On Distraction

theotheremma

If I fill my calendar 
With drinks 
Coffee 
Lunches 
Work 
Training 
Sex 
Then I won’t think about you
Right?  

If I scan through apps like it’s my job 
If I search for something, anything, that’s like you but not you 
Then will I finally forget you? 
Will the memory of your touch flee from my mind? 
Will I stop looking up when I see someone who looks like you, not want to flinch away from them, because I see you in their eyes, their nose, their movement? 

And if I keep my brain occupied enough, paint my nails to stop myself from biting them, focus on everything that is not you, then each day should be easier. If I let the days become a blur, will it take a month, two, three, before I can go back to the places you took me and the drinks we had together and not care? 

And with each day I don’t hear from you, will it be easier to forget why I wanted to hear from you in the first place? Remember that you are replaceable, that you were the placeholder on the road to something better? 

Or, is that how you think of me? As a temporary solution to a problem you wanted to ignore, to be cast aside when it was convenient? 

I will never know. 

Maybe with time 
My resentment 
And my anger 
And my hurt 
Will fade

And I can think of you the way I want to 
With a fondness and dull ache 
Instead of the bubbling of something I don’t know how to process when your song comes on 
Or when I see your book on my shelf 
The bottle on my counter 

So I’ll preoccupy myself. 
And forgive myself that I need time, and probably will for a while. 

And I will hope you don’t show up 
Making me start all over again 
Unless you’re there to stay.

On A Red Brick Street

theotheremma

I’m sitting in the bakery.

This bakery, that I haven’t been to in almost a decade. With Douglas Adams trivia on the chalkboard, and cupcakes the size of my face.

It sits on a street paved with red bricks, a reminder of an earlier era, with little boutiques and shops and another cupcake place down the street.

It’s a beautiful place, the water right nearby, the air clean, the buildings so beautiful. It’s a place that screams of money, but with a vibrant energy that only those who are younger can bring.

And I think to myself, maybe it won’t be that different.

But, of course it is.

There is no longer trivia on the board, there is a sign boasting its lack of wifi, there is coffee served in the back and cookies line shelves in the front. There is still a place to sit, and the cupcakes are still there.

And I can’t help but think, you might’ve been here.

To see it.

To see it change.

To see it become what it is now.

Because it is a moment, if only briefly, of, this could have been your life.

And it’s not sadness, or regret, necessarily. It’s more of a wistful nostalgia.

For that moment, when you chose this instead of that. Turned left instead of right. Because where you are now is not where you thought you’d be, not where you a decade ago had planned.

Just like the walls of this place, you have changed.

Maybe, in another life, I walked along these streets again. I lived this. I came here, stayed here. And maybe I walked with friends, or a partner, who would laugh as frosting covered my nose. Maybe I’d do different work, sitting at this very stool.

But I probably would not be drinking milk in my tea.

And, again, it’s not regret.

It’s a wondering, about the life I almost chose.

And who’s to say which one is better, or worse.

It just is. A sign that we don’t always get the answers to the questions on our minds.

So, I will take this box of cake to the home I now have.

Say goodbye to those here.

And carry on, as any other day.

On Wants vs Needs

theotheremma

I found this in my cloud the other day. It was written a fair few months ago now, and I don’t know why it wasn’t a post then. But it’s basically still true, so, meh.

~*~

I refer to this friend too often not to give her a name, so, the friend from On Dirty Minds will now be BB.

BB and I had a conversation a while back, regarding relationship needs, what we could emotionally handle vs short term wants.

I have a post planned that will get more into this and into the whole ‘casual dating is the devil’ thing that a lot of people seem to have a problem with. I’m not talking about that here.

I’m talking about wanting to have sex outside of friend groups, outside of connected people, someone who I could have sex with without strings attached, get my horniness sorted out, and move on with my life.

At the same time, I understood that would be a temporary fix to the problem. I wanted someone who I could turn to when I was having a bad day, when shit was going down, and say, look, not trying to make your life more complicated, but I could really just use someone to cuddle with right now. We don’t even have to talk, I just want company.

Because this city is really fucking lonely.

BB didn’t find this odd, necessarily, but applauded my little arctic fox self for coming down from my snowy isolated hill and admitting this. Admitting that I might want something ‘more’. What that more would resemble, I’m still not entirely sure.

So tonight, when I’m so sore I can barely move the lower half of my body, stressed about work, stressed about basically everything, and want something to hold on to, what do I do?

A part of my brain says that I just need a body, someone there beside me. Another part says that anything physical won’t help.

I don’t know what’s the need and what’s the want. Is it a need for physical distraction? The thought of having to open up emotionally to someone makes my skin crawl, and makes me even more exhausted, but maybe it would be nice?

It’s something I suppose I need to sort out. Eventually.

But for now, I have heating pouches, a stuffed dog, a memory foam mattress, and Xbox.

So, I guess that works for now.


On Springtime

theotheremma

On a chilly dark night
You walk beside him on the street
“Just for a few blocks,” he says, “I’m close by.”
And you talk, and you laugh, and you shiver in your jacket.

When you get inside there are books, and things to look at. Things to compare.
There are candles, and dim lighting and music comes through speakers
A list you suggested and he likes
There are curtains that could be closed or not, windows that could be shut
You say no
Because in a few moments his skin will be on yours
And you don’t do well with sweat

Then it’s sighs, and moans
Fingernails scraping skin
The tickling of his scruff against the inside of your thigh
“Please,”
“More, please,”
Hands everywhere, gripping, pulling, supporting
softness of lips against the feeling of your hair being pulled back, and back
“Such a good girl,”
And he says your name
A whisper as he’s done.

An arm is draped around your shoulders
You lean back against the couch
And you discuss things, improvements for next time
Kisses, then more kisses goodbye
They are different than before, less restrained
“You’ll see me around,”
And he sends you on your way

And you’re walking back down the street, to a bar you know
That will always be open for you
And you sit back with self satisfaction

You won’t think
Well, you’ll never see him again
You could have said no, let’s go out another night.
Let’s go get a drink first
Treat me like more than a booty call
Because that was what you wanted
You wanted him on top of you
You wanted him to make you scream
To make you feel
To know that someone like him was not out of your league

So you’ll leave it, for a few days
And assume he’ll message
But
Eventually
You have to decide
And you think
Oh, he’s probably traveling
He’s busy
He’s with someone else And you hope
Well, maybe he’s just as awkward as you are

But you’re not awkward
You know what you want
And so you send a message, a joke, an olive branch
You say hello, in a way you know how
And your phone will stay black
And silent

You will come home, and light a candle
The scent of spice a reminder of another season
Of a past time
When things were changing
And leaves were dying
And you were hurting from new things and healing from old ones
And you will want to retreat, but you no longer can
Not the way you used to

You can no longer run and hide from things
From how you feel
Or the idea of feeling
And you what you wanted that idea to be
You will breathe in the calm air, the humidity will cling to your lungs
As you try to understand
That you were weaker then

Because to be the one that says hello
Is admitting that you want to talk
That they were on your mind
And all your time hiding in the dark, refusing to try
Did nothing to prepare you
For when you finally tasted the sun.

On Intimidation

theotheremma

He comes in a suit.
It’s clean. With a matching tie. His beard trimmed.
He tells me,
“If I attacked you, you wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

He and his friend had come into my work the week before. Drank too much. Tipped too little.
His friend said he wanted to hear us fuck.
They try to get me to leave with them. They say we’ll play guitar and sing. Maybe more.
They say I don’t have to fuck either of them. Or I could.
After all, the night is still young.

I get them out the door, and he stops, right in front of me.
Tells me
“But I just wanted a kiss,”
I ask him it back.
“Did you just want a kiss?”

He smells like whisky, with bloodshot eyes. His skin droops and sags.
“Well and then see where it goes, but you won’t fuck me. You won’t ever fuck me.”

Another coworker is waiting, trying to get inside, but he’s on top of me and I’m back against the door unable to run back inside or leave.
So I kiss his cheek and say,
“Get home safe.”
And they finally exit, let my coworker come through. Let me go back inside.

So he comes back in his suit and says
“I don’t remember what happened,”
He explains,
“My friend told me I should come back and ask you out. That you’d say yes.’
He tells me,
“The other guy, the other one that works with you, said I don’t know what you did but I basically raped you.”

He says, many times,
“But I didn’t rape you.”

He sits at the counter, with his smoothed out hair and alcohol on his breath,
“I am sorry,
But it’s all moot isn’t it,
Because you will never fuck me.”

And he doesn’t understand that what happened was intimidating. That his presence makes me nauseous.
He says
“I didn’t assault you”

“I didn’t touch you,”

“I didn’t rape you.”

Because this standard is such that If you, a well meaning man,
Come into my work
Where I make the money I need to survive
And make me feel threatened,
Trap me with no place to run
Tell me I’m only as important as my legs will spread for you
It’s okay
Because, as you said,
You didn’t fucking rape me.

Because I will still look at you.
Because I will talk to you.

So nothing really happened.

Nothing happened at all.

On A False Goodbye

theotheremma

I am writing this while sitting on your chair,
Praying I have the strength to keep this promise.

I need to walk away from you.
From your eyes that set my body on fire without a single touch. 
From your arms that pin me down, then hold me close to you, protecting me from everything but you.
From your mind that challenges me.
From your body that ignites me, makes me feel alive.

Because we were going somewhere, weren’t we? You acknowledged this before.
You met my friends. My family.
Before you admitted that there was someone else.

And you knew I didn’t care, but she does.
So we went from messages almost every day, talking about more than just my hungry cunt needing your dick to fill it
To you isolating me to booty calls in the dark of night.

You tell me you saw a show that affected you, that made you think
A show you saw with her
You said the illusion of choice, of having too many choices, affected you
I think you were trying to tell me something, but it’s something I already know

You chose.
You chose long ago.
And I thought I could withdraw, be just this with you., and I can’t. I want to hold your hand in daylight.

And now you’re done with your shower
So I’ll pick myself off this chair
Wipe away last night’s makeup from under my eyes
Try to do the things I need to do.

Because you will exist in this limbo for as long as you can, for as long as I allow.

I don’t allow it anymore.

Or so I’ll say as the sun is up, and my willpower is here. Until the next time you message me and make me melt with desire.
Because this is much easier said than done, but I know I will never find what I’m looking for with you.

Give me strength. Give me will. Give me the energy to walk out the door.

And never open it again.

On the Bitterness of Mania

theotheremma


You don’t understand what I mean
When I say you don’t look at me like I am real.

Because you see me, and you see freedom
And excitement
An escape from the morals you both want and don’t want to adhere to.
From the duties you feel you must fulfill.

But in this you miss, if not my expectations, the fact that I need to viewed with substance.
To be more than the manic pixie
That you so desperately want.

Because I will sit here and watch
As you pass me as a stepping stone in your life
And find your wife
Have your kids
And long for something more than what you chose.

And you will love her, and you will care for her
Every feeling true, and intense, and meaningful
While you fuck someone like me
And hold her close
And make her feel like nothing more
Than your most treasured fantasy.

On Hesitancy

theotheremma

In the middle of the night, I hear your voice.
And I’m not sure if these words are in my head, or a dream.
But after an age I roll over, press my lips to yours, and say it back to you.

And these words shouldn’t be too big of a deal, but it takes us another month to acknowledge it again, aloud.

Maybe we didn’t have to.
Maybe it’s the way your arm falls around my waist in the morning when you don’t want to wake up.
Maybe it’s in the way you pull me to you before we drift off to sleep.

It’s not love. Not yet, quite possibly not ever.

But there is something in the way you smile at me
That makes me smile back.

And I’m trying not to hope, to give a mile when you give an inch.
I’m being careful, and I think you are too.
But we can try these new things together.

With your lips at my ear I feel beautiful, strong, and brave.

And I want to keep feeling that way.

On a Drunk Text

theotheremma

I don’t want to drunk message you.

So I’m writing this instead

Because I’m sick of using inebriation to tell you what’s on my mind.

I want you to fuck me so hard I see stars.

I want you here, in my arms.

I want you to sneak me away and fuck me against the bathroom stall – with girls coming in seeing my fingers curled around the metal frame, hearing moans and grunts and sighs.

I want you to pin me down, twist my hair in your hand, and tell me I’m not going anywhere.

And then I want you to hold me close- like in that moment I’m the only person that matters.

Because goddammit, I miss you.

I miss you so much it hurts.

And I know full well you don’t feel the same.

You don’t say hi anymore. You don’t call, or message, unless I cave and make the first communication. And it sucks. So fucking much.

But, I also get it. You’re hung up on your ex. You are very, very far away. So, I won’t tell you any of these things that occupy my mind.

But I miss your arms around me. I miss the way you look at me and the way you say my name. I miss the way you smile at me when you haven’t seen me in a while, kiss me and say, “Well, I feel better.”

And I can only say these things when there are stars in the sky, when my breath smells like whisky and life is blurred around the edges.

I hate that you make me feel these things, and that you don’t feel them back.

So that’s why I’ll write them here. I won’t burden you with a message you feel like you have to respond to, and probably won’t know how to, when you’re thousands of miles away.

But,

This is my safe place. To openly feel whatever it is I’m feeling.

So.

I guess.

I miss you. And I really wish I didn’t.

On Changes and Things

theotheremma

He tells me he wants to take me to dinner.

And he knows I’ll say no. Knows I’ll say he doesn’t have to.

But he tells me he wants to take me to dinner, because I deserve it.

We met the day before New Years. I don’t know why, but I instantly felt comfortable with him.

He was artistic, smart, creative. He wanted more from life than what he had at that moment and would work for it. Had worked for it. He was interesting, conversation flowed easily, and, well, his cheekbones were unreal.

So we went back to mine and in the morning, I didn’t feel the need to kick him out.

I couldn’t say why, even to this day, but, instead of making him leave so I could go get ready, take a shower, put on makeup, I let him stay, face buried in my pillow, sunlight on his face.

And when I woke him up, and he looked at me all bleary-eyed, and said, “Oh, you look beautiful,” I knew something was different this time.

It wasn’t anything that lasted long. It wasn’t a relationship, and we didn’t talk too much when we weren’t together. But, he was someone I liked cuddling me as I fell asleep. I liked waking up beside him.

My friend nicknamed him ‘butt-scratcher’ when I referred to him as someone who scratched a much-needed itch.

I don’t know if the itch was semi-regular sex, companionship, or a mixture of the two. But I think it was more the latter than the former.

It didn’t end well. It ended with me waiting for him to show up, and he never did. And I never really heard from him again.

I’m not bitter, not upset anymore. I don’t resent him for it.

He knew about my blog, and he said he wanted to be ‘more than one story,’ and for a while, I thought he didn’t deserve to be anything afterward. Didn’t get to be a story, a part of the narrative. 

But, looking back, I realize he showed me something I hadn’t recognized before. And so he gets this. One post. This one part of my story.

I was ready for something I had previously run full force away from.

I was ready for that person to wake up beside me. I was ready to share my space with someone. Keep a toothbrush in my cabinet for when they spent the night.

So, if nothing else. I owe him thanks.

A thank you for letting me dip my toes in the water.
A thank you for kisses on my forehead and fingers entwined in mine.
A thank you for being a push in a different direction.

Because who knows what our future might have held, but I can now envision futures.

And that is exciting, terrifying, and new.