Favorite food? Hot sauce

Let's rewind.

I'm one traumatized bytch. One overly protective jealous psycho at times board-line crazy Girl.
Is it wrong? absolutely NO. I love who I am and have no shame in being who I am.
But that's the thing. That's not who- I honestly am. Thats who I've become. Who I been molded to be because of Ass 1,2,3.  Before the BS I was probably the chillest, funniest, artistic chica.
So, how many of us, are ourselves ? Is the first guy who we truly love, the only one's that known us?
Is everyone else after cheated? Crazy how the efforts in us trying to stay intact actually are the reason we are falling apart. We are living our lives making sure to never be soo--dam naive. But in it we cheat ourselves into thinking being guarded is the only way to live? Of course, life isn't about dicks. but lets face it.. It's a good portion of it. and we can stunt that there is more to it..but we all want to go home to our person. We all want security. But for traumatized freaks like me..We make sure we don't get it. So we build walls and make everyone our friend. Can't trust anyone and get labeled..Crazy.
When you play the game. and been played.. you learn anyone can do anything. Anyone can take your soul and wear it as a shoe lace. So, is being crazy protective ruining my chance in moving forward. Hell f-ing Yes.

Hoboken

Three gorgeous women sipping on Margaritas. Mature, educated, morals, protective and above all real. Real enough to recognize a game, play it and walk out with pockets full. So, how is it that us 3 remain to have such bad luck in the cards we pick. Of course, we don't lose because we remain to keep our poker face.
Dropping  bets here and there. And when we invest enough to win it over.
We get up and leave.
Days, later we find that leaving was the best thing because they were cheating the whole time.

 We try to keep it positive but smart enough to keep numbers on the side. Addicted to defending our hearts. Addicted to always thinking the worst. So, when the worst comes. It was never that serious. We expected that. And yes we will miss you, maybe a tear will fall. But at the end of the day we expected this. We left with feelings invested enough, to leave with some profit. Instead of being played by the dealer.
Call us moody, indecisive, I call it counting cards. With no distractions we end up winning, when counting right.

Top Self

I'm tired of playing teacher to my past Cons-Alcoholics-and Starving artist. I'm finally whole. I find it cute and amusing that I maintain to have the same image after having Emma. My image is still clean. Shining, Sparking Clean. Do they not see how much damage my hourglass has been chipped away. I put myself on display  just to be looked at -"Admired" and only the few with class try me enough until I go back on the shelf. I'm never confuse for "well"- Always handle has "Top". And because of that leads me in the arms of a guy who knows his liquor. Doesn't hesitate but to ask for me, rather then some generic brand. So, how can I find someone who is willing to handle me on regular basis. To always want Top -When Banker's Club is cheaper, about the same, and most people will never know the difference.
 Guess, I'm just destined to be in the arms of a man to pick and choose. Rather, then to take me off the shelf permanently - When the cheap vodka that is easily reached by any common bartender is severed to any innocent man that wouldn't know the difference. When the slick over powering drunks always want to have in possession what's too high to reach. But the only one's that ever try...

Heart Beat

Black swan
Fair in skin
You use to write poems
Now you linger before you swim.
Open your nest,
Watch her feet kick.
Your hoping for freedom
But you linger before you swim.
You watched the puddles,
But didn't mind the fall.
Black swan I don't recognize you at all.
I blame him for taking you.
Out to the sea.
Now you can't make a Wiggle
Or push with your feet.
Stuck by the rocks,
When before you use to swim..
Your feathers turned white and your beak grew thin.
You can't make a beat
So why pretend.
That little black swan died along with him.

Oh what big arms you have!

Wifey. Yes, I'm going there. The title has stuck to my veins the minute I let a boy three years older then me snatch me up and make me his dinner. What a stupid bitch. I've only had three relationships-three very long relationships. Two that made me cry dry, and One that left  a bitter taste and stretch marks to my hips. All three I adore in different ways, all three I was faithful, loving, and protective.An idiot.

So, why is it that the one's we admire are the one's that we clearly wasn't wifey with..We let our imperfections out and didn't give a fuck if they love us, hurt us.. But in some odd way they manage to have a hold on us. They figured us out better then the guy we shared a bed with. Nothing but laughs,games,a bond. How does that happen? How does someone who we went into knowing nothing can ever happen.Teach us, ooh so much more- then the guys we spent years with. Be able to tell us the dimples they've missed, or the habits we do in minutes. Rather then years. We leave the guys we pored our hearts to with anger but the one's who never tried forever in bliss. How does wifey become meaningless when title-less holds so much more worth in our heart.