I was going to start writing but then I realized that I will first need a disclaimer. There’s a woman viewing my blog right now clutching her pearls. Let me explain something to you, if you are disgusted by your arousal, you may politely dismiss yourself but what you will not do is damper my creativity.
Go to hell in a hand basket you sad and prude little woman.
I could never understand why people expose themselves to things they do not enjoy; to things they most certainly find disgusting. This is due to either of the following two things: one, you enjoy it but don’t understand why. it’s because you’re a closet freak. or two, because you are a negative human being and you enjoy making yourself miserable.
which one are you? whichever you are, stay the hell off of my blog if you are so fucking disturbed.
Kindest and Warmest and Nastiest Slutty Regards,
To my lovely and beautiful children, this is what I have to leave you – my words. I leave these with you with the hopes that by the time you are older, I have something more to give. It saddens me, the world we live in. I can be taken from you at any moment, and you from me. The worse part of this fact is that should I go before you have the opportunity to truly know me, you will never know me at all. Your knowledge of me will be based on what others know of me and no one knows me anymore. In fact, I’m still learning me. I have been mulling this over for a few weeks now, maybe longer. Sometimes I wonder if other parents consider this or if I am being a bit morbid. Am I? Is it morbid to consider the words of others in the event of my untimely demise?
I analyze the behaviors of my past and the arguments as well as the losses. Promiscuous. Selfish. Mean. Rowdy. Obnoxious. Unambitious. Lax. Indifferent. Weird. Crazy. Quick Tempered. Hot and Cold. These would be the words of people who knew me growing up. People that are unwilling to know me now and I can’t fault them for that. These are words that I can agree with. These are adjectives that I am willing to admit that I once displayed and probably still do from time to time. Unfortunately, I have not met many people since I’ve had you. Introvert. Tactless. Amusing. Indifferent. Kind. Confused. Ambitious. Talented. Lost. Sad. Selfless. Considerate. These are words that I have been able to pinpoint for myself. We are all human, that is for certain and we are ever changing and developing. But at what point do we, as people, acknowledge the changes that other make? Or when do we acknowledge that changes that we see in ourselves?
I want for you to know me as I am in the present. I want you to know that I live and breathe for you. I want you to know that despite the views of others, I have made every attempt to better myself as a result of your presence in my life. I want you to believe in change and growth. I will show you the best way I can. I will show you strength and resilience. To be clear, I want you to be nothing like me. I want you to be better – to be great in your own right.
Hey you. I’ve got something to tell you and the best way that I could see to do it was by putting it down on paper. Don’t misunderstand what I am about to say, not every child raised like me will be just like me. After all, once I hit 23, I have to take the blame. We all won’t be single mothers with multiple fertilizers to our seeds. We all won’t seek fathers in lovers or settle for less than what we deserve because we don’t know our worth. We all can’t be what I have become because I have two and what will they become? What you have done to me! And what have you done for me?
The disdain between you & mother, mother & you was far greater than your love for me. My smile wasn’t bright enough, my laugh wasn’t sweet enough, and my hand wasn’t warm enough.
“Later, later, later. When she’s older, it will be better. I will tell her how much I love her and that it is her mother’s fault we couldn’t be together.”
“Later, later, later. One day I will be older and I will tell him about all that he’s missed. I will tell him how much I love him and one day, I will see how it is mommy’s fault.”
But later never comes, it just becomes later and while waiting for later, men twice my age told me what you never did. And then I told them everything I never told you in return. I laid in their laps and had my hair brushed, my blouse straightened, and my bedroom eyes were complimented. “They’re my daddy’s eyes;” and they were Daddy’s eyes indeed.
I did not know it then but I sought you out in bedroom after bedroom whilst I tumbled, skid, and fought thru dysfunctional relationship after relationship improving my craft. And here we are. I am writing you because after twenty-six short years of my unguided life, you have changed your mind. After twenty-six years of later, you have decided that you don’t want to be my father and all I can say is, “later.”