http://princesspurly.blogspot.com/

For the love of my life

You saturate my universe-
with the smell of your skin
and on mine your lips
the taste of the promises and hopes and lies you utter into my hair,
laughter and passions we used to share -
the way you hold me and then tell me you don't believe in love.
You saturate my universe -
with the everything you are that i crave,
.and no longer crave,
with a constant unrequited craving for reconciliation, waiting.
with misunderstandings, dismissals, verbal abuse,
with disappointment.

I hate you, you motherfucken bastard.

love is completely useless. romantics use its temporary insanity and blindness to shield themselves from a realistic world. the real world is filled with hate and contempt. Pain, anger, loathing, grit in your teeth, the heat from the scratches you drag across your burning skin. It wakes you up from your embarrassing slumber, it threatens to crush your insides. the real world is filled with insensitive pricks who cannot and will not see pass their own atrocities and be convinced that you are a person with feelings and with your own individualistic limitations and ideas. but once you fall in love, your capacity to forgive expands. your world widens and flattens in a blurry two-dimensional manner. you let him treat you like shit for years, and allow his apologies and negligence become a norm, a fact that you just HAVE to live with. love makes you rely on someone who is never going to be there, someone who postpones your life to make room for his, who compromises your feelings and closure and comprehension of ridiculous situations that wouldn't even have come up if you hadn't let yourself become vulnerable.
love ends up hurting you even more. makes you bitter about anything else out there in the world. it fucks up your hopes and beliefs, your dreams and an imagined future smashed to bits over and over again- but love will let you repair it with two hours of stolen bliss. it doesn't occur to you that your bliss has always been stolen, begged for, achieved - never given to you, never ever for you to take for granted - it has never been yours. stolen because you have always been a taboo, u were never allowed to be in his life the way you long to be. and even when you thought u had worked your way inside, you just realize there are some things that he doesn't make worth fighting for anymore.
im so fucking sick and tired of your dismissals, your insensitive accusations, your lack of acknowledgment of what EXACTLY i need from you.
but i doubt you give a shit. you just need to sleep, you need to distance yourself from me, you need to move away, you need to do everything on your own terms, you need to not factor me in your life in any real way - you keep me on the outskirts, telling me of false possibilities, promises that you would treat me differently, better.
its been years.
i wish i had never given you the power to persistently break my heart and mend it again to walk over all over it the next day.
and you have no clue about what the pain does to me. it shrinks my version and mind, it dims the world, i completely lose my sense of self.
what am i going to do for the next 5 years? how can you have barged into my life 4 years ago repeatedly telling me you want to spend the rest of your life with me and still dangle me at such a distance.
i wish i never met you.

sometimes i wish you didnt exist.
at least someone would want to help me get over this inexplicable craziness.

"She's nervous about seeing Blue. She keeps holding on to some earlier memory of him in the belief that his essence remains. She had thought he simply needed the right loving hands to peel away the ugly veils and reveal his spirit, but she's no longer sure if she believes in the idea of some essential core, some aspect of self which remains relatively stable and true. If enough worms eat their way through an apple, they will get to its core: they will gnaw away its pithy centre and the whole structure will ultimately collapse, decompose, and become dirt. He might look the same, but then again, you can bite into an apple and find it full of maggots. You can kiss a princess and she turns into a frog. You can fall in love with an illusion that crumbles before you in some unexpected moment - through a simple gesture, a smell, or a misplaced word. You learn that earth is actually heaven, which means that your only options after death are purgatory or hell. A sweeping tour of all the major religions leave you disillusioned, and suddenly you cease to be a believer in anything at all" - Camilla Gibb, 2002.

yet sometimes i find that cynicism and pessimism are merely shields for sore, bruised spots. masks that camouflage the fears that threaten to destroy and desecrate one's passionate beliefs and hopes.
on the other hand, sometimes believing just gets too hard.
god lets you down. people let you down, they change, or refuse to. Or maybe you were just too blind and disillusioned to see that they were never who you thought they were. identities shift, as does dreams, hopes, understandings of the world, like liquid, filling up the molds you surround yourself with. sometimes it gets so confusing.
then shit just happens. or something unexpectedly pleasant comes along.
both of which calls for some sort of coping mechanism.
who is god anyway?
or the persons you are and love?

embrace sappiness:)

"love must surely reside in the gap between desire and fulfillment, in the lack, not the contentment. Love was the ache, the anticipation, the retreat, everything around it but the emotion itself" - Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

how many times is this going to happen again?
you wake me up, tell me to get out of bed to call you just to make sure i can hear your stories of the lack of time and weariness clearly, and then impatiently insist you have to go within the range of 2-15 minutes.

how many times is this going to happen again?
i rely on your useless, random msges, phone calls that come once or twice a day or less. or a mere response. don't make promises you cant keep. and you get angry that we talk but i dont tell you everything. fuck you. what do you think i am?

how many times is this going to happen again?
for your sake and complaints we urge you to take it easy and you say yes you will work on it. and then the next day i get screamed at for not understanding you needed the money.

how many times is this going to happen again?
i am just sick and tired of caring. i will never ever understand how you handle things when i just see so many other options. logical ones. not your offensive and dismissive comments about me being "too emotional". maybe i should get going.

you dont have to be intentionally mean to be an asshole/jerk. you just have to not care enough. but then again. who can blame you for not caring enough right?

it's just bloody old me.

maybe i need pain.
maybe because pain is the one thing that reminds me that i am still alive.

i dont know why i want this love that isnt meant to be mine. ive never been one to resist the flow of things, but not having what i want drives me crazy. i want to peel my skin off my bones, lick them clean and show you, im alive.. because of the pain you give to me.

but i dont feel like i have lost my head. in fact, it is the very rationality that makes this pain an itch i cannot scratch, an growing tumor inside of me no radioactive process can remove.

maybe i am a masochist. i beg for you to hurt me.
every second i grow more aware of how much i hate myself for doing everything i do, the more i need you to hold me. but loathing does nothing with you. you turn your head, and walk away from the glare of my anger, oblivious to the fact that it is the very thing that stokes it, makes the flames rise to my eyes as a mess of disappointments and failures.

just like you want me to be something i am not,
you are not willing to be what i wish you could be.
i am in love with the potentiality of you.
and you are in love with the memory of me and not what i want to become in your eyes.

i question my dispoablitity in your life.
its strange how its not longer about assurance.. or self esteem. or men.
i just want you to be mine. and ironically it is its impossibility that spurs my insistence.
perhaps because i believe you are the love of my life?
or maybe i just dont beleive in love anymore.
i just hate being abandoned... by you.

and it is this pain that remains.
if only i can hire my own assasin.

"love ain't supposed to feel this way
.
.
I don't know why i spend so much time,
On a love that isn't mine." - Trey Songz

Why Can't I?"

Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you
Why can't I speak whenever I talk about you
It's inevitable, it's a fact that we're gonna get down to it
So tell me
Why can't I breathe whenever I think about you

cool picture


lol


so sweet..


i could hardly blame cupid for doing so

i was on facebook.com again.. yesyes.. i know how unconstructive and useless it is.. but then i stumbled across a discussion board with the title "Penises are Gross" when i joined the group "no abstinance, just sex education"... and in the disucssion.. you would asume that it would be amusing and the people would be comparing the different genitalia of human beings. but this was not so. instead, you have women talking about how (heterosexual) sex is still important and they are just sitting on their asses waiting for the right penis to pop up and prove them wrong. this pisses me off!!

why?

because if you want to join a group called "penises are gross".. say it with conviction! and mean it. dont just sit around discussing the false notion of the heterosexual soul mate who is also good in bed. thats close to being impossible. its usually either or. physcologicaly satisfaction.. or physical gratification. whoever is experience both simultaneously oconsistently.. u have my utmost respect and envy.

wait. i have nothing against penises at all. quite the contrary actually. i just hate how women are constantly dreaming about the perfect guy, thier prince in shinning armour to come save them from thier misery. while (most) men would never complain about how vaginas are gross.. actually any one is good! and anything else that makes the women merely increases the value of that sepcific vagaina. and everywhere i go i hear about women moaning and groaning about the lack of intimacy and love. FUCK THAT.

and then another part of the discussion was about how most women have been brought up to feel that they have inherently filthy bodies. there are always things about themselves to keep disclosed and hidden, because it is only inappropriate and unpleasant. tell me about it. i still see it at home, i hear it, i feel it.. and it pisses me off! how is it that boys are allowed to have farting, burping contests, long discussions about taking a dump, openly scratch their balls with filthy nails, and walk around with a face full of acne without shame. and on the other hand, women walk around... AT LEAST 25% of thier lives defined by the concept of shame. how unfair.

thank god for the growing population of "metrosexuals".

anyways gotta run. :)

today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
(even though it feels more like the chest, diapraghm, the stomach - it seems to have become the phantom space the heart has been assigned to dominate)

i miss you.
(i know i should not, i hear your voice on the line every morning, i still hold your hands sometimes and you tell me you love me)

but i remember the taste of your skin, the faint coloured dust i carefully shaded onto your wall.
it seems, these days, pointless for any form of romanticization, for beauty to be softened, lovingly moudled and melted into into strawberry flavoured plams.
sticky sweetness, caught in your hair, your eyelashes.

it becomes a burden, theories of love, theories of broken normalcy, telling you that you are wrong. you
are
wrong. everything you know is
wrong.

right when you thought you had it all figured out. you inhale books written on pyschology, sociology, the science of politics, the science of your spleen, the ugliness of your spirit, your obnoxious ego, the contradictions of your mirrored self, the politics in the very language, the medium of your thoughts. everything you know is really not
what it seems.

anger arises, where the heart is. it feels cheated, lied to, disappointed in your very own gullibility, your vision framed by the black arms of prada. how could i have believed it was all true?

love is wrong. love you believe in is wrong.

so you close the door on yourself.
stop.

(just)
stop.

today i woke up to a heaviness in the heart.
i miss you
i miss the conviction i had in dreams of our entanglement, your cinamon finger tips and what i thought we could have been.
(but of course, it had been
silly
of me).