real-actual-bees

[real-actual-bees]

You kiss me like you want to consume me. I kiss you like I’m not afraid. You held my hand, you sang to me, driving in your car, hitting 100 on the back roads by your house. I could spend an endless summer with you, lying next to you by the water, dancing in your kitchen, drinking wine on your back porch. We could pretend to be in love. At least maybe until August ends. If I don’t think of him. If I don’t think of her. You and I are nothing, no one, but you could have me. For a night. For the summer. For as long as you like. If you ask.

[real-actual-bees]

I keep saying it’s fine. I’m fine. But I’m not. And the ugly, grunting sounds you made that night creep into my ear at night, when I’m not thinking about anything else. And I cannot believe you’re making me work through this aftermath again, for what seems like the millionth time in my life.

I keep making excuses for you, maybe to make myself feel better. I keep saying that you probably didn’t know any better, that you didn’t even know you were hurting me. But I cried. I was quiet, but I cried. Didn’t you see? You had to. You didn’t want to see. You looked at me and told me my eyes were pretty but you didn’t pay any attention to the fear there, to the disassociation.

Your eyes are so, so blue. When you look at it right, there are flower patterns in your popcorn ceiling. You have freckles on your shoulders, just like me. You tasted like beer. The walls in your bedroom were hospital white, and so were your sheets. You made me bleed on them. I hope you never get the fucking stain out.

[real-actual-bees]

You burned down your home

And you can’t help but look

At the smoke in the rear view mirror

When you flee the scene

And when the flames die

You will come to learn

That your mouth will always taste of ashes

That there will never be a day

That I don’t haunt you

Memories lurking in the dying embers of the life we built

Because darling, you were born an arsonist

But no one else on earth

Could ever make you burn the way I did

[real-actual-bees]

Stupid, pretty boy

Crawling into my bed

Don’t you know it’s haunted here?

But with your hand on my throat

And your laughter in my ear

I can almost forget

The hole in my chest

Don’t kiss me too deeply, please

I can’t afford to feel like this again

Because I’ve got a hundred secrets

Hidden in my throat

But maybe, just maybe

You could bury yours there too

[real-actual-bees]

Yknow, I spent so long thinking I was frigid but I’m really not. I was just tired of playing second fiddle to addiction, to other people, to whatever lifestyle he felt he needed to live. To be loved less than the thing killing him… That ate me. And so I didn’t want to be touched.

But I’ve spent the past couple weeks actually desiring touch, waiting in ancitipation for the next time I see someone.

Because I’ve been seeing people. I got lost in the woods with someone. I sang in a car with someone. I kissed someone in a movie theater. I went dancing with someone.

And I had him over. And I took him to my room and I made him sigh and my hands shook and I told him I wanted him inside me and that he felt good and I meant all of it. Even though I thought I’d never mean it with anyone but him, I meant it with someone else too.

And maybe none of this goes anywhere. And maybe that’s okay. Because maybe I’m just having fun. But I’d almost forgotten that I’m fun.

[real-actual-bees]

I wish more men knew about the unspoken trauma that so many women have about sex, and I mean sex even when it’s consensual and in relationships. For so many women, it’s like sexuality just gets beaten out of us because we’re not socialized to ever really consider ourselves during sex.

The prelelance of faked orgasms points to this. Sex is about performance, we learn, and you perform pleasure and enjoyment, because ultimately your orgasm is about their ego.

“Well just tell him what you like. God, women are so ridiculous.”

But we are so often punished for asking for genuine pleasure, often by the men who supposedly want to please us so badly. The cold shoulder, the pouting, the “but my ex liked it this way.” And then they are shocked and frustrated when you stop initiating sex, when you go quiet, when you seem “off” even though it’s all their own fault because they’ve quietly taught you that sex is to be endured, not enjoyed. Sex is for him, not for you.

“Well why did you stay? Pick better men. Don’t have sex with those men (translation: fuck me instead).”

But no one ever taught us any different. You aren’t taught that you deserve more. In fact, you’re taught the opposite.

You’re socialized culturally to seek out “good men” and that good sex is secondary. You’re socialized to seek stability, safety, practicality, maybe kindness if you’re lucky. Because “women are emotional creatures when it comes to sex” and if you love a man enough the sex will automatically be good, and if it’s not good enough for you, well you’re just selfish. You’re browbeaten by society (and often individual men themselves) into sleeping with men and being in relationships with men you’re not attracted to or don’t enjoy having sex with because society brainwashes you into thinking that liking someone’s personality is an adequate substitution for actual attraction and chemistry. After all, rejecting or breaking up with an otherwise “great guy” because the sex is bad is practically a fucking cardinal sin.

And men wonder why so many women have such a fucked up relationship with their sexuality. All of this, combined with the prevelance of sexual assault, just teaches us that our sexuality is not our own. Our bodies are not our own. And thus we become alienated from what should be one of the best parts of ourselves and our lives. It’s just so fucked up out there.

[real-actual-bees]

You came into my life unannounced

Smelling like beer and cigarettes

Some thunderstorm with shaking hands

You kiss me like I hang the stars

You kiss me like revolution

And I hold you

And I finally understand what forever means

[real-actual-bees]

As much as I want to support ethical farming practices I will be buying the cheapest bag of frozen chicken thighs as much as the next frugal/poor person which is why animal welfare needs to be legislated, not left up to the invisible hand of the free market or some bullshit. Invisible hand of the free market finds itself around a lot of throats.

[real-actual-bees]

I never watched Game of Thrones but i was on tumblr witnessing the decline and fallout from the final season, and watching everyone get hyped about House of the Dragon makes me feel like i did when my middle school bestie took her shitty boyfriend back

[real-actual-bees]

simone rocha spring 2023 rtw

[real-actual-bees]

Chris Marker, Letter from Siberia, 1957

[real-actual-bees]

Steven Marshall

[real-actual-bees]

Hideaway ♡

[real-actual-bees]

Fairy dust

[real-actual-bees]

In exactly two months I’m going to be married to the love of my life. A few years ago I would not have seen myself in this place. I’ve never been happy like this with anyone else before. People tell you things just work out, and I guess they really do.

[real-actual-bees]

good morning world! stomachache and anxiety means im awake! (:

[real-actual-bees]

Sometimes I wonder when I will get to stop getting over shit and start actually just living my life.

When does my past stop ripping me open like an infected scab? When do I get to stop feeling this constant gnawing anxiety, the fear of abandonment, the sense of inadequacy, the chronic sense of being misunderstood?

I am the happiest I’ve been in a long time, and I’m still drowning. These feelings just leak into my life, unwanted, insidious, and oppressive.

I cannot hold all of myself in this body. One day the strings holding me together will unfold, and I’ll leak out of myself, draining into the floorboards like spilled wine.