Why I always feel like this?
Why I always feel like this?
He shoved her roughly onto the kitchen table, causing dishes to crash to the floor and condiments to dig into her arched back. He mounted her just as roughly, his body crushing hers until his arms found a place on either side of her head and a knee wedged itself between her thighs.
Effectively, she was trapped in by a wall of such strong masculinity. In one strong pull; he ripped her blouse open, the buttons stinging her face like rubber bullets. With a few more tugs, the bright silk garment lay crumpled and torn, discarded on the floor.
His movements were harsh and spastic as he roamed around her body. Hard hands bruising tender flesh. She struggled involuntarily under the crushing weight of his body.
Impatience causes him to grab a nearby knife to cut off any and all remaining articles of clothing. Her lacy black bra fell first, followed shortly by her cotton skirt. Her nylons proved to be a challenge. He nicked her half a dozen times before finally getting them off.
After what seemed like ages but was, in reality, a couple of minutes, she was completely exposed. By now his desire was threatening to rip his front open and she could feel the terrible pressure and heat on her thigh.
Three seconds and his garment were undone. Another three seconds and he was inside… An outcry of pain escaped her lips as he quickened the pace even further. His grin was wicked, the fear left her eyes. Her cries were that of pleasure now.
They climaxed soon after and he dismounted her abruptly. She went upstairs, her head held high to get dressed and freshen up before heading back to work.
Leaving her unemployed husband home to clean up his mess.
I found this excerpt in my old documents. I don’t remember writing it and I have no idea how it gets there. I received tons of materials from friends and acquaintances I long lost track of their origins. They are from a file labeled “strangers” I don’t know what that means. Anyway, I find that it fits the prompt quite well. Literally.
Empty vessels make (the) most noise, you know… bells… Still water runs deep. Coins always make sound but paper money are always silent. I heard somebody said: Deep down, I happen to be very shallow. Talk of juxtaposition. Here’s another one: Deep breaths are very helpful at shallow parties. Funny. Funny because there is some truth in it.
I’d like to think as a rule, I am very careful to be shallow and conventional where depth and originality are wasted. I borrowed that from somewhere. Can’t remember anymore where.
They say To define yourself by some label or some level of resources – that’s pretty shallow. I agree. Some people might not. They would and could argue that:
There’s nothing wrong with being shallow as long as you’re insightful about it.
I will not pretend I understand. Probably I will if I am having one of those Eureka moments which are getting fewer and fewer these days. Is this mean I am becoming shallow? When one gets older and priorities and preferences changes and reduce to essentials, is one becomes shallow? F. Sionil Jose said:
“We are all shallow because we have become enslaved by gross materialism, the glitter of gold and its equivalents, for which reason we think that only the material goods of this earth can satisfy us and we must therefore grab as much as can while we are able.”
Is this true? In our current society, it seems to be. Sad isn’t it?
…Is my choice of beverage. Green tea to be specific. The real green tea I mean. Not the one in tea bags but those that directly imported from abroad and only available in just a few selected stores. Here where I live, there are just two known places that supply what I preferred. One in the capital and another one near the border to France. There was a time that I will choose screw driver over anything else (except water, water is always good) but that was a long time ago. I still drink an occasional margarita while on vacation but so seldom I am not even qualified as an occasional drinker. Coffee, I take coffee sometimes. Usually in pair with something cold like a sandwich or something sweet to have something warm. In my culture, if it’s not warm it isn’t qualified as a meal. I’ve read somewhere something like this: I shouldn’t think even millionaires could eat anything nicer than new bread and real butter and honey for tea.
“If you are cold, tea will warm you;
if you are too heated, it will cool you;
If you are depressed, it will cheer you;
If you are excited, it will calm you.”
The magic of tea.
I do believe that I am suffering from a mild case of slight peculiarity
This I do find greatly distressing.
Indeed, far from being vaguely odd,
It merely tars me with the same characteristics as that of the mundane multitude,
Whom are the normality.
A greater insult I could not possibly fathom.
Do not, I beg you, take this as an offence.
It’s merely that I had always reveled in the delightful assurance that I was what they call, “unique”, “individual, “abnormal”.
But to learn that this solid truth which I once held so dear is no more than a fallacy?
That is an incredible blow!
How can I ever again look down on the popular masses?
How can I ever again look the truly strange in the eye?
Is there even a faint glimmer of hope?
Alas, my last resort.
I shall endeavour to be what people refer to as
“dull”, “boring” “ordinary”
Yet this prospect fills me with much intense excitement!
Oh, and it is a struggle to contain!
However, contain it I must. So, as not to shatter the illusion;
The thin veil that separates me from the sheeps of the world.
Please welcome the incredible,
The most utterly wonderful,
Brand spanking new,
~ found treasure
“Sweetly breathing, vernal air,
That with kind warmth doth repair
Winter’s ruins; from whose breast
All the gums and spice of the East
Borrow their perfumes; whose eye
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky.”
– Thomas Carew, 1595 – 1645
That I may be true to my heart and myself without fear that I won’t be understood, or at least with a fear I completely disregard.
That I can be okay in my own skin even if no one gets it or gets me or likes it or likes me.
That I can laugh at my own jokes even when no one else does, and acknowledge my own beauty even if it’s lost on them, even if it looks different than what they say it should look like.
That I can be agnostic towards approval, ambivalent towards disapproval, not change to make myself more or less of what I am for anyone else.
That I may risk time and time and time again being what I’m supposed to be for what I am meant to be.
This is my wish for you, too.
This is my wish for all of us.
May we all just fucking risk it all for the sake of our truth.
May we all be brave enough to Be who we are called to Be, no matter what.
Still round the corner there may wait, a new road or a secret gate.
Sweeter than candy on a stick
Huckleberry, cherry or lime
If you had a choice it’d be your pick
But lollipop is mine!
If I will ever see you again what would I say?
Would I say how are you and greet you with a smile?
Would you smile back and ask in return how I am?
Or we will pretend we don’t know each other and we would just walk by?
If I will ever see you again would I feel just the same?
The time that I first saw you on that fateful day
A day that is fateful and makes you cry inside
If only it didn’t happen would be the best for us
If I will ever see you again would you love me still?
Would you still say I’m your wonderful greatest sin?
The one you will never regret committed in your life
Because I am and will always be your one and only love?
If I will see you again would I dare to repeat
The words that I told you just before I turned and left
I said I will be back only I don’t know when
But if your love is strong enough I’ll find you there waiting
If I will ever see you again would it be different
We don’t have to say farewell simply because we must
Would we have the chance to be together at last
This time you would not be my nephew and I would not be your aunt…
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