What I Learned Today

[wnq-writers]

I love it. The way you make me nervous & brave at the same time. Because falling for you is brave but being nervous about it, isn’t. I love it.

lex-smex  (via wnq-writers)

[extrovertedintrospection]

Me: why is everyone in love with this goddamn character

Also me: *is in love with that goddamn character*

[extrovertedintrospection]

Suspiro Por Ti

Means, I sigh for you And I sigh for you because you are like water to a man in the desert. I have to sip you slowly because I am not used to water like this. So clear. So refreshing. I sigh for you because you are real. Because I am afraid to say goodnight each night, and so I say nothing. Goodnight is too real. Goodnight means good morning. Means you're winding yourself into my days. I sigh for you because I found you. Because, I am terrified. Because, you are terrified. All of that that smile on that perfect face not enough to soothe me. I sigh for you because you are the kind of woman who breaks a heart so beautifully that people thank you for it. I know I would be no different. I sigh for you because the feeling of your mouth on mine reawakens an engine inside of me. One that used to sputter and cough. But now. It sighs.

[wnq-writers]

She’s not easy. She’s not always affectionate. She’s got her ups and downs, her good days and her bad. She’ll make you feel invincible one day and weak the next. She’ll scare you. That’s the way it is. You’ll be tempted to leave, to run. But you won’t. You’ll always come back because underneath it all she’s still perfect, because she’s still your world.

D. Watson (via wnq-writers)

[wnq-writers]

I deserve to feel the love I give.

hippii  (via wnq-writers)

[extrovertedintrospection]

I was crazy about you but you were just crazy.

[cyborgsmanifesto]

dealing with the worst case scenario

your condom breaks

you feel a lump on your breast

your friends are ignoring you

you’re stranded on an island 

you got rejected by a crush

you get into a car accident

you got stung by a bee/wasp

you got fired from your job

you’re in an earthquake

your tattoo gets infected

your house is on fire

you’re lost in the woods

you get arrested abroad

you get robbed

your partner cheated on you

you’re on a ship that’s sinking

you fall into ice

you’re stuck in an elevator

you hit a deer with your car

you have food poisoning

your pet passed away

you fall off of a horse

you or your friend has alcohol poisoning

you have toxic shock syndrome

your house has a gas leak

[4velitta4]

I feel like this could be useful in my future

[astrologypixies-deactivated2016]

REBLOG THIS. I CANNOT STRESS HOW IMPORTANT THIS GUIDES ARE, BOOST THIS SHIT

[sciencescribbler]

THIS IS SUCH A USEFUL LIST OMFG

[extrovertedintrospection]

Please

“Say goodnight,” she murmurs as she leans across me to close out our tab. It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. It makes me stop what I’m doing makes the swig of beer in my mouth run rough on the way down my throat.  I look up bewildered by the request. I open my mouth to protest but my eyes meet the way her teeth pinch the small straw in her rocks glass sucking the last vestiges of alcohol from the bottom of it. I know this look. My heart sinks, but quickly soars with promise. It’s a push-pull I’ve come to love. I deposit my beer onto the bar. ¾ of the way full and deftly listen to her closing banter with the bartender who smiles at her, then at me, as if to say:

Good luck.

I turn to the man I’m speaking with, about his construction business, and bid him adieu. I follow her out of the bar. Her heels clip on the pavement and somehow she’s still ten feet ahead of me. Slow down. I beg her. Speed up. She implores as she unlocks the car and gets into it. I slide into the passenger seat, securing my seatbelt as if it will somehow save me from the ride that is to come, and she puts on whatever idiotic bullshit she always listens to on the radio. We drive for approximately 5 minutes before she’s got a hand on my thigh, dipping in between my legs. Can she feel how warm I am? How just one touch makes me throb. How I’m making waste of my panties in preparation for her fingers. She won’t speak. Just butt the hand of her palm into the seam of my crotch. I know better than to tell her how good it feels and painstakingly stare out the window, biting my lip. In a flash we’re in the driveway. She removes her keys and exits. I barely make it out before she’s locking the door to her car. Unlocking the front door. I join. She locks it behind me. All without engaging with me. Makes me dizzy. The anticipation throbbing through my veins more than the booze. She's  standing in front of the fridge she had to have.

She's drinking water like she’s just been scavenging through the desert and I’m a mirage, looking right through me. My eyes have the opportunity to rake over her curves snugged into that dress. I want to free them. Slide my fingertips over those hips. Pull her into me. Feel the weight of her bouncing in my lap. But she’s aloof on purpose. The one that knows that I’ll bend for her every night. This is the most delicious game. I slip out of my shoes and put them by the door. Arm the alarm and head upstairs. She’ll come or she won’t. I slip into our room, changing into some Tshirt and putting on the news like the married couple we are on the outside. I peel back the duvet and close my eyes. The beers I drank making it easy to slip into the comfort of the King. It’s not long before the duvet tugs off and I feel the weight of her in the bed. I turn, pretending to be coy and aloof though just the thought of her there makes me bite my lip, makes my stomach clench. Her hands are on my shoulders, pushing me onto my belly. Straddling my ass. I can feel that she’s not wearing a stitch of anything. She pulls my hair into a fist and whisper in my ear. Such filthy things. What she was thinking about while we were at the bar. She is so powerful. Her  nails drag on my skin. She turn sme over and the breath leaves me. Not a stitch on, the news illuminating behind her. The glint in her eye is mischief as she makes her descent.

“Say please,” is the last thing she says, my fingers twisting in her hair before I hear it flee from me.

“Please.”

This is where she’d break me down, only to build me up. This is where she’ll worship and atone. This is where we start, this is where we end. This is where I get to make her beg, to scream, to lay beside me like a sleeping dragon when all is said in done. My muse. My heart. My love. My passion, wound into one complicated package.

[extrovertedintrospection]

The Death Of Romance

I download an  app called “HER” because I’m lonely, and busy, and my priorities have shifted. My days are now spent entrenched in meetings, and so my nights are something to keep my bones and muscles from atrophying in my desk chair. A spin class. Yoga. A bike ride. Gone are the days of drinking on a Tuesday and showing up to function on a Wednesday.

Weekends are to write. To drink coffee. To cook food and nourish myself. To read books in my big ole queen bed. 

I downloaded this app, and am saddened. We swipe on pictures, we don’t care about what people are about. I want to tap on some of the screens and say: is this your dog? What do you do on Saturdays when you have no plans? But in order for that to happen someone has to think I’m mutually attractive.

In rare instances, both parties say “LIKE” and then conversations occur. I told a woman I was sorry for the delay because I had a deadline to meet and she said: 

HUHUH? LOL. 

What does this even mean?

I can’t remember the last time i sat with someone and was truly moved by conversation. Sick in the belly almost, shivering with need. There’s nothing like that anymore because we’re lost behind screens. 

How do we meet people in 2017? 

I’m losing faith. 

[wnq-writers]

i. when she is usually up at ungodly hours, if she even sleeps at all, you don’t nonchalantly reply ‘sleep well’ to her 7 p.m. ‘goodnight’ ii. she isn’t overly sensitive. she’s trying and your comment that she isn’t trying resurrects the self doubt she toiled endless hours digging the grave for just so it’d be deep enough, and wouldn’t you cry too if you came face to face with a ghost you thought you had seen the last of iii. don’t shout at her for slamming the door, it was the only way she knew to not self destruct that night, only way she knew to prevent that look of disappointment in your eyes iv. she isn’t a very confident actor but she is a dedicated one. the apologies, feelings and explanations are practised relentlessly, honed to perfection but they never get pass the rehearsal stage for the production v. she wants to leave her room but she knows if she does she’ll just get in the way, become a problem, mess everything up again. she also knows hiding in her room, the nearest thing that is still as far from a sanctuary as possible, doesn’t please you either. all she wants is to find a neutral ground because she has learnt there is no such thing as the lesser of two evils vi. i’ve seen her choke on the words 'i love you’ when the recipient was in the mirror vii. some of these things are new to her so please don’t be so tough. she’s building a home where one never stood so she doesn’t know that straw isn’t the best choice and she’ll eventually figure that out on her own but if you must lend your guidance, please, play any character besides the big bad wolf viii. sometimes she thinks out loud and hopes the walls will listen even though she knows they don’t have ears, just as she knows you have ears and still has to hope that you’ll listen or at least hear when she speaks ix. she chooses her words carefully for you, selecting only the ones she’s certain you’ll enjoy and arranging them aesthetically on a silver platter and each time she has got it right and presents it to you, your likes have changed so she fails yet again to meet your standards even though she tried so hard x. fear is the pet she was never allowed to have and she cares too deeply, sensitive you call it, so really it’s no surprise she can’t rid of it xi. she has a stash of makeup hidden and expertly paints on a happy face each day because she doesn’t want you to worry when she knows she only overreacting anyway xii. she wishes she weren’t so different, wishes you knew she was trying, wishes she was like you, wishes she could conform to your perceptions of perfection, wishes you would recognize her efforts. wishes, wishes, wishes, she’s always wishing on each stray eyelash, 11:11, coin that falls into a well and shooting star but nothing wields the results she requires. some days she even wishes to give up but she never does and above all that’s what she wishes you knew.

what my side of the closed door knows that yours doesn't // r.g. (via wnq-writers)

[wnq-writers]

You weaponized my love for you, but I was never made for war.

prettylittlesimplicities  (via wnq-writers)

[extrovertedintrospection]

All of the women, who have ever told me that they love me, have done so when we’re in the throes of passion. Always with a fistful of my hair, or a fistful of the sheets, or their backs arched and legs over my shoulders. Is this a metaphor for best behavior? Rewards for when I perform my best? Was any of it really love or was it sweat soaked lust? My eyes cracked open each time, unsure if I was ready to say it back, but I always did. Out of habit. I remember each one like a highlight reel. The women I was unsure to say it back to ended up destroying me. Each heartbreak worse than the last. Now, here I sit, completely unable to let women in - the right women. And I have things scattered in women’s homes like horcruxes. Earrings. Shorts. Panties. I won’t go get them because then I have to face them. And I don’t want to face them. I want someone to see inside of me and then take me anyway...just get me. 

[acecroft]

[idontneedtobeforgiven]

#looking back on this#it is v clear that i was a lil gay child

[extrovertedintrospection]

YASSSSS. THIS WAS HOW I KNEW.

[extrovertedintrospection]

I'm like an animal. One look at you and I've forgotten my decency. I lick my proverbial chops. I pace, watching you, smiling at you while you smile back. You call me out. Always such a flirt, you tease. I will never touch. Only look. But I want to touch. Do you have any clue about what I am capable of? How the sweat would drip from your skin, between your shoulder blades, down your back. I'd build you to break you and over and over again until you thought of me in the quiet times. In the moments of introspection the memory of me would sizzle through you like a jolt of lightning. You'd think of it in boring sex, your mind flipping between grocery lists and if you left the oven on. You'd cry out my name in your mind when you couldn't say it out loud. But, I am a lover. I only take what is given. And when you do let me...you wouldn't shake it easily.

[micdotcom]

Watch: Nicki Minaj reciting Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise” is the most empowering video you’ll see today 

[eggscorpion-deactivated20220402]

I feel…I feel like this is needed today

[priea01]

Anyone else’s face raining?

[a-windsor]

Hey, queer youth. Hold on, okay? I know it feels bad and pointless. We’ve made so many strides in the last decade that this feels all encompassing and terrifying. But we still have each other. We still have everyone who has supported us. We still have significant case law on our side. And we won’t stop fighting.

[extrovertedintrospection]

Nice is Nice

I've tried a lot of women. Beautiful women who have written me notes beside my bed, reminding me of them. Women who have driven to me in the middle of the night with wine and their bodies, offering them to me like a sacrifice to a goddess. Women who make me look better just by being on my arm, women who make me laugh. Women who make me think. Women who cook for me, and do the dishes. Women who, from their knees, worship me. Again and again. They feed me proverbial grapes, they rub my feet.

Yet, I find flaws in them like it's the job I went to school for. They’re too good, too kind, too earnest. They’re too fast, too slow. Too whatever.

I googled: why do I tire of nice girls? 

I like them when they don't want me. When they don't text me: good morning beautiful, but instead keep me guessing. I like them when they're elusive, and mysterious. I like them when we rendezvous instead of plan out a Sunday. I like the thrill of guessing who is who by the numbers I have not saved to contacts. I like being just out of reach because I fear to be so damaged and unlovable, that I will only inflict pain upon the poor sap who ends up with me. Or so says the internet. 

I see the women I've given the: it's not you, it's me, move on - cozied up to some beautiful honey underneath a blanket with coco and warm plates of pasta. I want more than that. I want adventure. Someone to wake me up in the middle of the night with bags packed, whisk me off somewhere and fuck me like it's the last time for either of us. Teach me something new. Push the boundaries of safe and boring. Camp with me. Ride with me. Dance with me in the middle of a city because you can’t bear to keep the song to yourself anymore. 

I like them when they don’t like me. When they’re taken. When they’re straight. I like them when they’re a challenge and, while I never act on it, enthrall me more than any beautiful woman on a dating site or in a bar. 

There has to be something else. Or perhaps my perspective has to change. A woman challenging status quo just like I am. 

Do you exist? I'm looking for you, too.