Monday, February 14, 2011

Adapted - [Mono]logue

1) - This inability for crying dismisses all the hidden tears pertaining sentimental battles, my refusal for letting go altogether redefines the demand for emotional bursts, I cried over deathbeds missing the once awaken essence that I cared for, I cry for my wrongfully accusations against loved ones, but these tear ducts of mine are locked real tight until I’m undoubtedly alone, these moments arrive whenever I’m in exile, usually triggered by words present in lyrics or frames in a cinematic endeavor, this is where I get my warm cup of comfort, stupid movies, stupid songs which reflect my precious sightseeing guaranteed as a retribution in a world of artificial people acting temporarily as real people, this is where I comeback every time, to an expedition of one to two hours boxed out love, hate and sorrow, I’ve given up on outsiders who carry their phobias around, their limitations, their special quotes created to induce pain in others, I loved to hate them for a while but then I started to educate myself in pitying their patents on ignorance, I quit laughing knowing that this could hurt someone else, this introduced new means of creating an ability, now I can find beauty in men and women alike, but while my perception of beauty in men deals with character, courage, values, and facial recognizance, my love for women acknowledges their own mysterious perception of emotions accordingly to their surroundings and special entanglement in relationships, this is not worshiping, it’s valuing.

2) - While women feel that men should be more sensitive to their surroundings, most of them teach their children not to cry like little girls, fathers certainly participate by saying things like “Butch up! You’re a man!”, I was raised by my mother and it was she that teached me to hide my sensitivity, she also suffered by having been raised this way and became one of those mothers that doesn’t display any sort of affection while dealing with young children, she failed to deliver positive remarks for my school grades or anything else, when I experienced sex for the first time I was ashamed of my sexuality and my own body, and this created a serious lack of self esteem, It lasted for two years, there was only one person in my life with whom I felt comfortable enough to deviate the attention from my own list of body little annoyances. In this relationship I was bluntly accused of being obsessed with sex, that I couldn’t live without sex, I laughed without giving her a smile or even a smirk because this was at the nearly end, and words couldn’t offend me anymore, I love the sound of caring words, whispering, talking into a mouth, I love kissing, I love hugging, I love spooning, I love touching, caressing hair, lips, bosoms, ears, nose, tongue, I love a woman’s silhouette, I love to do a full scan throughout the entire body, the erogenous areas, I love female pleasure and all it’s derivative constructs, I love sex, but sex is only a fragment of all of this, I’m not a machine and I can’t get motivated for exchanging any of these things mechanically, there’s one fundamental aspect that I always point out about making love, that my own pleasure increases by giving it away more than getting in return, there’s no arrogance, no selfishness in bed, and when there is, you are fighting against the tides pursuing the wrong person, there are lots of women who never experienced orgasms, female ejaculation, only because they are so accustomed to having selfish partners that they don’t care anymore, this is just a small piece of the cake pertaining relationships, but it’s probably the most important bit, exchanging experiences by delivering yourself completely to the other person.


A. said...

Well put, ou should I say well "delivered". Because this was an exercise of deliverance, rescueing yourself from the entanglement of pre-conceived values.
(Yes, I did use your own words rearranged)

Structurally Diffuse said...

I’m only portraying my observations, these words barely resemble an exercise, this is a real testimony of my life without the forensic details, those I keep to myself and for those willing to resolve their own misconceptions.