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Thoughts colliding
In reckless abandonment
Like a pinball shot
Spinning out of control
The voices are at war
The exchange is heated
Screams of betrayal
Accuse in the darkness
As I slip further into uncertainty
I love you
I need you
I will never leave you
You are my everything
Be with me
Stay with me
Love me like you loved her…

Silent pain stretched across her face as she searched my eyes for something. Anything. To confirm hope.

I failed. And this time I know it was me.



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I just had the most horrible thought. And I wish I could blame it on Tequila or something but I’m dry and fasting for some medical tests tomorrow morning…

I was out walking K’s dog cuz she’s in Barrie for the week as she starts her new job tomorrow, when the word literally exploded in my mind.


Is K trying to isolate me? Or am I just being paranoid? We had words before she left tonight and things are a little tense… Well actually in her last text to me she seemed fine, but I am still a bit upset and now, very uncertain.

The content of the conversation isn’t important. What is important is that for the first time in almost a year, K’s words and actions hurt me. That horrible sharp burst of pain that actually hurts your heart and you have to hold back the tears burning your eyes from the unexpected onslaught. Ya, that kind of hurt. I don’t even think she realizes it happened and to be fair, I did my utmost to mask it. But I was and still am sunk by it.

I don’t know what to think.

Have I been set up? Been an unwitting blind fool who hasn’t been able to see the truth for all the smoke and mirrors? I honestly don’t know what to think at this moment…

I’m kinda…stunned is a good word.


The lease was signed last night.
Her new job starts tomorrow.
We’re moving in two weeks.
Is this cold feet?
Am I looking for monsters?
Or am I really seeing a hidden ugliness and all too familiar sequence of events unfolding before my eyes? Is this move really part of a bigger ploy to isolate me? Yet again? Fuck. Why do lesbians feel the need to do that? Why do they have such a hard time sharing their partner with others?

I’m beginning to think I know nothing about lesbian women. Absolutely nothing.

Possession I am not nor ever will I be.

I need to think more about this. Actions truly do speak louder then words but right here, right now ISOLATION is screaming pretty fucking loud.

Please let me be wrong :(

My Love Affair…

Just found this awesome Femme…or rather she found me! I love when I find a blogger who identifies with both coming out late and with being a feminine lesbian. In this post her rant on who she calls MIW is one that spoke to me. Her thoughts echo mine in many ways but it’s the message I relate too. Everything but the “slap my ass part”! Lol. I also have a thing for the dominant boi. Always have. And now that I have experienced the crazy intense magic of one firsthand, I won’t be satisfied – literally – with anything less. Thx Javon. From one Femme to another. Not lipstick, just femme ;)

Originally posted on Javon Monét:

**I’ve literally edited this piece at least five times and the changes didn’t take. So I am frustrated.**

I have a love affair with MIW (Masculine Identified Women). To me there is nothing sexier than a strong dominate woman. In my time coming out I have received lots of questions about why I date MIWs? Why don’t I just date men? This post is going to address those questions.

First and foremost I am a lesbian, which means I am a woman who is emotionally, physically, and sexually attracted to other women. I am not heterosexual, which is why I do not date men. Have I ever dated men? Yes, that was before I came out, before I had the courage to come out. I call that point in my life, my cover phase. I dated men because I was trying so hard to conform, to ignore that part of…

View original 340 more words



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No amount of good intentions and correct, mindful decisions and being told “this is the right move for you” is making this move any easier for me. I’ve been leaping from calm to anxious to panic and back again. All I really want to do right now is sit square in the middle of my apartment upheaval and ball like a three year old baby, stomping feet, pounding fists and all. I want to scream in outrage at the audacity of life and love and their boldly fundamental wrongness.

None of this is right!

When you fall in love and connect with another human being in the most desired esoteric lustful spiritual heartfelt soulful way that blows all past preconceived notions of love completely out of the water, it’s not supposed to end. They aren’t supposed to leave you to find themselves and their happiness. They’re supposed to be happy with you. They’re not supposed to leave you.

I have forgiven her the act but I can not forget the pain because I am still living in it. Every. Single. Day.

I often wake up wondering if I could have done something different. If I had just loved her differently. If I had dealt with her insecurities differently. Her possessiveness. Her starving cat syndrome. Her bullying because she knew no other way to express her hurt and her fear of abandonment. I used to believe that I was fine just the way I was and that I shouldn’t have to change for someone else…and fundamentally I still believe that to be truth. If you have to change for someone to love and accept you then clearly they don’t love and accept you for who you are. Right? But now I’m not so sure. I did try and I did change myself for her in as much as I tried to be a “lesbian” according to the “P” standards of what the “perfect” lesbian should be, but I clearly failed miserably.

At times I flog myself mentally by going over and over specific scenarios trying to see where,  if my response had been different, I could have created another outcome. I think about the first time we made love and what a disaster it was cuz she’d been drinking and wasn’t able to perform what was later to become her usual utterly flawless seduction of me…but then the next morning, with my body still warm and sleepy, she woke me by taking me to a place I had never been before. Ever. It was more then just sex. It was…pinnacle. It moved me so deeply that if I had had even one doubt left about coming out and being with a woman, it was banished by the flick of her tongue and the warmth of her breath. I still smile slowly when I think that what was almost a religious experience for me was supposed to be just a one night stand for her, maybe with a coffee before a boot out the door. Maybe that’s where we went wrong. Perhaps I should have been a one night stand?

But she was so fucking addictive!

Venezuela was the name of our little paradise…and my body had never experienced such pleasurable erotic sensuality before her hands, her lips and her eyes touched it. The exquisite sensations she gave me between her sheets is something even I can’t find words to describe. She made love to my mind and my body with such beauty and perfection that she is now inextricably intertwined with my sex…

And I hate her for that.

At times I wonder, was it just the sex that kept me anchored to her for five long tumultuous years? Even now if I close my eyes and picture her looking at me with those hungry hazel eyes, staring boldly at my mouth and saying in no uncertain terms, “I want you in my bed. Now.” I still get weak…

But surely it had to be more then that? Lesbians do make love more often then most heterosexual couples – must be all that estrogen? And only lesbians would come up with the term “lesbian death bed” when sex begins to seep out of the relationship and an easy “friendship” replaces it. Jesus! But, really, there has to be more substance to a lesbian relationship then sex and codependency right? Or perhaps that is all there is. And that’s why these relationships are so beautifully fleeting… like a magnificent firework. Heat, combustion, passion and burnout.

I don’t know. And I don’t care. All I do know is that I kissed a lesbian and I liked it.

And then I fell in love with her.

From the top of my braided head to the tip of my painted toenails and everything in between. She was my universe. Every breath. Every thought. Every action was dedicated to her in some way…and I believe she felt the same. I still believe that and I will choose to believe that till the day I die. For to believe otherwise would kill me. Crush what little hope I have left that people aren’t selfish, cruel, hurtful, mean, spiteful and just generally fucked up bastards. And much more devestating, I would have to believe that I was lied to in the most intimate way possible. That someone I loved so deep and profoundly, gave my entire heart too…was a woman who played me for a fool, bled me dry emotionally and ultimately didn’t want and was undeserving of my love. And that would kill me.

Lately I have started wearing a leather and bead bracelet she gave me for my birthday a couple of years ago, a replacement actually for the one she’d bought the year before which I had lost. I love the bracelet. It’s me. But I had stopped wearing it cuz the snap closure kept opening and I was afraid I would lose it again. Recently, I purchased some beads, wire and thin elastic string to play with some jewelry making ideas when it hit me that I could modify the bracelet to ensure if the snap did open, the bracelet wouldn’t fall off my wrist.

It became an obsession.

I had to fix it so that I could wear it. Permanently. The thought of losing it mortifies me. I’m sure I’d die of heartache all over again. So now, over all my expensive precious gemstone and crystal bracelets, this one has taken precedent. It cost her pennies to purchase but has become priceless to me. It holds all of her in it now. All of us. All that I have left. How fucking sad is that?

This is a rare post for me. Unfocused and unedited. A blurting of mixed metaphors, Freudian innuendo and mush.

I’m sitting here alone now in an apartment I am preparing to vacate. To move forward into a life supposedly full of promise and opportunity. To another city. Away from all that I know and love. Away from all those that I know and love. Away from her.

Not running away.
Not running too.
Not afraid.
Not happy.
Not sad.
Not anything really.
Because my heart is empty.
Like this apartment will soon be.


Except for the memory of her.

And I hate her for that too.



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Funny the things that come to mind when big changes are about to happen. Like moving from somewhere familiar to somewhere not so familar. Suddenly walking down the “same ol street” is filled with bittersweet memories of times shared in that space with someone long gone. The laughter still echoes around each corner, the tears barely dry from a hurt spoken on that very sidewalk, the kisses goodbye at that very bus stop…

I don’t often wish to go back in time. Not really. I may have a sentimental remembering… or be nostalgic for a time sweetened by the rapture of love… or want a do-over for the ‘one that got away’ – sigh – but I rarely ever truly want to go back. However, today is a rare day and I’m finding myself wanting so much to go back to just one year ago and rewrite the script that flipped my life.

I miss her in a deeply private place and I can not mourn her anywhere other then there…or here.

I live each day with as much enthusiasm, joy and laughter I can muster. It’s not always easy. I smile from a place filled with resignation. I make love steeped in silent wishes and then sleep with fleeting glimpses of hazel eyes and soft yielding lips…

My life is not bad, it’s actually quite good. I am no longer breaking to the point of broken. I don’t cry as much which means the heartache is lifting and I don’t drink now to cover the pain. I still miss what once was with every fibre of my being, but I am…coping.  Funny word “coping”. Filled with a multitude of interpretation; each personal and inexplicable. I learned to pick up my pieces and hastily glue them back together before the bell rings for round two a long, long time ago, but I have yet to teach my heart how to let go of desired love.

I still wake with her and walk with her in my dreams. I have no shame over this or guilt. I am who I am and I love how I do. It’s an honest love with no strings or expectations. It just is. And I can not change that about myself. Nor do I want to. My heart is who I am.

My love for her was the best thing for me. I wish it had been the best thing for her.

Feeling my wounds today.



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There is no question in my mind about being blocked right now.

I can’t write.

I can’t create.

I can’t commit.

I can’t eat well.

I can’t move.

I am stuck…

I’m not sure if it’s because I am concerned about how specific others will construe what I write…if I will offend, hurt or damage already fragile relationships. I sincerely do wish now that this blog had never been shared or discovered by those closest to my heart because now I can’t write with the voice that needs most to express itself. The fact that I am still wrapped up emotionally with one woman while trying desperately to make a new life with another is only the beginning of the reasons for my angst ridden state. There is so much more to me and my eccentricities then the neurotic, self-gratifying, impatient, seeking-perfection and oh-so-NOT-perfect, shouldn’t be throwing stones – women in my life. (Touch of bitter fuck you! perhaps…)

However…time to be proactive and give this mental constipation a much need laxative!

I’ve decided to take the Nanowrimo challenge in a more personal way then it is intended. For those of you unaware of what Nanowrimo is, it’s a national writing challenge. An incentive for delinquent writers like me to get off their asses and write that fucking novel! When is it you ask? Why November of course. 30 days of pounding out 6-7 pages of type every day for the entire month. Yup. Some genius out there decided November was NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth and writers across the planet are pissing themselves with anticipation, self doubt, excitement and belly-flops. God only knows how many stressors have been triggered, but hey, at least we writers get a month to vomit out our scribe-babies and maybe even accomplish what has thus far only been dreamed of – actually writing that fucking novel!

I, on the other-hand, don`t need anymore stressors in my life right now. I am full to the brim and my Depends can`t hold anymore piss. So, I have decided that next year I will join the frantic cue of neuroses waiting to be unleashed – perhaps. For now I am going to accept the challenge but write in the comfort of my own blog where I can write whatever I want without guidelines and perhaps not even an ending. And what will I write about you ask…

My story.

Yup. I`ve decided that I need to unleash the demons and discover the truth buried deep DEEP down inside of me. A truth some reveal in therapy and others reveal when tequila is abundant. Well, I can`t afford therapy and I will do my best to stay away from the tequila when I scribe out my baby…but as it happens, I have found some of my truth buried deep within that magical mystical intoxicated worm.

It`s been a complicated, beautiful-ugly life and one that I have considered ending one too many times but for the grace of…whoever is watching over me. I have decided that my life, as ugly and shameful and horrific and sparing and lively and wonderful and surreal as it has been is worth a write or two, and perhaps will even make a good read for anyone interested…And if I am really REALLY fortunate, it may help a like-experienced weary traveler on a self-destructive path to realize that they are not alone. That life has meaning even when it seems impossible to find.

So, over the next two weeks I am going to think, plot and probably redo the face of this blog cuz it needs a more personal touch. I might design a header if WordPress allows…or I might just make it all a moody black. Don`t know yet. Just letting whatever feels right happen to it and to me right now. I am giving up control. Having said that, I will caution any readers of this blog that my story may not be an easy one to read and I will not varnish anything to make it prettier or more palatable. Life is messy. Life is cruel. Life is not fair. But life does teach us some valuable lessons if we an open our hearts and minds to the teachings.

I am just one humble human of billions.

With a story.

But this one will be mine.

For me.

Finding Fucking Zen!


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Seriously having a hard time holding onto and keeping my Zen. Little tastes of serenity are not conducive to peace of mind. I’m learning to follow my spiritual path – exploring how to heal myself and walk tirelessly with my heart of compassion – listening closer to the voice within to guide my decision making process… but how the FUCK do I do that when the challenges keep surpassing the teachings! Enough with the tests pleeeeease! I’m really trying here, ya know. Do you HEAR me? I’m done!!!


To Come…


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The past two days have been spent fixing my broken technology…grrr. The kid has moved in with me and had my computer locked into a music streaming website. Can you say virusssss? So after two formats, several reinstalls and a massive headache which no amount of Advil relieved, I am happy to announce my tek-muse is functioning again. I need my desktop for grounding when I write. This little message is coming from my Samsung phone but the whole process


flimsy and weak and completely uninspiring so this just won’t do. Of course, a true writer could perform on any medium I suppose… Hmmm. But we all have preferences and I choose my desktop dammit!

Soooo…I’m off to spend some time away from my own company – a much needed break from this mind and it’s never ending chatter which can illuminate and bog down at the same time – and hopefully I come back refreshed and ready to write. I’ve been doing some research on character attributes of the Gemini human being and my synapses are in overload as the dots connect and the “ah ha!” moments collide. Man oh man! All I will say for the moment is I think I finally see how and why I tick as I do.



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