Chronicles of Jiselle

I could get sex anywhere. And honestly…. I’ve had enough of it. It’s not everything. It feels great and I truly enjoy it but geez. 

If I had a relationship proposal every time someone tried to fuck me I’d have been divorced and remarried a million times over by now. 

I’m just over the cutesy bullshit. I’m over trying to put a silver sheen over everything that I am. 

Take me motherfuckers. 

Take me as I fucking am. You don’t like me even when I’m giving you the sugar-coated version of me so might as well show you every scar, pimple, dirty piece of laundry in my basket. 

Might as well tell you… 

I like smoking weed more than I do drinking.  I am sex positive and enjoy masturbating.  I think the American Government owes the black community reparations.  I think everyone should have a safe place to spend their nights and a warm meal living in their bellies. I’m reckless with my own money and impulsive and ask for forgiveness instead of permission. I’m selfish sometimes but selfless most times. I would kill for my friends, my family, my cat. I cry a lot and am mean to myself. I hate to walk but I’ll do it if I’m drunk.

  I’ll rewatch the same shows over and over again because I’m anxious and will get attached to you right away if I’ve decided you’re a good person. 

I’m telling myself I’m allowed to get to the end of a road and want to turn around. Because I’m sure it’s okay to do so. There are portions of this life that I would love to be shared.... but as soon as someone starts to feel concrete, they slip through the spaces of my hands. 

I don’t know how to not lean in. Not.... envelop the experience and ask for second servings. 

I’ve historically been shamed for my insistence on loving others. I am just here to take you as you are. 

I wish I could be calm and collected but I know when I want someone. I am always so afraid of being abandoned after feelings have developed. I don’t want to be the person clinging to every small gesture you make. But I still am.

I look at you and see nothing wrong. 

But there’s still so much I don’t know. All I keep thinking is how will I know if you want me as much as I want you. And why does it matter so much to me that you do? 

I know that the way you protected me and were going to open the door for me is exactly everything my father would want for me. but this has nothing to do with politeness. you were just one half of a whole I’m still searching for. 

When all that was important to me was being liked, I used to self-victimize whenever I fell out of the hot girl category. I always wanted to be wanted. Just like many of us when we’re young, want to be invited to things despite our potential distaste for the festivities themselves. 

It’s always the idea of the thing that matters more. 

I don’t know how to not.... give my all to you, tell you everything that’s on my mind, set my sights on you, and only you 

I often forget that..... it’s not all up to me whether something lives or dies, and that anything worth living should be shared 

I remember you telling me we could still hook up so long as you’re still in town.... then I remember how many boxes I left unchecked in your mind.... 

why don’t I have checkboxes? Or did I and you just.... met them? Did I bend them like jello’d walls just so you could fit within my arms? There were things about you that I didn’t like, sure.... 

Like the way you expressed your opinion, as if no other opinions existed. As if, yours wasn’t a collection of thoughts, but carefully researched facts. 

You didn’t use your tongue when you kissed me. It made me feel like there were parts of you I wasn’t meant to feel. 

You did all the work in bed. You talked about how important it was to please a woman first.... I had to beg you to let me please you..... you never offered. 

it should not be foolish of me to wish to see others’ eyes sparkle with the same pride that resounds in every heartbeat following my academic accomplishments; and yet....

another’s happiness has always held more weight in my chest than it should. I’m learning to undo this. It’s like I’m an artist who has only known how to finger-paint with the hands of others. Can I still claim the end result as my masterpiece (alone)? 

This whole time whenever I met a narcissist I thought they were better than me. I fell into the soup. 

They would feed me lie after lie after lie to protrude a false confidence that was so convincing... even as their skin peeled in front of me I could still be convinced their outer layer was their true self. 

It took me some time to become a trained private “I” in the discovering of YOU.

You always find me, you disloyal shape-shifters. All you ever wanted was praise. And it’s because you feel unloved and insecure. This post may sound angry. Maybe a small part of me is. But really, I’m surprised how much your selfishness and shallow heart shock me. Even today.

how high I've flown, without you to weigh me down.

how bright I've shone, without you to caste all this doubt.

serotonin sparkling bright in my eyes, circling the ideals of who I could be.

I used to doubt myself because you brought me such an abundance of sureness. Carried it as if it was weightless in your hands, placing the heaviest weights I've carried in my arms.

I always wondered how the descriptions you fed me.... never matched the tastes on my tongue.

You were a ubiquitous presence I could never unsee.

Processing. Serving. Singing.

Real life angel, you’ve been with me since before I can remember. Your gentle touch has always been wrinkled from time, but also from love.

Your eyes tell me everything you’re wanting me not to know. You're my translator of the stars.

Real life angel, I will love you for so long as you live in my mind. Forever on the brink of the edge, ready to push me back to sturdy land.

You played with me when I needed a partner to make believe with. You prayed for me when I needed reminding that I’m worth praying for. You listened to me when I yelled, cried, sang.

There’s never been a corner that’s mine that you weren’t in. There’s never been a time when your prayers excluded me.

You knew me before I did. My sweet, sweet angel. Take your soft, shaking hands in mine and we can tackle anything placed in front of us.

I’m sorry....

to the girl with unrelenting mental punishments,  to the one who felt the cool coax of a man’s disappearing act, 

to the father I never blame. 

I apologize to that girl….

for treating you with anything but care for,  holding you accountable for every evil man’s stare and.... how you come alive under his eyes. 

I pardon you from past mistakes, for loving people who never deserved to be liked by you, for always holding out your hand before every callous has fully healed, for letting you believe you were anything but the special starry diamond that you are. 

Games excite you.  Reactions invigorate you.  Particles of exchanged wits between you and your zeroed in target. 

Somehow your kind always finds me.  Toxic disasters.  Swirling on the surface of my tongue, you often change your flavor. 

Your loyalty is always to your own ego. The humanity inside you ebbing and flowing, but always deeper than the mind’s surface. 

You have obstructed views of the world because your need for attention shames those around you.  You choose to hover over only those willing to live in your shadow.

I’ve already lived in the cold.  But I only grow under the sun. 

I’m done trying to learn to breathe underneath a narcissists chokehold. You’re a slingshot and I’m a bandaid. A picked scab that won’t stop bleeding. 

she’s a fearless model of carefree cynicism. Devoid of all hidden flames. 

I’ve brushed up with you, against all that you think you knew. Breast plates against stomach rolls, you fought back your fire. 

I am not the kind of woman you dance around a twin flame to. There is no hidden harmony beneath my sincerely played melody. I know that you are just the current iteration of the ghost of haunted love that keeps on following me. 

Each time you appear to me differently. Yet the feelings are all the same. Inadequacy, fear, wanting, lusting. None of it is real. It’s all a shadow of words and limbs and whispers that we can never take back. 

My friends know I’m distracted. They think it’s because of something else. But it’s you. 

They tell me to focus, not to let her take over my mind. Little do they know, you’ve already entered, you’ve already primed. 

Your stained shade covers my neurotransmitters. 

Your triceratops eyes roam my earth. 

You took a spindle to penetrate the deepest of kindling’s inside of me. 

I wish I could burn for you. 

I wish you knew how badly I want you too.