Warning Boys: Gotcha! (I am Lady, hear me roar);

Everything you think a woman doesn’t know?  Oh, she knows it.

Whether or not we let you in on that little fact, be aware that everything you think you can hide from your Lady you absolutely cannot.  We are observers.  We are analyzers.  We are empaths.  We are perceptive and detail-oriented.  And the suspicion of our male counterparts is innate – we are born protective (think “mother lioness”) and, I would say, just as territorial as our lesser-halves (ha.).

Look, if we’ve decided to be with you it’s because we think you’re the best.  In whatever way is most important to each individual woman (romance, stability, wealth, practicality, attraction), you beat out all your competitors.  You had the flashiest feathers, the sweetest song, the most prevalent battle scars.

Congratulations: you won!  But don’t flatter yourself, it’s just nature.  In the same way that female animals judge the available gene-pool, thus do we.  Though for us it becomes a bit more complex than these physical factors, we too are animals and will protect our property accordingly.

Don’t balk at the word.  It’s how you think of us, isn’t it?

Much of what men try and hide from their women is harmless.  Of course there are more grave situations and hurtful offenses, but what I find my husband most tries to hide from me is something silly, say, eating an unhealthy snack.  What’s even more ridiculous than the fact that he tries to hide it is the fact that he thinks I give a d@mn.  If I, then, point out that he’s got a bit of chocolate icing on his cheek (undoubtedly from devouring the sweet rapidly to avoid detection), he accuses me of “controlling” him.

Really?  Fine.  

Next time I’ll just let you walk around with sh*t on your face.

 

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This is something that I have wanted to discuss for quite some time but have not felt comfortable approaching the subject.  With a little Chopin and the resolve to change my life, I feel like it is something I now would like to talk about.

*Triggering

Girl Sings the Blues (because she’s meant to);

Perhaps I have spoken about this topic before I can’t recall – but I will again.  And you can’t stop me.  I mean, I suppose you could just click past my post, but then that wouldn’t be very nice now would it, hm?

When I was a child, I always thought I was most beautiful when I cried.  I mean, yes, there is nothing like a child’s smile (I can see that now), but there is also something so beautifully compelling about a melancholic femme who so obviously bares the weight of many sorrows.  At least to me, that is the sort of person whom I would like to get to know more about, to understand, and to analyze.

There’s nothing intriguing

about a cheerleader;

Now, I’m not insinuating that I had a bad childhood – actually, quite the contrary.  The life that I was privy to was marvelous – don’t get me wrong.  But inside of me there was always something wrong.  I was always different.  At a much younger age than my peers I thought about love, about mysterious adventure, about many things that a youngster should not comprehend.

I cannot recall

ever being innocent;

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Glorious Imperfection: and he flows through me —

***Warning: 

Adult Innuendo

His breath, like a whisper in my ear, speaks multitudes.  His story spills as from a fresh wound and puddles on the floor before us.  I dip my toes in to test the waters.  A beautifully uncomfortable sensation overtakes me, and, for a moment, my breath catches in my throat. ..