Been a while

A lot has happened to me since I first started making this blog.

I am no longer engaged

I moved to florida only to have to come back to illinois to work and save for a car. (florida doesn’t really have public transport unless it’s for disney or airports or hotels.)

My mother mentally abused me since the early years of my life and continues to do so; she also tells me i’ll never be good enough for anyone or anything. I believed her.

My father is gone

I am formally diagnosed with Manic Depression.

Some girl at a job i worked at committed internal theft like twice and they still let her work there.

And I’ve tried to kill myself a few times.

i’m still here though, i guess that’s the important part.

the only thing i’ve been trying to ask myself is how much longer can my heart take the constant pain brought on by the woman that swore to love me until her last dying breath?

Not gonna lie, I honestly don’t want to be on this planet anymore sometimes.

I don’t fuckin care if anyone snitches to my mom and shows her this blog. I don’t give a flying fuck.

I hope she sees this and actually feels bad.




Fresh Brewed Bullshit From The Urn That Bore It

Okay, so I imagine a few of you have been wondering where I’ve been and I’m prepared to tell you.

I’ve been working and going to classes…or at least trying to.

As many of you know, I work for a coffee company, well-known…like, very. I have also been hired to work at a very exclusive Activewear/Performance brand. I learned, the hard way, that working two jobs takes a hard toll on me. I have been thinking about a couple of things in relation to this.

At ______ Coffee, I just don’t feel like I belong there anymore. Everyone’s nice, with the exception of a few people, but I just feel like “Mara” doesn’t feel like herself anymore. (I will be using third person to explain this).

She walks in, with the biggest of hearts. She greets everyone with a smile, letting everyone know she wants to work hard and help…she’s got sad eyes, but they only tell outsiders that this is the calm of a quiet storm. As she puts on her apron and hat, she sees the root of her discontent. This root makes it known that Mara is nothing to her, a loser, an idiot, useless. Mara tries to make the root happy, or at least try to be civil with her….nothing works.

Mara goes home, teary-eyed, emotionally numb to everything around her. Tears soak her pillow as she waits for a day that takes forever to end. Every day she sets foot in that place, she just knows that her dark place comes to life. Like a bad trip, a confrontation in a dark alley, like a broken heart, she wills at the end of her last breath for it all to stop. She thinks of suicide, and how it could make everything okay….

but then…she thinks of him…

She could never leave him behind. Her heart breaks and she mentally slaps herself into some kind of sensible place where she can attempt to get it together.

But the root, oh the fucking root…

How dare the fucking root push Mara into her deepest and darkest feelings with just a couple of words.

She glares at the back of the root’s head, hoping that the generic ripoff of Ellen DeGeneres burns by Divine Intervention.

Yet…the root still stands. As a demonic bitch, the root has no heart, no soul, no conscience.

The root is an empty twig among a forest of Redwood trees.

But Mara, weary, tired, confused…she just wants to know, why?

Why does the root hate her so much?

“Was it something I said?”

“I’m sorry”

“Okay…my apologies..”


“I didn’t mean to”

“But, I…”

“What did I do?”

Mara feels like everything is her fault…sometimes it is…but she doesn’t want to be told that every day of her life…

Is being belittled worth $8.35 an hour?

Mara wonders if crying, wanting to cut herself, screaming into the darkness, wishing for someone to appreciate her, even for a little bit, is truly living….

She just wants to go back to her summers…festivals, carefree days, happiness, joy…

The little things made her smile.

Light kisses, fireflies dancing around her, cigarettes and milkshakes, rainy days spent making love…

She wanted all of that again.

But what could she do, besides dream of it all?


She sits on the floor, crying quietly, waiting for the day she can burn the root at its feet…

One “I quit” was all it would take

For her to be free.

When all I wanted was for you to love me…

You’re childish

You’re boring

You’re no longer attractive to me

You always put your family first

Why won’t you do this for me

Stand up to them

You’re immature

You’re going to summer school?

Trust me, what we had was real.

I loved you.

I miss you.

I need you in my life again

Can we start over?

I didn’t know what I wanted

I want you

I was confused

I was stupid

You’ve told me all of these lies before..Thinking that they would win me over almost instantly. Endless nights of tears, self-harm, regrets, and soundless cries all for someone to just love me. I’ve tried so hard to crawl out of this hole I’ve been in for so long, hoping there’d be a hand at the top, waiting to help me. You let me fall in my own despair, and you disappeared. Just like my father, you became another man I couldn’t trust. I tried so hard to be there for you, I gave up a lot, I hoped and prayed that I’d be good enough for you someday. Well, I was wrong, because you left when you realized that there was going to be a time when I needed you like you needed me. Thank you for showing me that you were the wrong person to fall in love with or even get involved with at all. Lose my number, block me, delete me. I’m trying to forget the mistakes I made that led to such a shattered heart. My anger grows every day for you and I pray that I never see you in my path. Should we ever cross paths, I will just walk the other way.

Goodbye, and I hope you live with the pain you gave me everyday of your life.

She was Free

She danced for him. She moved like water from a soft stream. She danced like her life depended on it, like it was her last dance. He loved watching her move, watching her make love to the movement to the beat of the song. She danced like she was happy, angry, sad. Nobody could tell her she couldn’t dance, because chances were that they themselves couldn’t dance.

She manipulated the elements to move with her.

On hot summer nights, she danced like there was a fire in her belly and she was desperate to get it out.

On rainy spring days, she moved with the water, and the water moved with her. Rain mixed with sweat drove her to bold movements, turns, and aggravation all melding together to create something far more dangerous than any monster or demon.

He would watch her through the window, in person, and on videos. Each dance was more intense than the next. She was always alone dancing, never with another soul. It seemed like she was fighting with her spirit when she danced. Like she didn’t want to let it go, but her soul wanted to be free. Much like her. She danced in the dark, in the street, in parks, in school, at work…everywhere she heard music or when her soul was heavy. Her heart could have been broken into a million little shards, and she would still dance.

She danced until her heart stopped beating.

When her heart stopped beating, she realized, as her body lay lifeless, losing color and warmth, she was finally free.

Her soul danced for him, and his for her.

Legend Of Korra Fanfiction (VERY NSFW)

I published this on, and I was very hesitant to share it here, but I think that there are at least a few people that enjoy Fan-made fiction. I kind of tried a little too hard to make this good, but I hope whoever read this here or on can see that I did try…Well, here it is…try not to judge me too harshly

Warning: Sexual Content, Language.

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

So. This is my first smut-fic. Well, I tried so hard to keep it classy. Makorra. Romantic. REALLY FUCKING LEMON-Y. There’s a little bit of language, but still.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Avatar: The Legend of Korra, Telegraph Ave by Childish Gambino, and Apple Products mentioned in this writing.

They made love everyday. Hard, sweaty, hot love was all they did. She scratched at the bedsheets, his back, and pulled his hair. He grabbed her ass, kissed and bit at her neck, spoke dirty to her, and treated her body like a treasure.

They were electric.

Every day after school they were all over each other; he had her pinned up against the wall, kissing her neck and slipping his hand in her jeans. He always loved feeling how ready she was and always felt turned on when she moaned. He loved feeling her body writhe and shiver under his touch.

Tonight, however, was special.

Korra was going to leave Republic city for an opportunity to study abroad in the Fire Nation. Mako was crushed, but happy for his girlfriend. She held a perfect 4.0 GPA, active member of the Pro-Bending Fire Ferrets, and meditated with Tenzin and his family on weekends. Mako admired her activeness, and loved her for her energy.

While she was out celebrating with her parents, and Bolin (and Pabu) was out with Asami on business, Mako cleaned up the apartment the four of them shared. He put textbooks by her suitcases, putting a stack of yuans by them, one of many gifts she would take with her on her trip. He lit candles with his bending, started playing some music on his MacBook, and put on a black v-neck with tight black skinny jeans and red Converse. He loved it when Korra ravaged him whenever he wore that outfit or a variation of it.

The silence of the apartment was broken as “telegraph ave” by Childish Gambino began to play. It was the first song in Mako’s carefully crafted “Lovemaking” playlist.

Mako spritzed a little cologne on his neck, a gift from Korra on his birthday. He never saw a reason to put it on, but tonight was the night he was going to do it big…for her.

He also had another surprise for her…he was going to ask Korra for her hand in marriage. Asami helped him pick out a ring when Korra was in class earlier that week. Thank god for Asami, she knew women and Mako…well, didn’t.

A tornado flew around my room before you came…” Mako’s iphone went off. It was Bolin.


“Mako, I’m with Asami…we are a little drunk so we’re taking a cab to her estate and we’ll see you tomorrrrrooooooowwwww!” In the background Mako could hear Asami trying to dance with Pabu, failing miserably.

“Well, stay safe bro. Call me before you two get home…bye” Mako shut off his phone and waited for Korra on the couch, in all of his sexy, black clad glory.

Suddenly, the doorknob started to jiggle. Korra was home! Mako let her in, greeting his girlfriend with a soft kiss.

“I’m so glad you’re home baby. How was dinner with your parents?” Mako asked, helping Korra take off her coat.

“Dinner was nice, I’m glad I could see them before I go tomorrow night” She replied.

Mako was at a loss for words when he saw Korra. She had her long hair cascading past her shoulders, her body hugged by tight black leggings and a flowy blue and white shirt, wearing the necklace Mako gave her when the first started dating. Her girly appearance was finished off with grey and blue tribal printed flats.

Korra looked around, admiring the cleanliness and suggestive ambience of the apartment. “Did you do all this for me?” she asked.

Mako put his arms around her from behind, softly murmuring an ‘mhm’ before kissing her neck. Gasping softly, she turned around to face him. She loved smelling his neck whenever they embraced, she felt close to him and she felt safe.

“you didn’t have to do this Mako…I would have been fine with it, really haha” she said softly.

In between kisses, Mako said, “I wanted to. I want this night to be special. This is the last night that I have you to myself before you leave Republic City for a while. Which is why…” Mako trailed off as he bent down on one knee, taking out the small ring box, and holding it up to Korra.

“Korra Santillan, will you marry me?” Mako asked. Korra, eyes welling up, nodded. “Yes Mako, I will!”

As Mako slipped the ring onto her ring finger, he pulled her in for a deep kiss. He held her up from behind her knees and pulled her on top of him on the large red couch.

He started to bite her bottom lip as he found his hands on her ass. As Korra moaned aloud, Mako took it upon himself to slip off her shirt. Her large ample breasts were swelling under a black bra Mako bought for her earlier in the summer.

Korra reached for his shirt and pulled it off of him rather quickly. Now the two were shirtless making out on the couch. Korra reached up and started to nibble on Mako’s earlobe. Korra knew that was one of his trigger spots and went to town on it. Her efforts were rewarded by Mako’s deep groaning and a hard squeeze on her ass. Korra then ground her hips against his, teasing him with more touching. Her finely manicured nails drew light patterns on his back as he kissed her neck and down her collarbone.

Mako kissed and nipped at her collarbone, unhooking Korra’s bra in between kisses. After a few curses to the creation of bras, he finally took it off. Korra sighed softly as Mako started to kiss and suck on one of her tan-colored mounds. Mako started to reach for her leggings, slowly pulling them down until they were at her ankles. She kicked them off to the side as Mako snaked his hands down her waist.

As Mako continued suck on her breasts, his hands were looped in between the lace of her underwear, another gift from Mako. Within seconds, Korra was completely naked. Mako picked her up bridal style and took her into their bedroom. He set her on the bed, facing him as he slowly kicked off his shoes and undid his jeans. His tattoos were a hard turn on for Korra as he turned around to take off his boxer briefs.

Before taking his boxer briefs off, Mako used his bending to light the candles all around the room. Korra gasped in surprise as the candles came to life with light.

Giving her a sexy side-smirk, Mako slowly pulled his boxer briefs down, proudly showing off a very hardened and impressively sized member.

He crawled up to Korra, kissing every inch of her body until he got to her lips, which he kissed deeply and lovingly.

“Korra, tell me what you want baby. I’ll give you anything and everything you desire.” Mako said in her ear as his hand found his way in-between her legs, feeling the growing wetness that awaited him.

“Mako…” Korra began as he started to finger her, “I want you to make love to me like it’s our last night on this earth. Claim me as your one and only. Show me how much you’ll miss me.” She said, moaning softly.

“Anything for you baby” Mako whispered as he slid another finger inside her. Mako bit Korra’s bottom lip as he continued to finger her.

Mako could feel his member tightening painfully as Korra’s moans rang through the room and he took it upon himself to grab a bottle of heated love oil. He stopped his teasing and started to pour some of the oil on his member. Korra looked down lovingly as she laid in awe of Mako’s throbbing piece. She had seen it before and felt it before, but tonight she wanted to savor every detail.

Mako whispered into Korra’s mouth before kissing her, “Spread them thighs baby, give Mako your body tonight” Korra’s body shivered pleasantly as she slowly opened her legs for him.

Mako positioned himself in front of Korra’s tight flower as he held Korra’s waist. With a sharp breath and a moan, he pushed into her, they became one.

“Oh baby, that body is perfect” Mako moaned softly as he thust into Korra slowly, listening to her moans over and over. Korra found herself gripping the bedsheets underneath them as she took each thrust like a champ. After all, she was the Avatar.

Their lovemaking intensified as the heated oil Mako put on himself before started to get hot. Korra could not contain herself. It felt so good she flipped him over and started to ride him.

It was clear that Mako wasn’t complaining when his hands started to squeeze her ass. “Mako, you feel so good. Holy shit!” Korra moaned out loud, feeling him raise his hips to meet hers. Mako was enjoying himself too much that he had them flipped over again so he’d be on top of her.

Mako loved being in control. His body coexisting with Korra’s drove him wild. Her moans, her sighs, the feel of her body made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

Korra loved Mako’s sexually controlling side. He was passionate, rough, and all hers. He made love to her like every woman wanted to be made love to. Every moan was like getting closer to stars, and every orgasm was like looking into the eyes of every Avatar before her.

His body was a painting, tattoos, light scars, and even skin tones all over. Korra loved the way his skin looked and felt against hers. Tan against Ivory made such an erotic combination every moment they were together.

Korra was halted in her reveries as Mako bit down on her neck while they were in missionary position. “Mako, that feels so good” Korra gasped as Mako thrusted into her. “Baby, do that thing I like, please?” Mako whispered. Korra nodded and wrapped her arms around his back, dragging her nails across his back.

Mako thrust faster and harder every time Korra scratched at his back. Every kiss was deeper, every moan was more defined, and every scratch, thrust, and sudden movement was more intense.

“K-Korra, baby I’m so close…” Mako groaned, burying his face into Korra’s neck, kissing her softly.

Korra was on the edge herself, she felt like she’d rip Mako a new one if she scratched his back any more. She raised her hips and reached up to kiss Mako passionately, as he gasped and thrust harder.



The release, oh the release! It felt so good. They rolled off each other, disoriented and spent. Mako pulled Korra in close, kissing her softly. “Baby, I’m going to miss you so much. Every night you miss me, look at that ring on your finger and know that I’m here waiting for you.” Mako whispered, pulling the covers over them.

“Mako, I will be home as fast I can. I can’t bear to be away from you. I will call you every night. I can’t wait to come back home and be your wife.” Korra said, as the tears in her eyes sparkled down her cheeks.

Korra blew out the candles and the two drifted off to sleep, the light of the full moon in the window reflecting on the diamonds that graced her ring.


Lovemaking and Why it’s so Special

Making love.

Making love, the joining of two bodies, regardless of gender, in an intimate activity that further expresses the feelings and connection that the individuals have. This event between two (or more, if the parties practice polyamory, a romantic relationship between more than two people) people has been distorted in music, television, books, and any other medium that people use to gather knowledge and information, or for leisurely purposes.

I can’t put this in words…but I’m going to try.

In music, there’s less veneration for the act of lovemaking. The artists call it fuck, bedding, banging, doing, etcetera. But those words sound so empty and sometimes it’s offensive.

Lovemaking used to be something that we could have with our partner(s) that was an extension of our feelings towards one another and an expression of a love we had that was deeper than onlookers would think. It was the hand-holding, the sweat covering our bodies, the “I love you” exchanged between one another, and everything in between.

Now, not every period of lovemaking is going to be like Fifty Shades of Grey, nor is it going to be like Romeo and Juliet. But they should be like every moment is your last moment on earth with your lover, husband, wife, etc.

I can’t speak for everyone when I say that lovemaking is special, but I can say that it is hard to truly appreciate it if you haven’t had it at least once. Lovemaking is like a really nice car, it’s beautiful, shiny, and lovely…but it must be appreciated like the treasure that it is.

Maybe what we all need is to make love someday, maybe then we can appreciate it like the gift and work of art it deserved to be described once before.

Some questions I want to pose to you, from the source “Psychology Today”, are as follows…

“So are you making love or just having sex? Are you getting what you really want? And if not, how can you get it?”

It’s like asking yourself if you’re living or existing. Do you not know? That’s okay, and here is why:

We live to exist

And we exist to live

pay attention to this except…

So what else besides mutuality is involved in love-making?

“As distinct from mere sex, love-making dissolves the chasm between “you” and “me.”  The resolution, however, is not “us” because “we” can still be divided. Instead, in love-making there is the mutual consciousness of unbounded unity without partition. “Love,” says psychologist Eric Fromm, is “in the experience of solidarity with our fellow creatures.” It is, explains Aristotle, “composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.” In making love, your loins are mine, and mine yours.  The titillations of mine are yours also, and conversely. My past, present, and future; my hopes, dreams, and expectation; and yours, coalesce as one–not two–persons. There is resignation of separateness to inclusion of the other.  It is an ecstatic resonance that defies any breach in Oneness.”

Lovemaking is between two people, You and Me. It becomes Us but can still be separated. There’s a bond. Two souls become one in an act of exchanging touches, sounds, feelings, and emotions. It is like marriage, when two people become one, but this…this is more intimate.

What does lovemaking mean to you?

It All Makes Sense Now…I Think.

I’ve been at at work all day, so I apologize in advance for a short post today**

Sitting here watching Hairspray, I’ve been thinking: We have all had a Tracy Turnblad moment…

By that, I mean we have all felt limited and excluded from the things we truly enjoy because they are unconventional, frowned upon, and the like.

I’ve probably had a few of them, but I dwelled on a moment in particular.

In high school, I was a hardcore Otaku. An Otaku is someone who expresses a love for an anime, the japanese lifestyle, culture, etc. I used to subscribe to these big manga magazines like Shojo Beat and Shonen Jump, stream anime from my mom’s computer, and try to dress differently.

Now, I went to a charter high school where we wore uniforms. Of course, after school, people obviously brought changes of clothes to free themselves of the conformity that they felt they were condemned to for 8 hours of the day. I always brought an anime themed shirt, a hair bow (when my hair used to be long), and usually other odds and ends. The majority of the students, as well as a small handful of peers that were civil with me, were Hispanic/latino, African American, and a few Caucasian and Asian individuals.

I used to talk about anime so much and sing anime openings to myself throughout the day, and people would often tell me “act your race” “that’s weird” “people are laughing at you” “you’ll never fit in”.

I believed them…I was so miserable. I hid all my manga, kept on perming my hair, kept my clothes to black jeans, blue jeans, t-shirts with normal graphics like Abercrombie, Hollister, Batman, etc. I felt like I lost myself among a sea of people who could never understand or accept what it’s like to immerse yourself in something you found comfort in when nobody could provide it for you.

After graduating high school, I attended a 4-year college in Chicago. I asked about clubs and extra-curricular activities at orientation and people mentioned that there was an Anime club. I decided to look into it, realizing that maybe this was a second chance to really know myself and feel accepted.

Well, I was right.

This anime club spent Tuesdays and Thursdays talking about conventions, watching cool anime shows, live action movies, and had gaming tournaments. There was no way to feel excluded anymore. I loved this club so much I found myself falling back into my comfortable ways. I was taking part in something I truly enjoyed surrounded by people who felt the same way I did. It felt right.

I think what I’m trying to say is…make the most of your Tracy Turnblad moment because even if your Link Larkin isn’t exactly in human form, it doesn’t have to be in human form to make you happy. Sometimes you have to go through something less than great to get to something that IS great.

You’re Tracy Turnblad, you were born to dance, born to love, born to be YOU.

Don’t let Amber Von Tussle tell you no.

And then the love songs were about us…

After some reflective few hours, I think it’s time to let you in on who I was, and who I am…

I go to school, work two unfulfilling jobs, and waiting for the day I can move out of my parents’ house, get married, and get the hell on with my life.

During a rather turbulent period in my life, I was working at a popular retail store and doing some stuff on the side for extra money. Since this is fairly anonymous, I’ll just tell you guys.

I was a sugar baby. I dated men for their money. I was in a low point of my life and knew that a lot of my choices were honestly frowned upon in society. I didn’t tell people about what I’ve done, mainly because it wasn’t any of their fucking business. Working in retail with a shit manager, you tend to want more out of life. I wanted a cheap thrill and I loved how easy it was to make a good thousand bucks.

I had realized whom I was turning into. I was turning into a money-crazed monster. I began to primp and pay more attention to my appearance, hoping that my looks could attract a man with deep pockets, good hair, and good looks.

The shit part of all of that, was that 99% of that population drove cars, had women vastly prettier than me, and wouldn’t give me a second look unless I was tall, skinny, and had d-cup breasts.

What was a c-cupped, slender, five-foot-two brunette to do?

Give up, that’s what the fuck I had to do.

I didn’t want money anymore. I stayed at the store and sank back into my depressive state. I stopped my beauty routines, stopped buying my contact lenses, and decided to just hide in my awkwardness that life had condemned me to for the remainder of my life.

Realizing that I didn’t really have any more self-esteem to salvage, I went on a dating website.

I had been on it before, but only found a shitty dude who decided to follow me onto Facebook, snap chat, and Skype. That was the first and last time I ever decided to give anyone a chance at getting to know me if I haven’t met them in person.

Except…I threw that to the wind when I met this guy on the dating site. He was a sweet guy and I decided to message him. We met for coffee, and I was immediately drawn to him. He seemed really cool and had a great head on his shoulders. He was a family-oriented man, worked hard, and liked to have fun. He seemed a little shy and I thought it was cute. We met for lunch a week or two later after exchanging texts and phone calls. I really thought he was really cool. We later on started going on dates, until he ran into a really hard bump in his road.

His mom was going through some medical hardships and, as a good person, I gave him his space. Unfortunately, his mother entered the gates of heaven meeting our good Lord Jesus Christ. The way we made things official, he stood before me, a man of few words, a broken heart and an almost broken mind. I held him in my arms, vowing to never leave him, to always embrace him, and his pain became my pain…

I won’t go crazy and give you the rest of the details, but needless to say, he left me before I could even say I loved him.

When he went to California, I was planning the ultimate gift to myself: A ticket to Spring Awakening 2014.

Spring Awakening was kind of the wake-up call to festival season when hard-working teenagers, young adults, and very party-hearty newlyweds, as well as awkward young adults with a hardcore love of EDM (Electronic Dance Music) come out of the hibernation we call school and work, to come together and dance to our hearts’ content. Intoxicated or perfectly

I was anticipating the arrival of that day with every bone in my body, working two jobs to make sure that I had adequate funds for not just this festival but for expenses for things at home. I learned to be financially stable before spoiling myself.

Upon posting the excitement of going to Spring Awakening, I was inboxed by someone I didn’t know would change my life forever. It started out so simple!

Him: I see you’re going to Spring Awakening. Going with anyone else?

Me: No, goin’ solo, my bf is in California until Sunday night, how about you?

Him: Going solo too. Want to meet up and rage?

Me: Sure! Sounds like fun.

(This is a paraphrased version of our conversation because I’m too much of a lazy shit to copy and paste the actual thing…)

About one or two weeks later, I don’t really remember the exact time because I was working a lot and was catching up on sleep, I was making kandi and counting down the hours until I was going to meet a new friend and listen to the music I love.

After being on the phone with him and trying to figure out where he was, I think my heart stopped because I was meeting someone really cool…Over and over I was thinking, is he going to like me? Do I smell? What if he’s really pretentious? Is he as nice as he seemed online?

Like, holy shit, I was hyperventilating! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

When I finally met up with him, I think I absolutely lost it. I ran up to him and hugged him. I think it may have taken him by surprise because he hesitated to hug me back for a sec. We wandered around, taking in the sights and talking. We high fived people, raged, took pictures. It was fun. I was having such a great time. I was so happy.

Nothing felt real anymore…

Which sounds cliché, but it was true. When you have lights, bass, lasers, fireworks, weed, and margaritas in your system, you actually have lost your grip on reality and everything else in between.

Here I was, on this guy’s shoulders, raging out to Flux Pavilion drop “Bass Canon”, the condensation ruining my already semi-damaged hair, just living my life.

We kept in touch after that and to my slight embarrassment to admit…we flirted just a little. Now, I know this sounds bad, but hear me out…When you have a significant other who can’t really get into at least some things that you like, even when you got into what they like, you feel a little short changed.

He had a girlfriend who, I felt, didn’t appreciate him. I was upset, but I didn’t know her, so who was I to judge her?

He didn’t throw her under the bus, no. She just didn’t make the effort to see him and she drives. I don’t drive, but I’ve never really had to worry about that in previous relationships. Weird.

I didn’t really have much to say about my boyfriend at the time…He never really did anything to me or said anything to me to compromise how I felt about him. I just always felt I’d never be good enough for him.

Well, I was right. I wasn’t good enough for him because two weeks after he left me, he started dating some tall bitch that partied like him. Well, good luck fucker, because let’s see how she makes you feel when you need someone to console you when you have flashbacks or when you need someone to call when you’re drunk.

Fuck. You.

And anyway, who the FUCK texts “I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us. Stay adorable.”

Who the fuck do you think you are?

What do you even want me to say to that, “k, thanks. Stay a douche”?

Well, no matter. I felt like more of a friend with benefits to him anyway. Remember the guy I went to Spring Awakening with? Well, he asked me on a date to the beach about a week after all this. I was done crying over someone who wouldn’t have cared if I left anyway. I dealt with it by just talking to him. He and his girlfriend broke up too, and we were both alone. We realized that…we weren’t right for our exes. They wanted people who were cool enough to hang with them.

I guess consoling you in your time of need was out of style. Call me square then.

At the time, my mom knew all of this was going on, and she did the best she could to help me out with moving on.

My stepdad thought it was fair to heal for a while. But I was done with all of that. It was my turn to be happy, fall in love.

This guy made me happy. He made me feel like I was special; like I mattered…He made me feel beautiful.

He sat up late at night to talk to me, text me, even took the Metra train into Chicago to see me. I was the luckiest girl in the world.

Our relationship was taken to the next level when we went to North Coast together. The last festival of the summer season, and a reason to do it big.

Every day, we talked on the phone until my minutes ran out, hung out after work, and even spent the afternoon on my birthday. It was amazing.

The weekend for North Coast fell upon us, and I was speechless. I was spending time at a festival for three days with the guy I was falling for so hard. Now, yes, we were under the influence of beer and ridiculous amounts of food and stuff, but the journey to North Coast made me truly appreciate this man.

I was spending time with someone who changed my life for the better. I was tired of feeling sorry for myself and just moping around at home, surfing the internet.

I fell in love with him, and he with me.

What am I

I grew up in the concrete jungle of Chicago. The buildings with flickered lights, tall stature, and hidden secrets, I’ve grown to know the sounds, the smells, the sights of everything that could make a faithless man believe in miracles and sin. I’ve seen and known crime. The city has forgiven me, as I have forgiven it. The woman I am has become the monster I prayed I’d never become. I have known the temptation of sin, and known the gift of regret, redemption; the things that I’ve been given to keep my undeserving place in this world. I met men and women in my life that have loved me and left me, and those who haven’t I owe them my gratitude.

I speak Spanish in an English speaking world. I curse soulless people with words they can’t speak, as they insult me with sneers, leers, and jeers. I can speak English too, but at least when I do, I sound educated. I sit quietly among the English speaking men and women that come across me, quietly insulting them, wondering why they can’t see me as an equal.

I am a monster. I run from reality, embracing the unreal world with color, style, no shame. Falling in love with illusions. Absentmindedly writing dreams and thoughts in notebooks, I wander the streets of the jail I call my neighborhood and ask myself “is this enough? Will I ever escape this mundane nightmare that I call life? Where will I go from here?” 

I am a drone. I sit at a register, hoping for the sweet release of quitting time. My heart beats in time with the tick of the seconds on a clock. Tired. Bored. Alone. I learn the details of a treat by the words on the wrapper. I try to occupy my mind with positivity, but then I hear “You’re free to go”…

and then…only then…

I am free.