Epiales, my faithful companion

Epiales slept against me last night, embracing me and becoming one with my being.

That opening sentence would sound so warm, comforting and romantic in any other setting. With any other background. He would run his fingers through my hair and press his lips against my forehead, whispering promises of everlasting faithfulness in an ancient tongue that has not been heard by humans in millenniums. His hands would rest in the small of my back, tracing the two small dimples I have on my low back, on the rise of my hips. I'd kiss his chest, right over his heart, and lean my ear against it and fall asleep to the rhythm of it's beats. Bliss. Heaven. Torment.

Unfortunately, Epiales - although loyal to me and my bed every night - is not the man of my dreams. He is one of the Oneiroi, the Greek spirit of Nightmares. The Black Dream met me last night, again, and unleashed his forceful way of showing attention on me. Normally I'm used to the images, the fears, the recurring storyline in my nightmares. But last night made me wish I slept in a cocoon made of dream catchers.

There were no wolves, or walking dead. There were no demons with bloody eyes or dark mists whispering my name. There was simply him.

I was walking through the desert, the stars laid up on the expanse like a velvet blanket embroidered with diamonds. Nothing hunted me, I felt no fear. Just the cool wind and sand bits hitting my face as I marched on, with no destination in mind. The shooting stars lit up the heavens every few minutes, and every time I saw one, his face...eyes flooded my thoughts. I wondered where he was, and if he was happy. If he ever loved me or missed me. But I did not cry, the scene was serene and though I ached for peace - I was calm about my situation. Wandering through the desert. Alone.

Until I heard my name called, and saw a figure walking towards me. I knew it couldn't be him, impossible. How? Yet he stood a few feet away from me, with a serious look on his face. There was no joy in his eyes, like I pictured his eyes to be whenever we would meet. There was anger, loathing, rage. I only managed to whisper his name before his hand was gripping my neck, cutting off my breathing. I clawed at his arm to release me, but he simply stared at me with tears welling up in his eyes. I should've been worried about what was about to happen to me, but my heart crumbled when I saw him cry - in anger - and I knew I was not who or what he needed to be happy.

His grip tightened and I felt his other hand, curled up in a fist, hit the side of my head - right outside the edge of my left eye. Over and over again he gave into the seething rage and kept delivering blows all over my face. I finally felt my lungs burning and my eyes swelling shot. I tasted blood in my mouth and traced my tongue where my teeth would've been. Most were missing, or chipped. Last part of his words towards me, that I heard, were: "You should've stayed away."

I woke up coughing, my heart racing and gripping my pillow. I looked at my Blackberry and it seems I had only dozed off for 30 minutes. It was only 2 a.m. I fought the sleep that lingered, and finally gave in to sleep at 4 a.m. again. This time the wolves were back. The demon was there. The voices returned. But for once, I was glad it wasn't his face I saw. Because those images hurt the worst.

Oh, Nyx, how I loathe your offspring.

Frida who? Yer mutha...

Light brushstrokes across my canvas
A single one nothing, together a place
Within the sea of deep greens and purples
A hint of gold surrounding your face.

Even Renoir in his greatest endeavors
Could never conjure an image as sweet
As the one I sketch on a blank pillow
The nights I find you invading my sleep.

A few more touches, I'm almost done
Today I paint you with a solemn look
The one you wore when I spoke of 'us',
The chill of your eyes. I understood.

All done. I hang you on the wall.
Top row, towards the left corner
Belonging there, looking different all
Random repetition, created in order.

Hundreds of your colorful stills.
I pick up a new canvas, start anew
I'll paint something different, really I will...
Or perhaps you again, in a new shade of blue.

~Y.I.P

Dear New Friend:

You asked me to write you a blog. Solely dedicated to you. Where to begin?

I've only known you a week. How close can one feel to someone in a week? How much can I know about someone in 7 days? Your favorite color is green, and you love cupcakes. You're an excellent father and a devoted friend. You love your work and are smarter than you give yourself credit for. You're persistent and so beyond sweet, it's sickening sometimes.

You're also 6 years younger than I am. This means that you're infuriatingly laid back when it comes to serious things in your life. Sometimes I want to shake you and scream "Can't you see what you're doing to your future?!" But I know that will accomplish nothing. We've all been pestered by people older than we are at some point or another. We think that we're alone in this world and that no one has been where we are. All I can tell you is, you are not any different than billions before you. Your life and problems are not unique, and when someone tells you to think about what you're doing...they say it out of caring about you and wanting you to make better choices than they did.

You're reckless and impulsive, and scattered in your thoughts. However, you remember small things about me that most people that have known me longer tend to overlook. You say that reading gives you a headache, yet you read this blog-even though you have no obligation to do so. You are so stubborn. So so stubborn. You want to know why things happen, and how I feel about everything every minute of my day. You don't understand why I don't want to talk sometimes, or you blame yourself. But you never leave me alone. It's comforting.

When we first started talking you asked me why I never slept, I told you why. You asked me why would someone so great would go through what I go through regularly with people. I told you that it was probably me, not them. You told me that I was great, and it wasn't my fault. And you seriously believe it, that I am this person who deserves greater things. I doubt that. So, agree to disagree. I also told you that I was tired of meeting new people that ended up hurting me, something you swore you'd never do. A few days into our friendship, bond, you hurt me in the worst possible way. I also told you I didn't like drama, yet I found myself being dragged into the middle of yours. So I chose to remove myself from your life.

Right now things are broken. I don't know that we could ever be how we used to. You were my friend, and I really loved and cared about you. Now, every time I see a text message from you come in, I wince. It hurts to see your name, and I find myself angry at your actions.

What does the future hold for us? I'm not sure. But for now, I'm sorry. This is the best I can do in a blog for you.

Good luck with the new chapter in your life. Blessed be.

Music Child

There's an old story that's always told by my family about when I was a baby, a cute little baby in a crib. My parents laid me down for a mid afternoon nap and went to the kitchen to get dinner ready. They heard a whistle coming from my room, and went to check, a little worried that some hobo had bypassed the ONLY entrance in the house, the one in the kitchen, and had made it to my room unnoticed. They checked, no one there, I was just laying there - 8 month old Yari - staring at the ceiling, gurgling. The go back to the kitchen, by then my aunt showed up to chit chat with mom and they went back to preparing dinner. About 10 minutes later my dad's whistling while chopping vegetables, and they hear someone else whistling along, again coming from my room. My aunt goes to check this time, and finds me, again, laying on my back staring at the ceiling, but this time my little lips are puckered up and I'm whistling up a storm. She calls my parents, they sort of laugh and scratch their head at this odd child (usual reaction for everyone that ever meets me). They left me there and since then, whistling has been a way of communicating/bonding with my dad. I'd whistle a song I liked, he'd find it and put it on the radio for me. Even before I learned to talk. Awesomeness.

The other part of the story is that I could also, as a baby, keep the beat of music. If we went on long rides and the music was blaring, I'd be tapping my foot against the plastic part of the car seat to the rhythm of the song. Most people got a kick out of this, because I could keep and switch the tempo, and apparently I'd have a very serious look on my face, completely concentrating on the music. This started when I was about 11 months.

At 2 years old, I started messing with my dad's Yamaha keyboard. I'd sit for hours and just try songs over and over until I got them. Apparently I learned to play "Gloria" by Laura Branigan first. They let me mess around with the keyboard until I was 4, the youngest they would accept a child into a public school of music, downtown. They enrolled me in piano lessons, and I remember, at 4, being bored to tears at the teacher's endless rants about learning to read music and the methodical way of playing. So, I played perfectly, but with no emotion and they quickly figured out it wasn't for me. They tried clarinet...I mean really? Clarinet? No. That fizzled over too. They stopped trying to put me in music classes, but my love for all types of music was always the same. I still messed around with the keyboard at home, but tried to keep it fun and light. I didn't want them to think my love for piano was renewed.

At 15, two of my friends in high school played guitar. Bingo. THIS was my calling. I always loved any music, but, come on, you know how I feel about rock music in general. I begged for weeks for my parents to buy me a guitar. Given my history with music instruments/lessons, they simply said "It's another phase, no". Hmph. I borrowed this one guitar from my friend Mike, and started just, learning one chord at a time. Two weeks later I, I had figured out how to play about 10 of my favorite songs, the first one being "Hero of the Day" by Metallica. My buddies just looked at me and shook their heads, echoing pretty much what Mike said when he saw me keep up with the other guys while playing Gypsy Kings "How? In two WEEKS...how?!". I felt so proud of myself, and even though my playing has improved very slowly and I'm still reluctant to play lead guitar. I have been the owner of up to 10 guitars at one time and there is nothing, NOTHING in this world that makes me feel better than playing.

It's funny how music has a way to unleash the darkest demons you struggle to get rid off your whole life. It has a way to literally wrap itself around your heart and leave you breathless. A way to re-open old wounds that should have been left in the past. It will make you see a hauntin face every time you close your eyes, with a simple chord combination. A face that left you broken in the past, yet...a face you forgave the instant they hurt you. Sometimes songs attach themselves to memories of a specific moment, or person. Why do we keep listening to sad songs when you are already sad? Masochism? How is it that for me, music can completely alter my mood in a second. I could very well put happy music or some heavy metal so I can let it all just...anger me. I rather live filled with anger, than filled with the heartbroken sadness I cant shake off sometimes. At some point, even happy songs completely manage to overwhelm me...I better stick to angry music. Always works.

If you're in my life, or want to be a part of it...you must either embrace music with the passion I do or at least attempt to understand why nothing will ever take it's place. I wish I could say I'm a music snob, but those years are long gone. I'm pretty much open to anything and if you look at any of my music playlists, you'll think I'm possessed by demons of several nationalities and likes.

Rock on, my kiddos, rock on.

Yari's Top Songs, in no particular order (I cannot, will not, choose a favorite song):

1. Age of Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In - The Fifth Dimension

2. Master of Puppets - Metallica

3. Take a Chance On Me - Abba

4. Cepilla - Fulanito

5. Free Fallin' - Tom Petty

6. Push It - Salt N Peppa

7. Time To Say Goodbye - Andrea Boccelli

8. Raining in Baltimore - Counting Crows

9. The Story - Brandi Carlile

10. A Tout Le Monde - Megadeth

11. 19 Dias y 500 Noches - Joaquin Sabina

12. Somebody Someone - Korn

13. The Trooper - Iron Maiden

14. Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine

15. I Like It Like That - Pete "El Conde" Rodriguez

And countless other metal, indie, alternative, merengue, salsa, jazz, hindu, country, oldies artists...

I'm not too big on R&B...that's about it. But I still listen to a few of those jams too...

I'm ranting. Bye.

Why are YOU running?

The squeaky hamster wheel, noisily going in fast circles. You'd think the poor little critter would realize it's getting nowhere no matter how fast it runs. It's life is not moving forward. There is no real reason for it's tireless race, yet it's something mindless and automatic to do, in order to feel something is being done in life. Instead of laying over and waiting for things to happen, I guess.

We all run from something, at some point or another in life. Maybe the expectations we set for ourselves were met and we became bored with our reality. Perhaps the path we chose to run in was based on a decision with our head, not our heart - or vice versa. Routine and apathy can completely ruin a relationship, jealousy can demolish it. Are you giving someone a reason to be jealous? Feelings don't just appear out of nowhere. Resentment, frustrations from work, I could go on and on. Or maybe we just like the thrill of the run. It makes us feel alive. Sometimes, the realness of our feelings shakes us to the core. Consumes us with 'what ifs' and fear. Naturally, it's easier to run away from it than face it. Leaving behind countless of burned bridges, or stories without closure.

With everyone we meet in life we are either the runner or the refugee. I've been the runner, and in a way still am. However, I keep mistaking my refuge. My tower. My safe place. Somewhere I don't have to run from anymore. I keep running into other runners, which forces me to stop on my tracks and become their safe haven. I am here to provide them love, devoted care, someone to lash out to when they're having a bad day (it happens, I understand) or simply a place to rest the weight they're carrying. I don't mind, except, you guys know how I am.

I live for caring and loving others. I see you hurting, and don't even know how to NOT hurt with you. It's none of my business, none, what you're going through. But it IS my business that someone I love is hurting or being hurt by someone. It doesn't matter if my parents rule my life through guilt trips, or if my friends use me only when they have time and no one else to run to...I will always be me.

But it hurts me when you continue on your race, and run away from me. Because I provided you with the best I could give you, no questions asked. I only hoped for you to open up to me and see that I really DO just want to make you happy.

It really is okay to run. We all have to, in order to survive and evolve into what we may become someday. It just sucks we use people as stepping stones, when we could easily take them along for the ride.

I've been running. I need a place to stop and rest. Can you be mine, for a change?

I don't want you, to give it all up

And leave your own life, collecting dust

And I don't want you, to feel sorry for me

You never gave us, a chance to be

And I don't need you, to be by my side

To tell me, that everything's alright

I just wanted you, to tell me the truth

You know I'd do that for you

So why are you running away?

Why are you running away?

Cause I did enough, to show you that I

Was willing to give, and sacrifice

And I was the one, who was lifting you up

When you thought your life had had enough

And when I get close, you turn away

There's nothing that I can do or say

So now I need you, to tell me the truth

You know I'd do that for you.

Happy Day I was Born: I am 26

I learned the last of my lessons yesterday. It hurt briefly, then I resolved myself to not see it as me being dumb enough to fall, but as smart enough to cut it out of me quickly...before it spread like gangrene. I am and will be whatever you need. No hard feelings.

I spoke with someone last night for a few hours, about how I felt and something I did to myself during the day (yes, I'm a cutter, relapsed briefly). I didn't want to talk about it, but he practically forced me to spill the beans. I spilled, and cursed at him for making me talk about it. We are not particularly close, and we get our kicks mostly out of talking trash to each other, but at the end of the conversation I had no choice but to admit we care about each other in our own way and that I'm thankful for those surprise people in your life. My wrists are healing, and so am I. Life starts over every day, and like he said - and I'm glad he understood me - it is an hourly/daily battle for people who suffer from depression, anxiety...etc. We try hard, we don't enjoy being emo, but sometimes it gets the best of you. What's important is getting back up. I'm up.

So the clock hit midnight, and the texts and tweets started to pour in...even a few mins before it was time. All I wanted to do was lay on my mother's lap and have her comb my hair like she used to. I asked her, she said she was tired. So I laid on the couch, in the dark. I answered everyone happily, gave thanks and only God saw that I was crying. My mind wandered towards the dark paths you shouldn't let it go to. I missed my grandmother so much, then I cursed a few names. I pushed those feelings aside and just focused on my dog's warmth against my legs. I tried to match his breathing, nice...slow...deep. I slept. I had dreams. The usual ones. I woke up crying.

I walked to work, excited to see what Shanidy had gotten for me and to answer Bday wishes on my social networking sites. I got messages from high school friends, my cousins and a few internet chatroom buddies I've made in the last 10 yrs. I got 2 sweet messages from my 'lil bro' Shane and 'big sis' Cathy, who I missed most today. Last year I spent my bday with them in Boston. It was epic. Shanidy got me a chain with a charm in shape of half a heart and half the phrase 'Best Friend'. I cried, naturally. Then I looked at our clothes at the same time she did...and we lost it for about 5 minutes. This:

Completely unplanned. With the matching nail polish, also unplanned. Sometimes, life is funny...and makes you smile. Alex sent me a gift certificate to the movies too, yay!!! I have other gifts on the way I've been told, so I'll update ya'll on what's up with that.

Tonight I decided to meet with the guys (Star Trek/RPG guys and Kyle) at BWW to have wings and booze. I need to not think about anything other than nerdy things for a while. They're always nice to me and I'm sort of their pet n00b. It's nice.

So when I get home, I'll catch up with some of you and then ask mom again if I can lay on her lap. I'll ask her to tell me the story of how I drowned when I was 2, and someone saved me at the beach. Maybe I'll ask her to read me poetry, like she used to do when I was little.

God is great, beer is good...and people are crazy. ~ Billy Currington

All In A Year...

Isn't it amazing what can transpire in the course of a year? 365 days. Life seems to zoom by so fast day by day, that it's almost mind boggling to go back and realize everything that has happened.

In a year I've loved, lost, loved again and lost. I've started a new career, I've lost weight, I haven't slept well, I've gained new friends and lost many more. It's been a year since I met some people from a random chatroom for the first time in person. Since I've seen the ocean, my dear Boston Harbor. Since I've fallen asleep listening to raindrops hitting the forest outside my sister Cathy's house. Since I sat around a fire pit, under the night sky, and played guitar with a dear friend - who's now longer a friend.

In a year I found out that what I thought would kill me, didn't. That I manage to rise over and over, stronger, colder and isolated. I've learned that...I don't learn. Irony. That even though deceit is staring me in the face, I turn my blind eye towards it and continue to hope for a change. That I still, a year later, haven't learned to forgive the right people and not just everybody.

I've lost family members back home in Puerto Rico, and the weight of not flying over there for their funerals is heavy on my shoulders. They raised me, loved me and were my friends growing up. Here I am, in foreign grounds, and not putting flowers on their burial plots like I should've.

I've rediscovered my love for music and took guitar lessons. I also, can no longer afford them. All in a year. I have been going to a psychologist, and also am thinking of quitting that. I have learned things about my father that I wish I hadn't. I have seen friends shine, and fall broken. I have wept with them, and loved with them. I have seen concerts under the West Texas desert sky with them, and stared them in the eyes as we hoped those nights would never end.

I have learned, in these 365 days, that even though I declare myself to be alone and isolated...there's always hands out there, pulling me through and always having me in their thoughts. I have people that love me, unconditionally. Even if I push them away, they know it's my way of saying "I'm drowning, come help me. Don't leave me." That even if I disappear for days, months...they welcome me back, with the same warmth. Without judging me or throwing in my face that I've been a bad friend.

In a year, I've visited new places. Mostly by myself, and sometimes with my new friend. She's managed to be one of the only 4 girls I've ever trusted enough to let in during my life. In a few months, she's managed to make me care about how I look, not in a conceited way...but in a way that shows I love myself and always should. (Who knew I had such passion for lip gloss?)

I've been in ICU, and I've worked out to Zumba. I've gotten horribly drunk one too many times, for the wrong reasons and I've learned to allow myself to mourn my losses.

So here's to 25 years almost being done. In 2 days I will turn 26. New beginnings. I hope this next year, I can love fuller, smile more and see Boston again. I want to camp in the desert and have a silly girls' night in. I want to be loved, for who I am and how I am. To make you all smile and show you how grateful I am of every one of you. Even the ones who have or will hurt me...because...Cathy can attest to this: I see things coming. I've called things long, long before they happen.

So I ask for love and honesty. That's all I want this year.

Be happy. Be blessed. Be true.

Why Can't I Fix It?

When I was a kid, my folks figured out really quick that spanking me or taking away my toys never worked as discipline. Ever. Mom would beat me until she was exhausted, always with anger, and I'd make a game of it. Stare her in the eyes, smiling (and CRAP did it hurt), just to get a raise out of her. To show her "I am not afraid of you or pain." Dad seldom hit me, I was his princess...so I really had to push his buttons for him to hit me. I'd do the same thing, he'd sigh and leave me alone. Until the day came when my mom was so disappointed in something I did, she completely ignored me all day. Brutal. I was going NUTS trying to figure out why she wouldn't look at me or talk to me. Wouldn't be in the same room as me. She figured out the Yari secret.

In school, I only fought once. When I was 17, I beat up a boy I liked. He didn't like me back, never did. But he'd sweet talk me whenever he needed his homework done, or to cheat off me on a test. I'd try to stay mad at him, feeling used, but a few sweet words and a kiss on my cheek and I'd be putty. One week, he stopped talking to me...completely. Wouldn't look at me, wouldn't sit next to me in class or sit with us at lunch. I couldn't figure out what I did and it was consuming me. I'd try to be extra nice and give him his homework already made before he'd ask for it, he'd simply turn around and walk away, looking very mad at me. I had like this guy for 3 years, one of those 'out of my league, popular' guys. (This is his story: http://thesqueakyhamsterwheel.blogspot.com/2009/09/fat-lady-has-sung-memoir.html) Finally, he spoke to me, on a Thursday afternoon. It was the middle of biology class and the teacher, who looked remarkably like a frog, was talking about how some things in nature just don't belong together. He turns and whispers in my ear "See? Some things just don't belong together. Like me and you. Never gonna happen." I must've been blinded by fury, but I immediately felt my knuckles breaking his nose. His pretty nose, smashed. I had been so worried about the silent treatment, thinking how I could fix it...and all this time...yeah. Douchebag.

So this is me. I always assume I've done something wrong, when I'm not talked to for long periods of time. It's just how things are. The sun rises, rain falls, the earth spins, Yari blames herself. Facts.

It's hard for people to understand why I apologize so much. Why I blame myself for something I have nothing to do with. I guess it's my way of explaining why things happen or why people leave. It's a hard concept for me to understand that your choice to NOT talk to me or stop being my friend has nothing to do with me and all to do with you.

I will sit there, and rack my brains out going over our conversations, thinking I said the wrong thing. Maybe I wasn't there for you? Maybe I was around too much? Did I make sure to always remind you how much I care about you? Did I bring it up too much? What's right? What's wrong? Why am I not good enough? Blah blah. I'm working on it.

Because it's not me. I'm just textbook material. True:

ISFPs are extremely perceptive and aware of others. They constantly gather specific information about people, and seek to discover what it means. They are usually penetratingly accurate in their perceptions of others.

ISFPs are warm and sympathetic. They genuinely care about people, and are strongly service-oriented in their desire to please. They have an unusually deep well of caring for those who are close to them, and are likely to show their love through actions, rather than words.

ISFPs have no desire to lead or control others, just as they have no desire to be led or controlled by others. They need space and time alone to evaluate the circumstances of their life against their value system, and are likely to respect other people's needs for the same.

The ISFP is likely to not give themself enough credit for the things which they do extremely well. Their strong value systems can lead them to be intensely perfectionist, and cause them to judge themselves with unneccesary harshness.

The ISFP has many special gifts for the world, especially in the areas of creating artistic sensation, and selflessly serving others. Life is not likely to be extremely easy for the ISFP, because they take life so seriously, but they have the tools to make their lives and the lives of those close to them richly rewarding experiences.

Am I saying that my behavior and way of seeing life sometimes is now excusable because someone decided to give it an official name and definition? Absolutely not.

I can choose to be different, to learn from the past. To let go of this need I have to make everyone like me. Of wanting to be everyone's rock. Will I? More than likely not. That's a side of me I like a lot. That I can be caring, no matter how I am treated by those I'm striving to help and love unconditionally.

Does being forgiving and trusting with the wrong people make me naive or stupid? Perhaps. But I think my friends were right. We learn something from every experience, and hopefully one day we'll have the required answers that fail us today.

Today you have learned what is my eternal nemesis: The Silent Treatment. But, perhaps I should just realize, that the silence is not empty. More is being said to me through it...if I just paid attention.

P.S. I am still 98% cooler than what you think I am.

Cathy, Shane and Molly

I just about laughed and cried just as hard reading ya'lls replies to my blog.

Cathy...My God woman how can one be pessimistic around you? I love you. I'm happy I met you. And I want you to remember those words if you're ever sad again. Even if we're gray and old when you are. I sincerely doubt it. But I love you. For everything you are and everything you believe in.

Molly...Truer words were never spoken. Thank you for always taking the time to read my words and being honest with me. Trust is indeed, earned. And although, I gain nothing from being jaded and whining about how everyone's a disappointment...I absolutely LOVE that you understand how awesome it feels at times to say "I knew it". It's the little joys. I love you too, my cher. And although I'm no longer around in chatland, you and my siblings are something I will cherish forever. I love you more than I love my luggage, most definitely.

Shane...WOW. Just...WOW. I haven't laughed like that in a long...LONG time. I miss you so much. Thank you, because, you're right too. They're all probably nice guys somewhere. I need to let go of the hate and learn. Simply learn. LOL God.

I love you all very much. Thank you. I wish you all happiness and blessings with everything in me. <3

How 'Fairy Tales and Porn' Failed Us...

And also, how we often fail ourselves.

I've been called jaded quite frequently this past year, especially the past few weeks. I come off as this hardcore skeptic that has lost all faith in mankind and it's potential for good. I whole heartedly agree I am jaded. I don't see it as a negative trait, honestly, but as a self defense mechanism.

I seldom allow myself to have feelings towards people, and yet here I sit openly admitting I go through spurts of opening up to new people and giving them the benefit of the doubt. Hard as I try to go through life thinking everyone's out to hurt me in some way, I always have that little voice inside me that says "Maybe...maybe this one will be different."

I blame all this on the books I read and dreamed about growing up. Movies I watched with unrealistic happy endings that don't exist in real life. This is real life for you:

Guys: 98% of women are attention whores. They're all talk. They claim they're not like everyone else you've ever met, but they all have the same traits. It's science. The question is, what are YOU looking for in a woman? Guess what, all them things those chicks do in porns? They look like they enjoy it...well yes, they get paid to do that. They get money and possessions as a trade for making you feel like you're Eros. If you find a girl that likes to do that for free? Guess what...you're not the only one she's ever told/done that too. You'll get one of two things: a clingy chick with attachment issues, who's only pleasing you because she's afraid of being alone and unwanted or you're getting someone that you mean absolutely NOTHING to, and wants to satisfy you enough to get something out of it. I know you don't care. But life's not a fantasy, hombre. For every action you do, every word you say, there is a consequence. No such thing as free ego strokes. Someone always gets hurt.

Girls: Do you really think you're the first one he's said all those pretty words too? That he was wondering through life in a haze, and now that he has you he's suddenly found a reason to live for? That you are the first time he's ever fallen in love? Let's get real. First of all, you're not the only one he talks to in his life. Sure, maybe he loves you, but you know how it is, ladies. You keep eying everyone he talks to or communicates with like a hawk. "What did that ';)' he sent that chick on Twitter/Facebook/whatever mean??" Insecurities. We all have them. Mostly because we've given some of them enough trust and space in the past, and they took that a sign to make 2 or 3 girls his objects of affection. Let's boil it down to, once again, needs. Guys really only talk to us due to the possibility of getting off with our aid in the near or far future. The fact that they find someone with their same tastes, with smarts and a good sense of humor is what makes them want to connect any further than that. There is no Westley from The Princess Bride. Life will NEVER be like The Notebook. Ever. Get it? All you can hope for is that someone out there is willing to accept that you, aside from wanting to bone them, love them and are willing to overlook their flaws.

There is NO way to ever trust anyone, without getting hurt at some point. We all make mistakes. Sometimes you will do the hurting, sometimes they will. But I think we're all grown up now, and the least someone can do for another is be honest. If all you want is a piece of ass? Say it. If you're just looking for someone to be your escape from a dull life? Say it. You have no idea how much I'd appreciate it, if new people I meet would just tell me from the beginning "Yeah, I'm totally gonna screw you over." Because, I can be detached too. You want me to only be around when you need me? Say so. I'm pretty good at giving people space. What I don't appreciate is when I'm only constantly here whenever YOU have time.

Life's a big, ole, fat game of chance. Sometimes you find what you've been wanting you're whole existence. Most times you get an endless parade of asshats and attention whores that care nothing about you. You're another number. You're another pretty word. You're another 'I love you'. You're not feeling anything that hasn't been felt before by billions of others.

So let's all go ahead and put our big boy and girl undies on and appreciate what little good, REAL things we have in our lives. Leave the dreaming for when you're sleeping. It hurts less, and you come off way...WAY less silly to others.

Good morning, world. Good morning.

What I Wish I Would've Told You - Pt 4

This one will be short and concise.

You're a player. I'm not even going to say you're a player in the 'relationship' sense, because you wouldn't know what one is, if it knocked you on the head and pinned you to the ground. Besides, I'm talking about a friendship here.

You play with words, emotions and people's time.

You use to your convenience and needs. All I can say is I hope it was good for you, and that your heart was full and you felt grand.

I'm done feeling like *I* am the one with the warped view of what a friendship is. I am done being made feel like I ask too much, when I require next to nothing out of you. I'm just a nice little toy you put on the shelf until you're done with everything you feel is more important, more valuable.

I'm so understanding? I'm so patient? I'm such an amazingly sweet person? I'm a dimwit.

Best of luck.

Song: "Throw me a Rope" ~ K.T. Tunstall

It Happens, Oh Well

Walking through the cemetery

I stumbled on a scene, dreary-

Rain began to reach the ground,

When I heard the mournful sound.

I saw the angel gently weep

On churchyard steps, broken deep-

I heard the cries through hollow walls

Her sobs filling empty halls.

I knelt beside the broken wing,

Who'd beat about this loving being?

White, pure robes soiled with blood,

Her knees and hands covered in mud.

“Dear, are you well?” I asked softly

Reaching to fix her hair gently-

I felt her tremble, flinch away

Her golden eyes full of dismay.

“I saw his light, and blindly fell,

For him I faced the darkest hell.

I gave up heaven’s peaceful choir,

To be his object of desire.”

Cradling her body, fragile glass,

I held on till her last breath passed.

Never knowing her source of pain,

I kept on walking in the rain.

Droplets mixed with my own tears,

The world seemed dead, full of fear.

No one will love, like she did –free –

Nor give their trust so willingly.

My heavy steps slowed to a stroll,

Her absence taking such a toll –

A broken angel’s body told,

How this world leaves the bold.

~Y.I.P 2010

Your Girl

"There's my girl."

"How's my girl?"

"You're my girl."

"You're amazing."

"You're the best thing that's happened to me"

"I'm so lucky."

"You make me happy."

"You make me want to be better."

"Hey, sorry, I've been busy."

"Sorry I can't talk right now."

"This is how I am, I can't change."

"It's only been a week, you'd know if

something had happened to me."

"Sorry, no time to answer emails or texts."

"Fell asleep."

"What do you want?"

*silence*

*silence*

*silence*

*wait* *wait* *wait*

Remember when I was your girl?

Or just that I was a girl?

Remember when your girl didn't push and just waited?

Or just that a girl would always be there for you?

Remember when your girl requested one small thing?

Or that a girl needed you when you didn't feel like it?

This girl deserved what any girl wants.

Your girl is gone.