Why I’m nice to him

We’re not married. I don’t owe him anything. He doesn’t tell me how to live my life. He doesn’t tell me he loves me. He doesn’t. He likes my body, that is all. He only knows the fun part of my personality. I don’t talk about anything personal. My thoughts and emotions are pretty much non-existent. I watch his craziness and listen to him vent. I’m not in it. I’m on the sidelines. He loses his shit drinking or thinking he’s dying. I hear a lot of things about him and he possibility he has multiple he’s toying with as well. I don’t mention it. I don’t care. It’s not anything I can control or change. I’m simply just there as I always been. I’m not with him. I’m with someone else. He talks about me leaving my husband for him. It wouldn’t happen. Not unless I was strongly convinced things would change and there was something real between us. It’s funny. He’s the one person I was honest too with the few things he knew about my life — my mother, marriage, selfishness, and the lawsuit. I’ve been passive for so long. People mistake it for kindness.

What happened to the ‘Agent of Douche’

Nothing happened. Last time I saw him he was outside in camouflage doing something. I don’t know what or with who. It looked like he was by himself. That was probably three or four years ago when I was in college. I had to drive by his house because there wasn’t a better route. He looked very much alone like I knew he was. He didn’t have kids. He drove whatever female he had in his life out. He didn’t talk to his parents or siblings in the time we were together. He was an asshole to me and had a small pencil dick. That’s all I remember besides the ATV, dirt bike, motorcycle, hot tub, bonfires, and drinking. We had some fun but it wasn’t enough. He said I was stupid and an idiot. He said he wanted a housewife and it wasn’t me. I had no interest in ever being a housewife.

I wanted to do something with my life and not wait for some asshole man that’s fucking around. He had numerous online dating profiles. Once I haven’t seen him in a week and he smelled of sex. It definitely wasn’t me. I wanted to love him. I wanted him to change. But he didn’t. I looked at it like hey, I’m single too. I can go talk to other people, he is — and I did. That’s how I met my future husband. I went back to college and graduated. The very last time our eyes ever met was on the lake when he was patrolling. He asked me what I was doing there and I said I lived over there and pointed to a building. I was going back to school but not because of him. I went for myself.

And now, I’m an hour away from all that chaos. He’s probably still alone. Though I had very little faith he’d get the stick out of his ass and stop hating everyone and everything.

Why I don’t dance anymore

It was fun, alright. I didn’t get any actual jobs doing it because I did it in college. I did it when I transferred to a university junior year. I joined the Dance club. They didn’t have any actual teams or anything. But trust me it felt like it was and a competition at times. Though it was fun for the most part. I did contemporary, jazz, hip-hop, and Bollywood. At the end of the semester we had a recital. Everyone went nuts and loved what we did. The practice was worth it. I didn’t regret that time.

My second year at university as a senior, I had a few elective voids to fill. I picked studio dance training classes in Ballet and Jazz because I thought it would be fun. Well, it wasn’t. It in fact killed whatever passion and love I had for dancing. At the end of the day, I still went to Dance. I screwed up some of the routines. And some of the girls were just rude and nasty. A choreographer joked about cutting our feet off and sending them home. She also happened to be one of my classmates and someone I had to pretend to be civil with though I couldn’t stand her. I avoided her for the most part. I thought of her as a five year old with really bad OCD and ADD. But well, anyway… I still danced on and performed in that semester recital with no issue. The last semester I thought I’d take it upon myself to become a choreographer for a contemporary dance piece to a Lady Gaga song. Half of my people that signed up dropped out because they thought the song was inappropriate. Then wanted to start shit on social media because I didn’t take into consideration everyone’s sizes on the costumes though I did. I was up for hours looking at shit. But I was still ‘body shaming’ by suggesting one of the girls order the same costume by another company because they didn’t have her size. I called that bullshit. But of course, I had to carry the fake face and persona and keep my opinions to myself — and I did. I just dropped my dance all together. Stayed in the few routines I committed too. But I never had any friends from there and made more enemies than I should have. I was the quiet girl that kept to myself.

Now it’s been a couple of years. I don’t have access to a dance studio. If I did I would remember the times I had to stare at myself in the mirror 6 hours every other day while juggling 18 credits and a part time job. I would remember all the shit that was said to me. All the people that followed me around and stared at me. The energy on stage and the paranoia of fucking it up. It was fun once… when it was simple. Back in the days I danced around the fire before I made the conscious decision to go back to school.

Magic vs the Real world

Closet 

Leads to a magical world the protagonist(s) only know about.

 

In real life

You would think clothes, shoes, and junk back there. You’d be surprised how many people have sex, hide someone back there, and do a number of things we don’t want to know about. I wonder why we try to teach the children it leads to a magical world…

 

Invisibility

No one can physically see you so you can do whatever you want.

 

In real life

You may feel invisible but people can see you, especially if you make an ass out of yourself. You can ‘disappear’ by removing yourself from unpleasant people, things, or situations.

 

Carpet

It can fly, don’t need a car.

 

In real life

If I sat on a carpet and waited for it to fly, people would ask what is wrong with me. Out of all the things I could fly if magic was real, why a carpet? The only thing magical about is it captures water and crumbs I have to vacuum later.

 

Spells

Say something right, and you get it?

 

In real life

I wrote a bunch of poetry, why don’t I have anything I wrote about in it? Words aren’t enough. You have to make it happen.

 

 

“You’re confused, you were abused”

I’m confused about what? What is going in my life? Not really because I’ve been aware of everything that is going on. Expect maybe, one thing. I don’t understand why someone wants me when I don’t want them. I’ve done everything in my power to get rid of them by blocking, deactivating, blocking, ignoring, explaining, deactivating, blocking, explaining, etc.

“You were abused.” By who? It wasn’t my father and it wasn’t my friend’s stepfather though I was in the room with her when she was molested by him at age five. He never touched me, the second I heard her crying and screaming I ran out of the house. She said it was every guy I’ve ever dated but how could she possibly know that? It’s not like I told her everything that was going on. It’s not like I acknowledged or understood anything that was going on. How could I? Everything was constantly my fault. I was fat, ugly, worthless, dumb, stupid, useless, etc. He wouldn’t say I was smart, beautiful, or pretty. He wouldn’t even tell me he loved me or kissed me yet he had no problem asking to see me when he wanted sex. I went somewhere else to fill that missing hole, to someone else that was also a piece of shit. A least this one piece of shit was honest to me. He told me from the beginning he only wanted to have sex with me. And so I did that, thinking maybe he’d change or I’d change. I’d magically grow-up one day and leave this all behind. It didn’t happen. I let him choke and slap me in bed and go behind my back to plan things I didn’t really want to do.

She thinks some miracle will happen, like I’ll meet someone and all of this trauma and difficulty will go away. Real life isn’t a movie, it doesn’t work that way but who cares what I have to say anyway?

Walk Away

I could say hello but I’m not interested in small talk
seeing your number makes me want to vomit
seeing your face makes me want to bash it in a million pieces

 

I could explain why I stopped talking to you out of the blue
but I refuse to be interrogated for something I didn’t do

 

I could rant on and on about the things you said and did
that no other man, a stable respectful man would do
you want to say it’s part of your culture or religion
if that were true, you give your people a bad name

 

You don’t listen or take a clue

 

I told you numerous times
you and I would never work out
I don’t like high heels
I don’t want your hands around my neck
I don’t appreciate the comments about
you having a threesome with my younger sister and I

 

I would never convert to Islam
or make an effort to learn your language
you forced high heels on my feet like I was
Cinderella and you were Prince Charming
(yeah, right)
you choked me and slapped my face
you showed me a knife and made a joke
about taking my life
I saw less and less of you
you began to stalk my younger sister and
her friends on Facebook
I told you that was the last straw

 

I told you I didn’t like you as much as you liked me
you proceeded to ask me out
I walked away without answering your requests to see you again
or answering your question, “Do you have someone else?”
I responded, “None of your business.”

Facebook you vs. Real you

In a relationship = I didn’t want to put it out there but my partner is suspicious.

Single = I am not single, I’m in a relationship. I hope my partner doesn’t know I’m seeing other people.

Married = I am tied down for the rest of my life. If I cheat, nobody has a clue expect my partner. Everyone else thinks I’m great.

 

Status: “It was a beautiful day out. So thankful for my friends and family that came out. <3” = It was a horrible day. I can’t stand them but I’m going to pretend I do.

 

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Still wanna date me?

 

Useless, disappointing.

I try every day to talk

you got nothing to say

If I express anything

I think or feel

you don’t listen

 

Try to kiss your face

you grab your hand

and push me away

 

I can’t hug you

I can’t kiss you

I can’t tell you this bothers me

you never listen

you never care

 

Week by week

I cry laying in the bed

next to you

you move my body

towards yours to see

if I’m crying

yet you never ask me why

 

You continue to ignore me

 

That isn’t the worse thing

being around you

 

It is the fact

I can’t talk to anyone

about this

I have to put on a face

and pretend everything

is alright

 

I know they don’t like you

I know they don’t understand

why I’m with you

I’m nothing like you

I am just trying to fix

something I can’t fix

 

I’m not happy

so here comes

the breaking point

Yet again

I’ll pretend

I’m not drowning

 

It’s ashame I don’t care

enough about myself

to say this is useless

and disappointing

 

I am sure there

will come

a day