they will also be like, “what the fuck kind of song is this for a funeral?” So, it sort of sets the tone that some weird shit is about to go down. Then the lull of the regular funeral monotony lures them into a false sense of security like, “that was a weird song, but maybe it was just a one-off’. Then, probably after the pastor makes it very clear that these were my final wishes and that he had absolutely nothing to do with what’s about to happen, the whole room darkens and the first ominous tones of Michael Jackson’s Thriller boom over the loudspeaker. So now everyone is thinking, “what the fuck is she up to now?” While this is going on, they are secreting my corpse out of my coffin through some type of trap door. As a distraction, other coffins, that have been set up along the sides of the venue and explained as extras that are for sure empty, will slowly open, one by one, and out of each will come an eerily costumed dancer who begins to move and gyrate to the song. Hopefully at this point some of the audience will have begun to lighten up a bit and sway to the music. I mean, it’s Michael Jackson, regardless of who just died, how can you not sway?

As the song reaches climax – you know that part with all the scary screaming? my coffin slowly starts to creak open. People freeze in horror, mid-sway as another dancer, dressed as me but with rotted zombie makeup slowly creeps out of my coffin. The other dancers dance their way up to join her at the front just as the beat drops, and the whole place goes wild, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief, and resuming a more frenzied sway to the music, with only one or two onlookers anxiously wondering where my corpse went.

It’s going to be so freaking AWESOME! I’m only sad that I won’t be alive to see it.

Female Sexuality…

What is the sex-life of someone who shames females for their sexuality like? It really must be so dull and boring. I once had a guy tell me that he wouldn’t respect a woman who wanted to have a threesome. Seriously, what in the actual fuck?! Little did he know he’d just talked himself out of an invite to my next threesome. What a tool.

I can just imagine him, married, ten years down the line:

“Honey, I was thinking maybe we could try something a little different tonight.”

“Me too, princess, I’m in the mood to live dangerously. Tell you what, instead of mild, lets have our wings with hot sauce!”

“Last time we did that you started crying like a little girl.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I. Okay, maybe we’ll ease our way in with some medium, it’s still pretty spicy.”

“Actually, I was thinking about doing something a little different… sexually.”

“Oh God, not the thing with the lights again! What kind of WHORE does it with the lights on?! Honestly, it’s like you’re not even the woman that I married anymore. You’ve become some raging slut that wants to try all these new things! Doggystyle??? Lights on??? Who ARE you?!”

“Honey, we’ve been married a long time. I just wanted-”

“Look, I let you get on top that one time? REMEMBER!? What, did that mean NOTHING to you?!”

“I’m sorry I-”

“Well you can forget about doing that again anytime soon. I thought it meant something to you but since nothing satisfies you, maybe we should just stop doing it altogether!”

“I’m really sorry, honey, let’s just enjoy our spicy wings.”

“Forget it. I’m not in the mood anymore. We are having mild.”

Yup, tool. Guys like that don’t even realize that sex is actually supposed to be fun… and maybe even a little weird. That same girl who settles for missionary with the lights off time and time again for all eternity probably isn’t doing it because she’s a prude who hates sex. She’s settling for crappy sex because she loves Mr. Mildwings and sex isn’t everything. But it is something. And it can be a very nice something too!

Maybe Mr. Mildwings worries that a girl who is sexually adventurous won’t be easily satisfied and maybe he’s right, but when she is, it’ll be so worth it to know that you earned it by stepping out of your little box and abandoning your comfort zone for the great vast beyonds of sexual bliss. And, honestly, a woman who is in tune with her sexuality can get off using just about anything. I once got myself off using two refrigerator magnets and some dental floss. I was like the MacGyver of sex! (Ladies, don’t try that one at home… unless you have no qualms about explaining yourself to a paramedic.)

Sex is so much more than just missionary with the lights off. It’s missionary with the lights on. It’s doggy-style in the kitchen, it’s threesomes, it’s leather, it’s ropes and spankings, it’s getting buck-naked in the great outdoors during the crisp refreshing month of October and ravaging each other like rabid wolves amid a cascade of falling autumn leaves, panting, moaning, and howling under the full moon in the conservation area just five miles north of- sorry, I got carried away for a minute.

What was I saying? Oh, right…

My point is that sex is about so much more than just fitting certain pieces together and monotonously grinding away till you get gravy.  For some it’s about having that spiritual connection that transcends space and time and commits two people together for life, come what may. Meh, that’s not really my thing, but to each their own. As for me, I will quote my all-time favourite author, Mr. Stephen King:

“There’s something to be said for a shorter, more intense experience.”

He wasn’t talking about sex, mind you, he was referring to his collection of short stories, but still. Tomato, tomato.

Just because a woman comes into your life only for fun, with no intention of becoming a permanent fixture, doesn’t mean she isn’t worthy of any respect. To me, a woman who knows what she wants and makes no apologies for who she is, is better off than miserable old Mrs. Mildwings. Now, obviously if you hurt someone, you should apologize, but a woman who is honest with herself, will generally be pretty honest with others so there shouldn’t be any hurt feelings.

Let me paraphrase: if you are leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake, then you are doing something very wrong.

So, I’m certainly not the one you want to take relationship advice from, but what I can tell you, is how to have great sex. It’s actually really simple and there are only three tips you need to follow in order to have the best sex of your life. Listen up, men, because this part is for dudes too.

  1. Listen
    1. Not just with your ears, listen with your whole body. Be open to the vibes and sensations your partner (or partners) is putting out.
    2. Be more focused on listening and picking up your partner’s cues, than you are about your own pleasure, for as long as you can before things get carried away and it’s every ‘participant’ for themselves.
  2. Let Go
    1. Forget about your hair, or the cellulite on your butt, don’t think about how tiny your penis is, or how disappointed she will be when it inevitably ends in two seconds. Just enjoy the moment… or seconds. Whatever you have (in yourself and your partner), make the most of it and focus only on the beauty of it and the pleasurable sensations that you are both giving and receiving. Lose yourself in these sensations and all self-consciousness will melt away, leaving only ecstasy and fulfillment.
    2. Let go of any rigidness or set ideas about how this will go down. Be open and willing to be flexible with your partner – anal should usually be discussed and agreed on beforehand, don’t expect a lady to be that flexible.
  3. Don’t be a judgemental prick
    1. Nothing kills the mood faster than knowing you are being judged. Don’t be a dick. Lose yourself in the moment and remember, nobody is perfect, but everybody is beautiful.
    2. It can be hard to let go when you feel you are being judged. Sometimes these feelings can come from a partner, or sometimes they can be all in your head. If it’s the partner, ditch them and find someone new… unless you married them in which case there will need to be long, boring (and possibly awkward) talks about it and even enduring those might not help. Good luck. If it’s all in your head, then just remember, they might be feeling the same way and by taking the lead and focusing more on them, asking them what they want to do, doing more of what they respond to, they might be encouraged to do the same, leading to good times for you both. All you can do is your best and if that’s not good enough, then just worry about getting yourself off and then ditching them for someone who makes you feel more comfortable and at ease.

So, I hope some of you found my thoughts insightful and maybe even helpful. Don’t forget to be safe, clean, and use birth control!

 

xoxox

Miss WILDwings (Oh yeah, I totally did that.)

She Choked on a Bag of Dicks…

Imagine a woman died, and the only surviving relative really hated her and so had the headstone engraved with “She Choked on a Bag of Dicks.”

I bet that’s happened before – maybe not exactly with the phrase “bag of dicks,” but still (you have to pay by the letter, I think, so it’d be more cost-effective to be terse with the insults). I’m sure someone somewhere has had their headstone purposely engraved with something they wouldn’t have liked. It happened to Frank “Grimey” Grimes on The Simpsons… It could happen to you!

I remember reading about a young lady who suffered from depression and had committed suicide. I won’t mention her name for two reasons; the first is that I don’t remember it. The second is that in her suicide note, her dying wish was that her mother not tell anyone what happened.

Her mother respected her daughter’s final wish by posting her face, details about her mental state, and exactly what had happened, including the suicide note, begging her mother not to blab, all over Facebook.

What really shocked me is that not one person pointed out this betrayal in the comments. Everyone was all like, “you’re so brave to share your daughter’s story,” I mean sure, the commenters didn’t benefit directly from it, they were just there for the entertainment value, like people slowing down to view the carnage of a car wreck, but still. Not one comment was even close to being along the lines of, “I was just about to kill myself when I read this and now I think I’m saved. I can feel my depression lifting. Thanks for posting this, my life has been saved here.” I didn’t comment at the time, because I was, frankly, too baffled to even know what to say. I can see why the kid was depressed. Mother probably didn’t respect or listen to the kid too much when she was alive either.

The mother’s post went viral, she got many kudos and likes, so that was probably some consolation for her. I mean, I would hope so now that she has to live with herself, knowing that she sold out her kid for them. There are about a million ways she could have brought awareness to the issue of depression without disrespecting her daughter’s final wish. A Facebook post is unoriginal and almost exactly what the daughter asked her oversharing mother NOT to do. I’m pretty open about my life, to the point of TMI sometimes, but if I’m asked to keep something in confidence, it’s something that goes to the grave with me. If I could bag of dicks that mother’s headstone, I would. But she’s the only one I can think of who I’d do that to and since we’re not related and I don’t care enough about her to find out who she is, I guess the bag of dicks thing will probably never happen… Unless someone does it to me, that is.