It's All Relevant

What makes you happy? Think about that for just a moment. Do you have that list in your head? Good. Keep it there.

What makes you sad? I’m sure there’s a collection of thoughts forming in your head now. Keep those there too.

There’s a question that isn’t asked nearly as often as the two questions above. A question that needs to be pondered and discussed.

What makes you feel complete?
What fills the empty void within your soul?

This concept- filling empty spaces, completing the mind and soul, being utterly fulfilled- is a concept that we, as humans, need just as much as feelings of happiness or sadness.

Completion and filing of the soul aren’t exactly something that is easily explained, however. The feeling of being absolutely overcome and serene with life isn’t one that’s easy to put into words.

Think about what makes you feel complete. Is it a person, an activity, a place? Whatever it is, you need to hold onto it. Hold onto it with your soul. Because completion is one emotion that can immensely save a life.

Feeling whole and having the soul-filled is the key to staying alive. Not so much surviving, but living. Being completed keeps the process of living actually enjoyable.

The filling of the soul is so incredibly important to life, and holding onto the things that complete the soul will keep the soul living forever.

What completes you?

Make that list, and never let go.

~Unknown

Most of us I’m sure as children heard “what do you say” when we wanted something, the correct and learned response is “please” or once received “thank you”.

For me manners are part of who I am, they are beyond mere words, they make up part of me, they are part of my essence.

Manners played an integral part while I was in a relationship. Yes, he demanded them by saying something like “is that how you’re going to ask?” But more often than not that was unnecessary because I would have already used my manners. Manners are probably the easiest and yet most profound way of reaffirming my submission to him.

If I wanted to ask for something I would have said “may I please ask you something?” He heard this many times in a day, the answer was always the same “Yes Beautiful Always” I know that was always his response, that doesn’t mean I used it as a default or blanket permission. l always asked because manners are powerful.

So why are manners powerful? The answer is very simple “respect”, “reverence”, and “appreciation”. They show all this in a profound way. They gave him power and showed him I appreciated everything he did for me, every last thing.

For something that costs you nothing, manners can take you far in life

First,
quit picking old wounds
and going for walks in the aches
and pains you already made it through–
You call it healing, but
it sounds like a good way
to take a haunting home with you.
LONELY is a no-vacancies sign
for an empty room at the backside
of your chest, and there will never
be enough people to
love that empty out of you.
Love will not save you.
You will save you.

Remember,
no matter how much you need
a voice at the other end of the line
who only wants to take care of you,
it is a felony to call 911 just because
you need someone to talk to.
You cannot shrink to radio static,
to heavy breath on a telephone.
Your aching does not end
in an ambulance.

Now, breathe.
Yes, I know you’ve heard this one before.
Do it anyway. Got ribs like
the wrong side of a fistfight, yeah?
That’s from hyperventilating.
Your lungs just survived a car crash
inside of your body.
Be gentle with them, please.

Find the pocket of your heartbeat
where you keep forgiveness.
We will try again tomorrow–
I know you’ve got a bone to pick
with tomorrow, but it’s coming anyway.
Listen, in a few hours
our little world will
turn herself right-side-up again,
and you will forget about
all the ways this lonely night
sang you watered down blues and
your hands will start to make sense again.

You think you’ve seen every ugly corner
of this whole rotten world, but listen:
there are an infinite number
of things we don’t know and,
statistically speaking,
at least half of them
are probably
very, very beautiful.

By Ashe Vernon

The bed at the center of it all–
the way you never felt like a stranger,
instead
like someone, I had forgotten, like
a part of myself I had dropped in some
distant city delivered
back to my door.

Our story,
a pipe-dream in three parts–
my bedroom the place where everything
came together and the place where everything
fell apart. there are still echoes of us
in the bed frame, the closet, and the drywall.
I keep your dignity on the bookshelf;
I figure you’ll come looking for it, eventually.

It always comes back
to here.
the only sanctuary I have ever known
still smells like you, sometimes.
just when I think I’ve gotten you
out of the pillowcases,
I find your cologne on the walls.
I remember when you came apart in pieces
on the carpet, and I will never be able
to wash the heartbreak out of the floors.

Someday,
I will leave our story behind, in this city.
this apartment will be barren and then
it will be full of other people.
none of them will know our names;
they will track over our history like
re-recording over old videotapes.
I won’t miss you.

Or I will miss you,
but I’ll have bought a new mattress:
one that doesn’t know how you twitch in your sleep.
I will have a new bedroom and the floorboards
won’t know how to moan your name
like I do.
and we’ll fall asleep
in-different beds,
in-different cities.

And if I wake up from dreams
that still taste like you,
I can take comfort in the fact
that even though you have kissed me,
you have never kissed me
here.

~Caitlyn Siehl

* You Got Lucky ~ Blackberry Smoke, Amanda Shire ~ Acoustic Blackberry Smoke
* Bird Song ~ Jerry Garcia ~ Jerry Garcia
* Pigs (Three Different Ones) ~ Pink Floyd ~ Animals
* Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In) ~ The First Edition
* Loves Me Like A Rock ~ Paul Simon ~There Goes Rhymin' Simon
* When The World Ends ~ Dave Matthews Band ~ The Central Park Concert
* Black Balloon ~ The Goo Goo Dolls ~ Dizzy Up The Girl
* Push ~ Matchbox 20 ~ Yourself Or Someone Like You
* I Am The Moon ~ The White Buffalo ~ Darkest Darks, Lightest Lights
* Ten Years Gone ~ Jimmy Page & The Black Crowes~ Live At The Greek

You Got Lucky ~ Blackberry Smoke, Amanda Shire

You better watch what you say
You better watch what you do to me
Don't get carried away
Girl if you can do better than me then go
Yeah, go
But remember

Good love is hard to find
Good love is hard to find
You got lucky babe
You got lucky babe
When I found you

You put a hand on my cheek
And then you turned your eyes away
If it don't feel complete
If I don't take you all of the way then go
Yeah, go
But remember

Good love is hard to find
Good love is hard to find
You got lucky babe
You got lucky babe
When I found you
Yeah, go
Just go
But remember

Good love is hard to find
Good love is hard to find
You got lucky babe
You got lucky babe
When I found you

She lowers her eyes, blushing, but makes no move to close her legs. His fingers continue their gentle exploration, soft and slippery, and she whimpers minutely in the back of her throat, willing herself not to move against him, not to demand more. His eyebrow raises again, a smug smirk creeping along his lips as the tips of his fingers graze her clitoris.

“Your thighs are shaking.”

She scrunches her nose, her mouth twisting into a moue of frustration at his overconfident tone, even as her pulse races and her hips press closer, seeking the pressure of his touch. He takes pity on her and slowly slips one long finger inside her, his smirk widening as he feels her warmth grasping around him, pulling him deeper. His thumb finds her clitoris and his teeth find her collarbone as her trembling legs straighten, her feet seeking his waist and drawing him closer to her. She presses down harder on his palm and barely notices the gentle undulation of her hips as she closes her eyes and sighs in pleasure. His sharp teeth nip at her throat, his prominent fangs scraping against her jugular as her heartbeat quicken.

“Please,” her voice is a whispered moan, still attempting to maintain some semblance of dignity while her hips grind harder. “Please just fuck me.”

He laughs again, the scraping growl of his mirth resonant in his throat.

“Oh, my sweet girl, why would you imagine that I am going to fuck you?”

Her movements are still as she looks up at him, her wide-eyed shock quickly transforming to anger when she sees his cruel smirk and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to fuck you kitten; I’m going to watch you. You’re going to ride my hand like a desperate little whore, and I am going to watch every movement and memorize every whiney little sound. Now stop thinking. Turn off all those silly little thoughts and do as you’re told.”

~the-erl-queen

I want a love that wakes up every morning and feels lucky to have me. I want a love without hesitation, without doubt. A love that can say, “yes, yes I am in love with you” without having to stutter at the question. I want a love that keeps me safe, but that at the same time pulls me towards the things that I am too scared to do alone. I want a love that holds my hand, that says “I am here, I am here”. A love that never lets me forget it. I want a love that never makes me feel alone, a love that understands, or at the least, tries to. I want a love that never curses me out in the middle of the street, a love that never frightens me. A love that uses their voice kindly, a love that understands my body still remembers what it is like to be dragged out into the mud of everything unholy. I want a love that knows I will always carry that trauma with me, a love that never asks me to ‘just get over it'. I want a love that understands not all the poems will be about them, a love that understands that there was something before this, before him, and it wasn’t always kind. wasn’t always a good place to be, wasn’t where my heart was safe. A love that understands I must tell these stories, a love that understands my survival depends on this. I want a love that always calls me back. A love that moves its own feet towards apologies whenever and wherever they are needed. I want a love that takes my hands and says, thank you. A love that appreciates me. A love that knows that although I am a woman drowned in sorrow and grief, I am still here, and I am still trying. I want a love that is my personal hype man, a man that doesn’t just tell me I am beautiful but makes me feel it. A love that says, “you are kind”, “you are smart”, “you are capable of anything”. I want a love that stands up first in a crowd full of people for me, even if they must stand alone. I want a love that isn’t afraid of what the rest of the world thinks because they know that love is better without boundaries. A love that knows that love is better when you stop caring about what other people think of it. A love that doesn’t look for other people’s approval to love me. I want a love that never makes me feel unworthy. I want a love brave enough to stay, a love that wants to stay, a love that says, “things aren’t always easy, but this is where my heart is, this is where I want to be”.

*Unknown

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger’s voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You must remember when she forgets.

You lose her when you don’t notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you’re about to ask a question but you think anything you’re about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don’t even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. She wants to feel cherished. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind, and good.

You must learn her.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.
You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

~thunderpopcola

Her words matter. What she says to me. What she writes to me. Yes, all of that feeds my fascination.

But sometimes it’s her other sounds that captivate me.

In the middle of the night, I slip my arm around her, and she makes the softest coo.

I kiss her neck at the edge of the forest, my fingers teased just beneath the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps quietly, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open and hungry.

She whimpers with my face between her legs. An impatient, greedy, sexy pleading.

She shudders and her breath hitches as she climaxes. Cum for me, baby.

She laughs on the phone. I am ten, or a hundred, or a thousand miles away, and I know that I’ve touched her, made her smile, made her better for just a little while.

It’s not enough to see her. I have to hear her.

~myhandsinherhair