Tag Archives: lies

I Don’t Belong


During my periodic monthly episodes of blood, increased hormones, life force and such taking over, I tend to get a bit gloomy, while becoming overrun by immaturity, not to mention, I write more carelessly than I like to admit throughout this instance.  So, if you’re looking for something thrilling, inspiring, and poetic or whatnot, you’ve come at the wrong time.  There’s no true significance in this entry, except that I’m venting.

Throughout the course of my life, I never thought I belonged anywhere.  There were things I’ve always enjoyed like reading, writing, receiving education, sex and being physically active.  And although I’m aware that one can be content and isolated away from the conventional world, sometimes I can’t help but wonder how would my mind and heart have been shaped like if I did feel I belonged to something?  Would I have felt less alone or more engaged to the world like how dreamers dream profusely of that lotto ticket?

I don’t belong to friends.  I have zero (doesn’t include the fabulous ones I have made online or the two ex-boyfriends in my real life that I consider to be like family).  Growing up, it was hard to blend in and follow the disgusting girls into their femininity and twin-like mirroring behavior.  I took pride in being a tomboy and in being an individual, whereas most appeared to benefit from being a replica of another, so it wasn’t a question why I was constantly the first to be flat-left in the blink of an eye.

I thought things would naturally get better once I got older because of better judgment.  Apparently not!  From the twenties, and into the early thirties (of where I am now), it seems I meet the wrong types of people.  Some of them believe friendship is about sugarcoating, living with illusions, and never involves the truth for personal enlightenment and growth.  So, I don’t belong to friends.

I don’t belong to family.  I only have one favorite aunt, whom I took after, to a small degree.  I’ve been working on my rapport with her for the past year because part of the new me is to be better acquainted with family, although I dislike nearly everyone in it.  It’s ironic; I believe the injustice of life has been slowly taking her away from me.

I digress, however.  Friends are a lot like family.  It involves fitting into a certain mold.  And it’s hard for me to be the type of person who can easily overlook their principles, values, beliefs in such a way where I can willingly blend in with the rest of my hypocritical family.  I haven’t been blessed with any true friend or relative.  I just keep bumping into the wrong people.  And why have the wrong people in my life, when it’s better to be true to myself and live within truth instead of a lie?

I don’t belong to fitness.  I work out faithfully.  I don’t eat clean majority of the time.  I don’t take numerous selfies.  I don’t buy expensive supplements.  I don’t feel the need to show off my body.  I don’t have the desire to inspire or motivate others because they usually fall short of my standards.  I no longer truly look up to the fitness professionals of the sport as role-models.  I don’t even have people in my circle who are diehard fans of training or weightlifting.

In a place of fitness and the gym, it’s my happy place and true religion.  But with the masses making a mockery out of fitness (mostly on the internet), where egos turn fit people into assholes and where asking for well-being guidance is replaced by a hand asking for money; I feel as if I’m further away from this sort of crowd and in my own ways, I feel more alone than ever.

I’m sure it’s all about the attitude and perception of mine and how I live in a matter-of-fact system.  Nevertheless, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t feel like I belong anywhere.  But please, don’t get me wrong, I love myself and I am who I am today because I never thought the grass was greener on the copycat’s side.  I never thought to fit readily into the methods of the conformist world which occupied family, friends or gyms I belonged to.

I just wonder..

-Pennington

Advertisements

Cake


Bold.
It’s the way some people take their coffee.
Or blaze dark their font with.
Rather than settle for these everyday bits,
I turned to another German-Italian.
I went up in smoke
Every time he spoke.
I let him breathe stories into me
While I inhaled them
Deep into my barracuda bones.
I in a love jones.

I want my cake.
I want to eat it too.
Whether it involves him, him or you.
I know where my heart resides.
And every now and then
I feel my world crumble.
I’d do anything to come alive.

Even though my fantasies involved lies.
Even though I paid my own taxi ride.
Even though I went against myself.
I couldn’t help the instantaneous
Life without a seat belt.

-Pennington

There’s A Saying: Actions Speak Louder Than Words


A Jenga tower falling down
Image via Wikipedia

Now I hate listening to this expression no matter who’s fucking mouth it comes out of.  Mostly because I’m the kind of person who tends to thrive on what a person’s saying (whether that’s a female trait or not doesn’t really fucking matter) and thrives even more on what a person doesn’t say.  Want to find out about a person?  It’s simple!  Ask questions and allow them to answer with no interruptions on your part.  Most people who live in the center of society’s sex will speak mostly and generally on how they’d like to be perceived.  Some people will reveal a lot, except that most of the things they revealed are as trivial as a handshake.  In relationships, the words that are often never said are the ones people SHOULD notice.  If notice too late, then, what do you think would happen?  All the Jenga pieces fall apart.  Then, who laugh lasts?  Now when it comes to certain instances, circumstances or the simple creatures of the world like: Men.  Well, I must say that actions indefinitely speaks louder than words.

Some of you may know, I have a non-exclusive partner who I’ve been with for 8 years now.  Some things never change until one manages to be infected by an enormous amount of sickness.  This will ensure at some point, when the migraines become unbearable that you’ll break away from the disease of a person, place, situation or thing.  These actions, speak all so loudly in the words:  Lies and Bullshit!  I fail to understand why people would even dare to choose one or the other with me.  You cannot lie or bullshit to the folks who hold a fierce amount of wisdom coupled with a dangerous sixth sense ability like a God.

For Pete’s Sake I have dreams of other people’s dark secrets when I sleep.  They’re dying to come out, but you know how people are always hiding from themselves.  I can only imagine this is where all the lies and bullshit stems from.  People are scared of judges and coming out of their house of denial.  And this would be why I respect few in this department.  I will accept you as soon as you hold no shame and realize that the other expression: Honesty is the best policy is the most vital in this fucked up world.  So moving on..

A subject where Actions Speaks Louder Than Words comes down to the most insignificant hobby anyone can get into:  Masturbating.  Some of you may know where I stand when it comes to Masturbating.  Some don’t. Now if a person has an issue with being intimate with a person due to the fact that they have been molested/raped, then this is an exception for them!  However, on the other hand, I do not like it!  Some of the reasons why I do not like it and may seem extreme are:  It builds greed, lust, develops prostate cancer, it becomes hard for folks to figure out what is fact from fiction, gives a sense of urgency equipped with a hunger for frequency on the NEED to cum, furthers the implications of premature ejaculation and devalues your state of mental, spiritual, sexual and physical being (including your partner).

My partner is fully aware of my belief systems when it comes to Masturbating.  We engaged in numerous conversations about the dilemmas I find with them.  My partner claims he masturbates 2-3 times in a 7-day period.  It may not seem like much to the folks who masturbate numerous times a day over the course of seven days.  But IT IS!  Especially when my partner comes down to visit me for another 2-3 x in a week and expects me to make him cum as well.  I say make because I’m not a dumb bitch!  (And regardless of what the fuck he says, “You don’t need to make him cum.”  He’s fucking trying to feed me the bullshit!  And in this case, actions speak..well… you know the rest.)

This would mean he’ll cum at least 2-3 times by himself at home 9possibly more?) AND 2-3 times by me.  Do the fucking Math!  That’s a volcano of white eruption.  AND one I do not admire.  Jesus I don’t even cum this much in a week, regardless of how badly my vagina desires cock or (my favorite!) getting licked!  Cumming this much isn’t only selfish, but this ensures that the frequency of his testicles get emptied out as soon as they desire to tighten their hands on the horror of his soul and lack of self-control to begin with.

Meanwhile he tries to reassure me that I’m not his cumbucket.  And to make a deal with me, he would stop masturbating over at his house if I help to make him cum once a week.  And once again, in this case Actions Speak Louder Than What?  Indeed!  So, why try and bullshit me?  Why lie?  Why act as if cumming isn’t your world when the Deal is saying another story?  Why must cumming be an important factor in anybody’s life?  Why must I, even a little, assist in making him or any other fucking guy in the world cum?  I don’t feel bad for any man who masturbates and never will.  He’s getting off.  He’s performing according to the standards of what he and his penis likes.. and as for me, I can have the leisure of Chatting, Reading a book, Training, Tweeting or Blogging.

But really, if being honest hurts, know that your actions will do all the talking for you.

Pennington