ocheltrc
01-27-2016, 05:22 AM
A Cat’s Cradle Love Story
When I walk in, men buy me drinks before I even reach the bar.
i. I find myself feeling like a broken record yet again. I open my legs and I roll my eyes as I moan from boredom. Do boys ever see what holes they bore into me? When they ask slyly for a picture or a few well-chosen words. As if vulgarity was actually surprising. I knew the drill, so did he, I liked to be in a certain position and he actually sounded annoyed about that. Like Jesus, you're the one getting sex out of this who cares.
No one leaves me, I’m the one that chooses. I show up like money on the sidewalk.
ii. Why is it always the girl? The girl has to initiate or be in the mood or whatever. Why do we tell boys that all the time is a good time? “Be constantly horny, be easy but don't pressure,” all that fun stuff. It's no wonder that they get mad when girls say “no” because girls are complicated. There has to be something before there has to be a clue, but guys act like predators. Moving in hungrily on their prey that finally wants to let them enter into their secret world. Such coveted mysteries girls hold! All my brain can think is God who cares. We tell the boys to be constantly ready and that’s changed their very definition. “Never pressure but always be ready,” it’s like we’ve set them up for perpetual sexual frustration by always denying them what they’re looking for.
Don’t you believe it still might happen, aren’t you that kind of woman?
iii. It seems like I’ve lost my libido for whatever reason. Maybe I’m just tired of having sex with everyone. I’m allowed to not want that for myself at least on one date. Since when did going to the movies end up as giving him a blowjob in the front seat of my truck right under a streetlight? I go over and over the details in my brain and I still don’t know how I got myself into this mess.
I want a red dress. It’ll be the goddamn dress they bury me in.
You’re crouched in a corner, coming undone. She’s in love with you now. She’s the one.
iv. I seek fulfillment in other people. I seek validation in boy’s hickeys and sour sweet whispers; someone calling me sexy, someone in love. I don’t love him. I just loved how he loved me; admired me, slaved for me, wanted me. I wasn’t prepared for him to cash in on my promises and ask where my dignity was. He will break me and I’m going to let it happen because I always let it happen. Because there’s nothing more exciting than someone calling you beautiful or someone wanting you or someone needing you even when you don’t need them. I want him to like watching a movie and eating popcorn with me more than he likes kissing my neck as I go to my happy place. Here I am lying to myself yet again like it's not even my fault like I don’t let this happen to myself. Where the hell is my pride? Where did it go? I used to be happy that boys hissed about my explicit adventures at their inevitably sexual sleepover gossip sessions. But whatever, I’ll be out of here soon. I’ll be at a new college with new boys, all just waiting for me to play my song over and over again never even skipping a beat.
She’s the one you’re scared of, the one who dares you to go ahead and completely disappear. She’s the one sleeping all day, in a room at the back of your brain. You’ve locked her in.
v. Today he made me laugh again and again until my stomach ached and tears dripped off my cheeks. Today he kissed me and I kissed back. Today his lips tasted like mint and sweat and happiness and his arms felt like a shield against the world. I held his hand today. Today I was a child with scraped up knees and messy pigtails. Innocent with him, in all our awkward beauty. Today I was beating, breathing, and fierce with life. Finally.
Beside the stove we ate an orange. And there were purple flowers on the table. And we still had hours.
Please note: the italicized lines are from various poems by Kim Addonizio I do not own those words I am just using them to place context.
When I walk in, men buy me drinks before I even reach the bar.
i. I find myself feeling like a broken record yet again. I open my legs and I roll my eyes as I moan from boredom. Do boys ever see what holes they bore into me? When they ask slyly for a picture or a few well-chosen words. As if vulgarity was actually surprising. I knew the drill, so did he, I liked to be in a certain position and he actually sounded annoyed about that. Like Jesus, you're the one getting sex out of this who cares.
No one leaves me, I’m the one that chooses. I show up like money on the sidewalk.
ii. Why is it always the girl? The girl has to initiate or be in the mood or whatever. Why do we tell boys that all the time is a good time? “Be constantly horny, be easy but don't pressure,” all that fun stuff. It's no wonder that they get mad when girls say “no” because girls are complicated. There has to be something before there has to be a clue, but guys act like predators. Moving in hungrily on their prey that finally wants to let them enter into their secret world. Such coveted mysteries girls hold! All my brain can think is God who cares. We tell the boys to be constantly ready and that’s changed their very definition. “Never pressure but always be ready,” it’s like we’ve set them up for perpetual sexual frustration by always denying them what they’re looking for.
Don’t you believe it still might happen, aren’t you that kind of woman?
iii. It seems like I’ve lost my libido for whatever reason. Maybe I’m just tired of having sex with everyone. I’m allowed to not want that for myself at least on one date. Since when did going to the movies end up as giving him a blowjob in the front seat of my truck right under a streetlight? I go over and over the details in my brain and I still don’t know how I got myself into this mess.
I want a red dress. It’ll be the goddamn dress they bury me in.
You’re crouched in a corner, coming undone. She’s in love with you now. She’s the one.
iv. I seek fulfillment in other people. I seek validation in boy’s hickeys and sour sweet whispers; someone calling me sexy, someone in love. I don’t love him. I just loved how he loved me; admired me, slaved for me, wanted me. I wasn’t prepared for him to cash in on my promises and ask where my dignity was. He will break me and I’m going to let it happen because I always let it happen. Because there’s nothing more exciting than someone calling you beautiful or someone wanting you or someone needing you even when you don’t need them. I want him to like watching a movie and eating popcorn with me more than he likes kissing my neck as I go to my happy place. Here I am lying to myself yet again like it's not even my fault like I don’t let this happen to myself. Where the hell is my pride? Where did it go? I used to be happy that boys hissed about my explicit adventures at their inevitably sexual sleepover gossip sessions. But whatever, I’ll be out of here soon. I’ll be at a new college with new boys, all just waiting for me to play my song over and over again never even skipping a beat.
She’s the one you’re scared of, the one who dares you to go ahead and completely disappear. She’s the one sleeping all day, in a room at the back of your brain. You’ve locked her in.
v. Today he made me laugh again and again until my stomach ached and tears dripped off my cheeks. Today he kissed me and I kissed back. Today his lips tasted like mint and sweat and happiness and his arms felt like a shield against the world. I held his hand today. Today I was a child with scraped up knees and messy pigtails. Innocent with him, in all our awkward beauty. Today I was beating, breathing, and fierce with life. Finally.
Beside the stove we ate an orange. And there were purple flowers on the table. And we still had hours.
Please note: the italicized lines are from various poems by Kim Addonizio I do not own those words I am just using them to place context.