Tag Archive: honesty


Swan Song

Thank you to everyone who read a post, tweet, or story. It ment the world to me. You allowed me to be the person I wish I was; strong, opinoiated, brave, outspoken, and whole. You gave me a community when I felt so very isolated and a soapbox to reach out across the globe. I have made friends and connections that I would never have dreamed possible, but mostly being this version of myself helped me live with who I really am. I am a coward. I am weak, broken, and easily manipulated. I cannot lie to you or myself anymore so I am bowing out. It comes with tears, I am sure there will be a void where Jess aka b00kreader existed within me, but I cannot be this person so I have to let her go. Please do not feel I have lied about everything because I haven’t my name is Jessica, I went to grad school in South Carolina, and I am a postdoc at DFCI, but I am tired and beat down not scrappy and hungry. The part of me that is so ashamed of not being the person I presented to you is still happy I tried even if it was only a virtual try. Thank you for letting me pretend with you it was amazing while it lasted!

Lauren had spent her entire life smiling and nodding consciously attempting to avoid ripples or hurt feelings.  However, the last six months had left her with the impression that people viewed her not as nice but… weak.  Each ya sure left a sour taste in her mouth, every grin was made of plaster, and her figurative camel’s back was a single straw from breaking when it crossed her mind.  Rumors of my niceness have been greatly exaggerated she thought as the fake happy slipped off her lips and faded from her eyes.  Suddenly Lauren couldn’t wait for the next person to mistake her for nice, or weak, or… good.

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All rights to owner As seen on Pixabay

My love

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As seen on Huffington Post - all rights to owner -

My love is not easy to explain. 

It is an ache inside me; reminding me that I would rather hurt than be wrong.  It is the part of me that clings to promises both unbreakable and unknowable. 

It terrifies me.  Freezing me in place. 

I cannot define it, this love of mine.  It does not fit well in the pre-labeled boxes I am familiar with.  It is not the stuff fairy tales are made of.

But it is mine, and for reasons I can not justify I choose it again every day.

My love is not easy to explain.

We are nothing so much as a collection.  A collage of thoughts or feelings that, for better or worse, define us.

My collection is a series of sour notes strung together in a way that fools the ear into believing it has heard a song.  I am the discordant melody that plays in the dark to alert you of the danger not so far ahead.  Beware, I cry as I introduce myself.  Run, I caution as our conversation begins in earnest.  To know me is to smile at the devil.

I am a broken thing.  It is this which best describes me, not my height, hair and eye color, or zodiac sign, but the pieces of myself which litter the crooked path I have tread.  I lost my ears to the lies they told me, my hands to those takers who never gave back, my heart to lost love, and my back to the ones I supported.  Still the torn soles of my feet venture forward, tentatively seeking safe purchase.  Even now the fire in my belly lights my eyes constant in its hunger for answers, and in my mind I hear that nameless tune, which I mutter on endless repeat, that is my life’s story.

When I think of myself I see the splintered shards of a dropped vase.  The shattered pattern which is, in its self, whole just different from the glass ornament it once was.  Do not react to my brokenness.  Make no attempt to fit the fragments back together.  For, each loss changes me and each scar redefines me.  So let the key change in this song of mine, the melody remains the same, but flee before the entropy I so ardently embrace.

Because I know, not what will emerge from the next moment of destruction, only that Pain walks with me and he is jealous of my attention.

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Quote from Janet Fitch's book White Oleander

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I wrote this after watching White Oleander, the movie, based on Janet Fitch’s book of the same name.  I bleed for the Astrid character in salty tears.  I love this story.  I envy the strength in the characters and their ability to know who they are.  I hate this story.  I despise that we as a people can hurt children in such spiteful and uncaring ways.  I am inspired by this story.

What movie, book, or character has inspired you lately?

Why lie?

Sometimes I lie.  Little white lies which can never actually hurt anyone, I tell myself.  This however begs another question.  Why lie?  If the non truth is so insubstantial that it will A) go unnoticed and B) make no difference then…why not the truth?  Honestly, it is because I can, and the slight power buzz over shadows any fear of getting caught.

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By Corey-Grandy all rights to owner

Is it so bad to wish you were a million miles from where you are?

          To want to be so far from everything that no part of who you are or were would matter. 

          To be free from you own self inflicted version of who you should be.

Because if I truly think about who it is that I’ve become the sadness in me would overwhelm any chance of redemption.

What I want, more than to find myself inexplicably elsewhere and finally able to try again, is romance.  Silly I know, but there it is.

I want to tingle at his touch, my heart to flutter when he says my name, and to burn with desire when he isn’t near.

That, however, is not my reality.

When his hand caresses me I feel nothing but agitation, and a slight ticklish sensation.

          His kisses upon my lips leave me with naught but an urge to wipe the wetness away.

          When I should be breathless and at the edge of my crescendo, I find myself fully aware and impatient.

I am very conscious that this makes me, at the very least, different.

So I immerse myself in books, movies, work.  Anything that allows me to not fixate on the wrong that reside within me.

So I appear normal in my want for things to be other, but my dreams betray me.

          Dreams where I awake panting with pleasure and squirming against a remembered touch.

          Where a truly interested stranger’s kiss leaves me wanting so much more.

So I wait and watch for my chance to be brave, selfish, and whole; with my fingers crossed that when that moment comes I do not falter.

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