Monday, January 31, 2011

Black and White

I love my Sociology class. My instructor is about a billion years old (HYPERBOLE IS THE BEST THING EVAR)and adorable as a button. He uses phrases like "noodle" and calls himself a "busy little bee". He's like a grandfather that would give you lots of candy when your mother's back was turned.

Also, he is intelligent. I dig it.

Anyway, he was talking today as a for instance and mentioned abortion.

"I'm sure most of you are anti abortion!" a handful of us shook our heads and he shrugged. "Well, for the purposes of this we'll pretend we all are." Which was fine, he was just using an example, he didn't REALLY care about our opinion.

But it got me to thinking. Yes, I am pro choice. I don't consider myself "pro abortion" though, which was the phrase he used. I mean, I'm not running around with a lubed up wire coat hanger, chasing women as they exit their OB/GYN. That's the image I get from that terminology, for reasons I can't quite explain.


I'm not pro abortion. I'm pro choice, which is almost equivalent to saying I'm pro minding my own goddamn business. I do acknowledge that is a particularly dangerous way to be thinking. Sometimes you SHOULDN'T mind your own business, sometimes you DO need to speak out, even if you're the only one standing.

I don't think this is one of those times. I don't get those people what murder doctors who perform abortions, because they say how precious life is. And yet they took one away. What is this, an eye for an eye? Or is he less worthy to live because he's taken away another life?

What's more, is that really for us to decide?

I don't feel like I have the right to tell another woman what she may and may not do with her uterus, her fetus, and her own guilt. I do not feel like I have the right to stroll on up to another human being, point them in the face and call them a murder because they removed what some might call a parasitic being from inside their body.

Some women do it as a form of birth control. A whole lot of women don't. Rape. Incest. Illness. A deformity in the fetus. These are all reasons that some women have abortions.

I'm not pro abortion. I'm pro allowing women the right to choose what is right for them and their child.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Mea Culpa

The words that I speak,
Hold less weight than the words I don't speak.
And these words are echoing inside of me,
Bouncing around,
The voices shouted into an empty museum.

I am a mausoleum of your failures.
I am a canvas, splashed with the blood from your soul.
I am battered and broken,
A beloved toy finally thrown away.

I am the the sum of your every regret.
But somehow you don't look away.
You keep coming back to me,
More and more and more.
You have sucked me dry.

Mea culpa, my love.
Mea culpa, my most regrettable love.

When you come back around,
When you're ready for me.
I'll be here, silent and thoughtful.
Will you be ready?
You never could stand my silence.

I wish you could hear the screams inside of me.
The voices all whisper your name.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Who Won't Play Games Behind Me

The confidence giver and I are talking again.

It's wonderful and strange and I hate it and love it.

He watches me when my back is turned. I don't know whether I should be happy he looks at me, or sad that he can't do it when I'm facing him. He's apologized for everything that he did. And he gave me the reasons.

I can't quite fault him, either.

But anyway.

He says certain things just to piss me off. He pushes my buttons in ways that only he can. Should I be happy that he's interacting with me, doing things just to see me angry? Or should I hate that he's not coming up to kiss me on the cheek and ask me how my day is?

These are the questions that I can't ask him. That would be laying out my hand. That would be breaking the rules. I've always hated rules, but this is one of the most important games that I have ever played.

If I lose, I lose YOU. If you lose, you lose me. And even if we can't have each other in the capacity we're dying for right now, we can't stand to not have one another at all.

Oh darling, I just want to hear you love me again.

Monday, January 17, 2011

I'm Getting Closer To Letting Go... To Letting Go of You.

Once there was a little girl. She had long hair and wore a purple bathing suit. She followed her big brother around everywhere. Her big brother had a friend, and they never let the little girl play. They pulled on her long hair and made her get Kool-Aid and cookies.

But they never did play with her, even when they promised.

The years passed by, turning pages in a book, the faded chalk likes from hopscotch. The girl was not so little, and her hair was not so long. And no longer did she let anyone walk all over her.

Until she saw the boy, her big brother's friend. He looked across the art room table at her and was taken in by the color of her eyes and the swell of her hips, not to mention her quick tongue and the way love flowed from her, like blood from an open wound.

And they fell in love.

And he left her.

And the years passed by again, and again, like drying river beds, like broken headstones. He saw her in math class applying clear gloss to her lips. He followed her out of the room, watched her bend over to pull on the laces of her high black boots.

"I am so sorry for everything."

These words would be repeated more times that she cared to count over the next year. He took her to his home, laid her in his bed and made love to her, ripping her apart on the inside. She didn't complain, because sometimes love hurts.

He mentioned his own little girl, and the girl plied him with hair ties, advice, movies, anything and everything.

But his own daughter left.

And he left the girl.

But he came back, like a bad penny or a good luck charm. He was always at the back of her mind, like a pebble in her shoe.

So they crawled through time together. She coaxed him through dark depressions. Coaxed him through alcohol binges and screaming matches. She flinched as he raised his hand to her more than once.

But he left again, the allure of the white powder and the places it took him too strong. He left her again, and she vowed that this was the last time...

Too bad his own little girl died.

She won't come and comfort him now. Even his heart break can't convince her that she won't be pulled into his web again. And if she does, she won't come out alive.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Cold Is The Night I See You Bold, Searching For Your Romeo

I read this website called Something Awful. I don't have an account there, I can't really be arsed to spend the ten bucks on it right now.

Anyway, today someone found this link to a church that was full of furry Christians. While I have no problem with Christians being furries, or vice versa (although I don't really get the whole furry fetish, just like any other fetish I just don't get. If it floats your boat, whatever, I guess...) I don't see the point in combining the two.

In the first place, this pastor (and I hesitate to even call him such. I understand the point is to bring people closer to God) was giving misinformation and myths about Judaism and its parallels to Christianity. I don't feel like this is a good way to bring people to Jesus. In the second place, I felt like he was trying to make something that's about sex somehow cleaner, somehow--not about sex.

And that doesn't work.

I have some fetishes myself. I like being choked. I like being tied down. But I don't try to make these things anything they aren't. I like being choked because it gets me off. I like being tied down because, well, it gets me off. I won't make any excuses for that, and I acknowledge it isn't for everybody. (Disclaimer: Choking is dangerous, I understand that and fully acknowledge that. Please, please, please, if you decide to indulge in things like that, make sure you're with someone you trust, know how to safe/word signal out, and KNOW YOUR LIMITS.) Things that get me off don't really have anything to do with God.

I know that there are churches targeted for homosexuals/bisexuals/trisexuals/whatever-sexuals... But I sort of feel like that's different. I can't even understand why. Does that make me hypocritical?