It's always good to know one's speed limit
The past month has been debaucherous. For those of you who don't know the meaning of that word, or think I've used it too often (which I have), here is an alternative(s):
-Indulgent
-Excessive
-Immoral (though, to who's morals, I know not...)
-Corrupt
-Devilish
It appears that my body has limits, and despite my blend of torturous cover-ups, it is retaliating. For a long time, I was using distraction as a mainstay of my regime. That is to say, I would wake up, have an instantaneous headache, and pop a few Advil. Then, eat. Mmmm I love eating, especially all those good fast food sweetened carbalicious dripping... enough. What good is food without drink? Wash it down with a couple beers, (when did I develop a taste for beer?!) or perhaps wine, or...why be choosy? Yep. Eternal hangover. Keep it all going with some sex, drugs, and rock & roll.
Sex: I must re-define you, in terms of carnal knowledge. I was brought up to fear the act, use it only for procreational purposes, under the protection of the sanctity of marriage. Now that I'm boldly single and marriage is a distressingly distant albeit wonderous occasion, what to do with you? Lord knows, I haven't waited. But there is that whole factor of love-vs-need.
To use sex as power, or succumb to the regular shag, accepting it as a healthy dose of physicality?
To be continued...
I will say this: I will NOT allow myself to be ignored, mistreated, uncalled, insulted, turned away or ran away from, again. Bad boys, step aside. I'm DONE WITH YOU. If you can't handle me, if you say "You're so weird, I just don't know what to do with you sometimes," then you aren't a man. If you blow off my friends, make me look bad in front of others, then you have not yet grasped the meaning of courtesy. If you promise me one thing and do another, then you are a dishonest, disrespectful twit.
I'm making room for all you nice guys.
From now on, you will not finish last.
I deserve better. I really, really, really do. I'm gorgeous. Have you looked at me? No, really, have a look! Okay, I'll look with you, because I rarely do this:
Face of a goddess. Golden, smoldering eyes. Clear, lovely complexion (on most days). I hardly wear make-up. My back is liquid toffee. Take a gander, you will melt. I've got curves to trip over, have you seen my behind?
And that's not to mention my smile. When I smile at you, when I TRULY smile, no one else in the world exists but you. I beam. I radiate. I pulsate heat.
I've got style. I don't give a damn what anyone else says about my outfits, or my hair. If I want to wear a piece of coral, or 11 peacock feathers, or pineapple earrings...I WILL. I get "No one can pull that off but you!" alllll the time.
That's not to mention my mind. Did I ever tell you I got a perfect score on my SAT essay? 12 out of 12. 4.6 GPA in high school, 3.7 in college. I read Dickinson for fun. I remember random facts, never forget faces, and have a near photographic memory.
I'm compassionate. I cry over animals. I reach out to others who need help. I volunteer on a weekly basis with those with have intellectual and developmental disabilities, overcoming their obstacles through art. I bleed artistic passion.
It's time I admitted this to myself. I'm good enough. I'M GOOD ENOUGH. No, no, no. I'M...
I'm
I'm
I'm beautiful.
I'm a beautiful person, and I deserve more.
I deserve better men. If none come around, that's okay. I'll wait. No rush. I'm 22, for Christ's sake: My eggs aren't shriveling yet. (Shut up, Grandmas!) My body deserves better food in order to operate. My body deserves food, period. (Shut up, inner anorexic!) And exercise...I will make it a point to be more active. No more toxins, no more lies, no more. Period.
For when she realized, she became alive.
-Indulgent
-Excessive
-Immoral (though, to who's morals, I know not...)
-Corrupt
-Devilish
It appears that my body has limits, and despite my blend of torturous cover-ups, it is retaliating. For a long time, I was using distraction as a mainstay of my regime. That is to say, I would wake up, have an instantaneous headache, and pop a few Advil. Then, eat. Mmmm I love eating, especially all those good fast food sweetened carbalicious dripping... enough. What good is food without drink? Wash it down with a couple beers, (when did I develop a taste for beer?!) or perhaps wine, or...why be choosy? Yep. Eternal hangover. Keep it all going with some sex, drugs, and rock & roll.
Sex: I must re-define you, in terms of carnal knowledge. I was brought up to fear the act, use it only for procreational purposes, under the protection of the sanctity of marriage. Now that I'm boldly single and marriage is a distressingly distant albeit wonderous occasion, what to do with you? Lord knows, I haven't waited. But there is that whole factor of love-vs-need.
To use sex as power, or succumb to the regular shag, accepting it as a healthy dose of physicality?
To be continued...
I will say this: I will NOT allow myself to be ignored, mistreated, uncalled, insulted, turned away or ran away from, again. Bad boys, step aside. I'm DONE WITH YOU. If you can't handle me, if you say "You're so weird, I just don't know what to do with you sometimes," then you aren't a man. If you blow off my friends, make me look bad in front of others, then you have not yet grasped the meaning of courtesy. If you promise me one thing and do another, then you are a dishonest, disrespectful twit.
I'm making room for all you nice guys.
From now on, you will not finish last.
I deserve better. I really, really, really do. I'm gorgeous. Have you looked at me? No, really, have a look! Okay, I'll look with you, because I rarely do this:
Face of a goddess. Golden, smoldering eyes. Clear, lovely complexion (on most days). I hardly wear make-up. My back is liquid toffee. Take a gander, you will melt. I've got curves to trip over, have you seen my behind?
And that's not to mention my smile. When I smile at you, when I TRULY smile, no one else in the world exists but you. I beam. I radiate. I pulsate heat.
I've got style. I don't give a damn what anyone else says about my outfits, or my hair. If I want to wear a piece of coral, or 11 peacock feathers, or pineapple earrings...I WILL. I get "No one can pull that off but you!" alllll the time.
That's not to mention my mind. Did I ever tell you I got a perfect score on my SAT essay? 12 out of 12. 4.6 GPA in high school, 3.7 in college. I read Dickinson for fun. I remember random facts, never forget faces, and have a near photographic memory.
I'm compassionate. I cry over animals. I reach out to others who need help. I volunteer on a weekly basis with those with have intellectual and developmental disabilities, overcoming their obstacles through art. I bleed artistic passion.
It's time I admitted this to myself. I'm good enough. I'M GOOD ENOUGH. No, no, no. I'M...
I'm
I'm
I'm beautiful.
I'm a beautiful person, and I deserve more.
I deserve better men. If none come around, that's okay. I'll wait. No rush. I'm 22, for Christ's sake: My eggs aren't shriveling yet. (Shut up, Grandmas!) My body deserves better food in order to operate. My body deserves food, period. (Shut up, inner anorexic!) And exercise...I will make it a point to be more active. No more toxins, no more lies, no more. Period.
For when she realized, she became alive.