He gives me the best of everything he can give me.
He loves me the best he can.
I'm supposed to be lucky to have him.
I'm under pressure.
Isn't he lucky to have me?
L says, he isn't. Until I love him completely for who he is, he isn't the lucky one. No matter how much sweetness I exert. No matter how pretty I become. No matter how perfect... until I love him completely, I'm not much.
Am I enough?
Am I making a big deal out of nothing?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
KOD
He spent the night drinking alcohol of all sorts, mustering courage. We didn't even want to dance together because the tension will kill us. And who wants to die on the dancefloor?
But he got himself drunk enough.. And I got myself drunk perfectly, that I can no longer see the sea of people around us, even if I try. It was just him and me somehow ending up our limbs locking us up together.
Danced the night away, just like always. And he was there, and I can't remember how it happened, but he just kissed me. And I kissed him back. As if the kiss was long overdue. And he kissed everything. He kissed my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, my hair. And we were holding so tight, so loved. So young and restless and happy.
The people looked. But I couldn't care less. We were finally what we were supposed to be, I guess. Together. Uncomplicated. Myself hanging on his shoulders, my bare feet on his chucks, my heels dangling on my hands behind him. Laughing, as always.
And we were just so happy on the way home. Holding hands. Comfortable. Laughing. In love, I guess. My heart is still beating fast at the thought of everything, and not even a badcase of hangover can stop me from feeling as giddy as ever.
But he got himself drunk enough.. And I got myself drunk perfectly, that I can no longer see the sea of people around us, even if I try. It was just him and me somehow ending up our limbs locking us up together.
Danced the night away, just like always. And he was there, and I can't remember how it happened, but he just kissed me. And I kissed him back. As if the kiss was long overdue. And he kissed everything. He kissed my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, my hair. And we were holding so tight, so loved. So young and restless and happy.
The people looked. But I couldn't care less. We were finally what we were supposed to be, I guess. Together. Uncomplicated. Myself hanging on his shoulders, my bare feet on his chucks, my heels dangling on my hands behind him. Laughing, as always.
And we were just so happy on the way home. Holding hands. Comfortable. Laughing. In love, I guess. My heart is still beating fast at the thought of everything, and not even a badcase of hangover can stop me from feeling as giddy as ever.
Dear Lover
Dear Lover
My heart is still restless from the first kiss
One with feelings
One where you not only kiss my lips
But my eyes
My nose
My face
My heart is still restless from getting to feel you
All over me
As always, towering above me
Like something warm and steady
My heart is still restless from holding your hands
For finally being in contact with you
I lack courage to muster these words
No courage to permit them to leave my lips
Taste the sweet words passing my tounge
You are much loved, lover.
My heart is still restless from the first kiss
One with feelings
One where you not only kiss my lips
But my eyes
My nose
My face
My heart is still restless from getting to feel you
All over me
As always, towering above me
Like something warm and steady
My heart is still restless from holding your hands
For finally being in contact with you
I lack courage to muster these words
No courage to permit them to leave my lips
Taste the sweet words passing my tounge
You are much loved, lover.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
100th post
How are you, little Miss M.
You have created this blog to be an outlet of your emotions and to make your life look pretty. In the end, it may possibly have turned into your lucky charm and made your life and your pretentiously unkikay self PRETTY.
You are in the market right now. Eye-level for the shoppers. You are not on sale. You are sought after.
Exagerratedly speaking: Boys are on their knees.
Once you're taken, a good number will be scratching their heads with anger and regretting in their whiney minds why they have been so slow when YOU were there already. Ready for the bite. All they had to do was move properly.
They fuel you, they do. A day is incomplete without the usual 'you look cute' comments. You feed on the compliments and you devour it with poise. You DEVOUR it, hungrily, wholly, completely... relishing its every taste and texture, yes.... with poise. You have a table napkin on your lap, you bite slowly, you use your utensils properly, and you lick your fingers seductively with the appeal of a little girl who has finished dinner.
Little Miss M,
You are no longer desparate for them touch. You actually want to drift away from the past and move forward like, freeflowing and serene.
I just want to play with my words. Create art with my tools again. And drink because I have friends who love me.
Little Miss M,
You are still full of possiblities. You are youth personafied.
M, you are charmed.
You have created this blog to be an outlet of your emotions and to make your life look pretty. In the end, it may possibly have turned into your lucky charm and made your life and your pretentiously unkikay self PRETTY.
You are in the market right now. Eye-level for the shoppers. You are not on sale. You are sought after.
Exagerratedly speaking: Boys are on their knees.
Once you're taken, a good number will be scratching their heads with anger and regretting in their whiney minds why they have been so slow when YOU were there already. Ready for the bite. All they had to do was move properly.
They fuel you, they do. A day is incomplete without the usual 'you look cute' comments. You feed on the compliments and you devour it with poise. You DEVOUR it, hungrily, wholly, completely... relishing its every taste and texture, yes.... with poise. You have a table napkin on your lap, you bite slowly, you use your utensils properly, and you lick your fingers seductively with the appeal of a little girl who has finished dinner.
Little Miss M,
You are no longer desparate for them touch. You actually want to drift away from the past and move forward like, freeflowing and serene.
I just want to play with my words. Create art with my tools again. And drink because I have friends who love me.
Little Miss M,
You are still full of possiblities. You are youth personafied.
M, you are charmed.
K
Maybe I left you for a long time because I didnt want to give any more importance to K.
But it's too late now.
He's great. Have to hand it to him.
I am unofficially the pseudo-girlfriend. It's girlfriend-osity without the sex, the touch, and the commitment. But the semi-sanction is there. And the concern.
And a fair amount of sweetness. God bless the sponteinity. His. The pleasant surprises.
Ex: Having lunch with him. Before I go pay, I'll learn he's footed the whole bill. I just don't know how to thank him, so I don't. And as a stereotypical guy-guy, drams is too much for him to handle. If he's in drama, it means, its a real life situataion where it really is too much for him to handle.
I love him, I do. As a friend. A good one. As a pseudo-boyfriend. But not as a lover.
I am savoring every moment with him. His sweetness. His taunts. His car. His thoughtfulness. His manliness. His high regard for me.
He won't ever say it, but he is balled up in the palm of my hands. Its just every movement must be precise, and smooth.
The longer I keep this going, the worse it becomes. The bigger? Yes, the bigger. Sometimes, ofcourse, I'll feel like its slowly rotting... very slowly. Then something nice comes up. Like him showing up unexpectedly, like him breathing heavy on the phone and saying my name repeatedly.
My thoughts are inconsistent.
But the conclusion remains: I don't want a boyfriend. Not him. If someone's going to arrive, someone will. I don't want him hurt, I don't want me hurt either. I don't know why I'm letting this grow. And I barely have the will to stop it. And savoring it to the core may possibly mean nourishing it.
Gawd. I just want to write my poetry. Leave me be!
But it's too late now.
He's great. Have to hand it to him.
I am unofficially the pseudo-girlfriend. It's girlfriend-osity without the sex, the touch, and the commitment. But the semi-sanction is there. And the concern.
And a fair amount of sweetness. God bless the sponteinity. His. The pleasant surprises.
Ex: Having lunch with him. Before I go pay, I'll learn he's footed the whole bill. I just don't know how to thank him, so I don't. And as a stereotypical guy-guy, drams is too much for him to handle. If he's in drama, it means, its a real life situataion where it really is too much for him to handle.
I love him, I do. As a friend. A good one. As a pseudo-boyfriend. But not as a lover.
I am savoring every moment with him. His sweetness. His taunts. His car. His thoughtfulness. His manliness. His high regard for me.
He won't ever say it, but he is balled up in the palm of my hands. Its just every movement must be precise, and smooth.
The longer I keep this going, the worse it becomes. The bigger? Yes, the bigger. Sometimes, ofcourse, I'll feel like its slowly rotting... very slowly. Then something nice comes up. Like him showing up unexpectedly, like him breathing heavy on the phone and saying my name repeatedly.
My thoughts are inconsistent.
But the conclusion remains: I don't want a boyfriend. Not him. If someone's going to arrive, someone will. I don't want him hurt, I don't want me hurt either. I don't know why I'm letting this grow. And I barely have the will to stop it. And savoring it to the core may possibly mean nourishing it.
Gawd. I just want to write my poetry. Leave me be!
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