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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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YOU ARE THE REASON
we're not kids anymore.
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Something Wild
Something Wild
A bubbling, rising in the stomach,
followed by heartburn and all over nervousness.
The way her hair looks when she allows it loose;
something wild.
Her fingers are always cold,
but I fantasize about them just the same.
Misguided and even manipulative at worst.
I can’t help how I feel,
but I can help what I do.
What do I do?
What do I do?
Nothing.
Him In The Tight Pants.
A black box theater years ago.I sat in the dark, in awe of this angry boy and his guitar.
He became the fix of the year. I couldn't soak up enough of him. standing at the back of a room just to hear him sing. I pined and I yearned.
But he had a girlfriend and I was a loner.
Of course this was soon forgotten and became a distant memory. I mean I was a silly girl who fell in love at the drop of a hat.
5 years later.
Still a loner. Still falling in "love" at the drop of a hat.
A friend reminds me of his existence and that he is coming back to town.
I laugh it off. I think nothing of it. The feeling's had been long digested and thrown away.
6 months later
Two meeting's over tea. Long, honest conversations. Exchanging of neurosis and troubles that haunt us. I feel like vomiting before every meeting but try and ignore the chunks of truth.
I pine and I yearn.
I give up, I am exhausted with this strange courtship, and don't wish to participate any longer. I lay my cards on the table and walk away.
Third meeting, over tea, in my sad excuse for an apartment. An appropriate mirror of how I feel inside. The sorry state of my mind and my crumbling foundation.
Conversation is what I decided to concentrate on. Enjoying and respecting each moment. Blocking expectations, not wanting to be pulled down by fear.
He asked if he could kiss me. It is as if I have forgotten what I wanted, and have be blessed with the remembering with the lips I have been studying.
The force of two peoples will, trying to discover each other with fingers and tongues. With stares and deep inhales.
Lit on fire from the inside. Trying to get closer to that spark.
A night of carousel love making followed by a restless night while he sleeps. I got it bad.
Now.
Now, I can't sleep without my heart hurting. I feel as if I have a cold and can't seem to do anything.
Now I don't want to see him.
Now I can't bare to be touched.
I now know what I want, thank you.
Now I have to let you go.
I Lived In Bars
Well,
Here I am. Back to myself. Back to the noise of my head and restlessness of my heart.
I have given up my stool in a bar for something else.
That something else is still quite unknown to me. But I have stopped the elevator and now what?
Listen?
Listen to the to me I have spent years trying to erase.
That screaming child. I put her down and left her behind.
I have lived in bars and not my head.
Certainly not in my heart.
Ass out tits up, make that girl lick that tootsie pop.
I recently watched the new video pour it up, wtf?
Yes, I do see that you’re on your “throne” and you are the one with all that “cash money”, but you’re not the “Boss Lady” you think you are. I am a huge supporter of female empowerment and being the one in control but this is NOT the case. Not at all. Miley, Rihanna, Nicki Minaj , you are being used as pawns on this fucked up media chess board. They want you to believe you’re in control, that if you’re the one calling yourself a bitch and smacking other girls “booty’s”, that means your better somehow.
It must feel good. I agree it probably does. To throw your hands up, say fuck you with your breasts out and having people telling you’re the shit. But it’s more for them than you, dollar signs in their eyes. Sex sells, and they are willing to do it at your expense.
I want to say I am guilty of it to. I have listened to rap since a young age. It was a small high to yell out hoe, feeling like it was on my terms. Somehow I felt like these men rapping in the songs and it made me feel in control, powerful. But the fact is that this role reversal does much more damage than we think it does. Taking ownership actually becomes a permission of this type of behavior to women.
And YES, I get that “We won’t stop” is one song out of millions and it doesn’t really mean much right?
Wrong!
It’s like Robin Thicke not wanting to take reasonability for his terribly “rapey” song. Even going so far as saying that he loved the chance to degrade women. Well it may be fun for you, but you’re in a position of power. You are part of the media, shaping minds every day, and what your doing is giving a great big thumbs up to young men around the world. This message of glorifying rape culture is approved by Robin Thicke.
Please, please please, Rihanna, exercise the word NO. No to twerking, no to singing about strip clubs, no to all the money. People look up to you, what you’re doing, what you’re wearing, it’s not fair to cope out on us.
“We run thing, things don’t run me.” Somehow that is hard to believe.
Mop Me
When I write I clean. Like a mop to the floors of my head.
Why your writing is adorable! Thanks wonderful for sharing my work xo Lang
One New Message
One Eye open
New message
Roll over
Hot, very hot
Turn on the fan
Glance over
One New message
Get back in bed
Assume position
Doze off
Wake up falling
Roll over
Open one eye
New message
Technically it's an old message
Songs Of The G Train
Me
You
Us
We
Take a sip of life
Shaking hands
heard to breathe
Fragile glass
Grip to hard
Nothing but blood
Songs of The G train
Wait, wait for me
By the bend of my back
The crease of my wrist
Right next to my pulse
The only thing between me and you.
Songs Of The G train
A collection of shit I write on the G Train.
This is what running into a wall must feel like
Pleasure met by impact
Taking that running start, feeling the rush of air graze your face
A rush of life that makes the body tingle with excitement.
In the midst of running it is hard to think
A simple meditation
Its just you the breeze and that single, focused destination
Nothing penetrates this monk like state.
The moment you see the wall is in clear sight
This now manic running seems worth while
A logical price for what you crave for most
Connection
Sweet, simple, easy connection.
Its close, so irresistibly close
This connection seems to now have a scent
That wraps around you bringing you in closer and closer
Closer and closer and closer.
And then it hurts
And it won't stop
You see stars and not the good kind
Not the ones you hoped for
A stingy, ringing in your nose that rises up into your head
No air lives here anymore
You slide down this wall and meet the ground
Well at least the ground you know
pull-pinch-ouch
My thoughts seem to smack me like a rubber band.
A punishment over and over again.
To sink me deeper into myself.
Pull, pinch, ouch
Pull, pinch, ouch
Retreat, retreat, retreat.
Who is really pulling?
Can I make it stop.
Or am I just bad, bad forever, no ifs and or buts.
Re-reading "Romeo And Juliet"
"This Is What A Feminist Looks Like"
Wanting to be with a man. Wanting to feel like a women and loved should not feel like your giving up the fight,right?
I call myself a feminist, I recognize the problem we are still facing as a society, our women are still being oppressed and objectified.
I will freely express my opinions on this and many other issues regarding women, even if it ruffles a couple of feathers.
I think a part of this struggle is the fact that we feel and act sometimes as if we aren't allowed to be women, over compensating for this gender imbalance. Being a feminist does not mean abandoning what makes us women, feeling like a woman is a gift and should be nurtured.
When entering a new relationship I feel this immense pressure to let them know that I am a feminist. I feel obligated to make my political and emotional stand point known immediately for fear of rejection later on in the relationship.
Will he still like me if I am strong, opinionated and reject some societal roles?
Why do I care?
Should we go to the first date with our "This Is What Feminist Look Like" T-shirt on? Why are some men scared of feminism? What turns them off?
And is it wrong to feel like you want to be taken care of by your lover, brought flowers and told your the prettiest girl in the room.
Can't we have this and our T-shirts too?
Some times its a lonely hard struggle out there and all you want is a warm bed and a cuddle at the end of it.
Surely we can't be blamed for wanting both.
My letter
Dear so and so,
I am writing you this letter as a means to tell you how I feel without telling you how I feel.
I am a lover, a daydreamer and hopeless romantic. I love LOVE, and have a new crush every other couple of months. Its just how I am.
That being said, I keep people at a distance. Making sure not to let them in enough to find out the real me, keeping them at an arms length. Able to run away at any time.
When it comes to real connection and feelings I freak the fuck out and rather be alone and fantasize then do anything about it.
I am scared of you. Scared because for the first time in a long time I want to do this right.
I see your smile and I melt. Die several, mini sweet deaths. It's like this old feeling that has been there a while and I just realized it for the first time.
I want to tell you that I like you, and I would like to see where this may go. I can't promise anything other than honesty.
i promise to be open, and myself. I will only be myself because that is all I have to give. Regardless of what you want.
This may be nothing, and I may be full of shit and imagined the entire thing.
so there it is.
its on you now.
Long Lusty Looks.
hands twitch
feet move in odd patterns
throwing you off balance.
he takes of his shirt
or did you just imagine that?
Eye contact begins to be the hardest thing I have ever had to do.
You try and lift your head up but it is aggressive kept down by the gravity of self loathing.
"Why do you mumble?"
"ummserrummmlaa..."
Translation:
I detest the sound of own voice and if I hear it I might melt like the wicked witch of the West.East.I mean West.
" You talk so low, I can't hear you."
"I'm melting..!"
"What?"
"Nothing"
He walks away and for a brief moment I am relieved. Like I just got out of detention.
Then I start feeling this pang.
The one you got when your where a kid lost in a grocery store. Right in the center of your chest, as you realize who been lost and might never be found. Forced to live among-st the rats and empty cereal boxes.
But then like magic he appears again, your heart violently assaulting your chest, your mouth is disgustingly dry and your hyper aware of your body.
Wait, we like this shit?
All the while in the cracks of my conscious as these awkward events unfold, I am playing THE REEL.
You know what I mean.
The reel, the romantic one that you would never would share with anyone.
Everyone has one. Its different every time, sort of.
But mine mainly consists of being pushed against the wall passionately and kissed until I can't think anymore. Maybe a leg gets lifted, I dunno. Secretly I want him to throw me over his deliciously broad shoulders and take me home. Then we can cuddle for hours until I fall asleep and no words are exchanged. Just long, lusty looks.
Blurgh!
OK. Maybe I am the only one.
