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Ramblings of an Old Young Lady

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On Emptiness and Fear

How I long for you

I swear on all that’s holly that sometimes I can almost feel your warmth around my tired body

How I long to rest my heavy head on your shoulder

You’re tall , taller than me My head fits perfectly on your shoulder

I lift my nose and smell the crook of your neck

Fuck, you smell like home to me

Sometimes when I walk down the street I swear I can smell your perfume

I keep looking for you in those crowds till day turns into night

I can never find you and all that I’m left with  is soar feet

When I am all alone in this empty house all I long for is the sound of your voice

“Bring me a beer”

I’d never thought that those are words I would ever want to hear but I’m willing to walk till my feet bleed just to bring you that beer

I’m so afraid of this empty house, so exhausted from this empty bed

Yesterday I broke the other chair, I hated looking at that empty chair each time I ate a meal

I eat in my bed these days , that dinning room feels like a haunted house

I keep hearing whispers of conversations that will never be

I’m so afraid of dying all alone in this monster of a bed that I can no longer fall asleep

I long for the way you’d touch my forehead, the bridge of my nose and my ears,memorizing each outline

I long for the way you’d play with my hair until I fall asleep

I want to fall asleep

Sleep used to be the only way to escape my fear

but my bed is too empty and my pillow is too cold

How I wish I can fall asleep

Maybe then you’d visit it me in my dreams and I can slip my leg between yours, hug you close and listen to your heart beat

How I long for eternal sleep.

On parents , and Pleading Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity

Do parents really believe the shit they sprout or are they just trying to convince you of it?Do they even hear what’s coming out of their mouths or they think I’m just fucking gullible?

Is it because I look like a kid? Or are they that ignorant about their kids and the life that teenagers lead these days? Have they not ever heard of MTV? Sixteen and pregnant, hillbillies gone wild and all that crap or does each parent believe that their kid is the exception?

Ugg how I wish I knew these answers! When the father of a 17-year-old teenager tells his teacher that his kid doesn’t even know swear words, let alone use them , can I strangle the fucker and get away with it?

What? Does your kid live in another planet or something? He never watched TV?, does you car not have a radio in it ?

Do you kind sir, live in this current era ? you want me to believe that you son never listened to a Rap ,or Pop song ? Even country music have swear words in them these days!

Tell me,does your son only read censured Victorian literature and listen to classical music?

I know that some families are quite conservative or religious (like 0.00009%) and don’t use crude language around the house , however most students spend 6-to-8 hours on average around dinners,parks, parking lots, hallways and other students (I won’t say clubs, house parties and underground events) do you really believe that they didn’t catch anything (I’m not talking STD’s here, but by the time they graduate high school, believe me they would’ve caught something of that variety too) ?

Even Martha Freaking Stewart drops the F-Bomb occasionally.

These kind of parents will be the death of me.If you want me to revoke a punishment, don’t take me for a fool because that will only make me want to murder your ass,right there in the principle’s office, with witnesses all around, and yes, I will plead not guilty.

Saying your kid did wrong and that you’ll talk to him about it,is the easiest thing ever. Why the fuck do you have to make me go insane by insisting that your son is innocent and that I am the guilty party here. How can I have misunderstood or misheard “Fuck you, you whore”, huh ?? Tell me HOW THE FUCK do you misunderstand that ?

Next time a student tell me that his pet rabbit needed some toilet paper for his kit and that’s why he stole his homework, I’ll believe him too. If his father is that shitty of a liar, I’ll give the kid credit for his imagination at least.

On Cute Boys with Secretive Smirks: A short poem

The poem goes something like this:

fuck you

fuck YOU

FUCK YOU!

and that’s it!Believe me I tried to come up with rhyming verses and flowery allegories but my inspiration seems to be stuck somewhere between your molar and that sharp canine, you engulfed it with.

I wanna know who told you to smile, who taught you that smile? what ace have you stolen and hidden under your sleeve,I’m pretty sure that you are a thief,

Nothing poetic, like you’ve stolen my heart, enough poems were already written about your smile, your robbing lips and your vampire like teeth.

That’s probably why your head is so full; no, you’re the worst kind of thieves,

the kind who steals little girls’ dreams, you steal their youth, the minute that you sink your teeth into their tender flesh you suck their years away.

How many you knew a kid and after a few minuets under your knowing lips they turned gray?

I heard love turns you crazy, love turns you blind,but to be honest love turns you decrepit, hoary, and senile.

A minute under your smoldering eyes and I forgot my name,your orphaned dimple made me forget where I came from , the first signs of old age, they said.

I admit I felt like a woman for the first time, my bosom grew bigger and my voice went thinner,you did what science said you would , I reached womanhood

When people said I was lucky you went away, I called them names and lamented their ignorance.

You were misunderstood, the poor souls didn’t know what it feels to grow years in mere seconds

I felt wiser, you helped me grow I said , you’re the best kind of partners , the giving kind

What a fool I was, you only know how to take, In the span of seconds you took my innocence away

The minute you turned your smile on your next victim you took my dreams with you

The giving kind indeed, you gave me scars that no medicine seemed to heal,and  wrinkles that no surgery seemed to fix.

When they touch my graying hair , I say that a witch did that ,I’ve met the real Dorian Gray,

They laugh at my woes, there is no pity in their eyes when they say ;

you fool ,old age will do that to you.

On Anger management and Loneliness

This blog is my diary, the name of it is pretty much self-explanatory, “Ramblings of an Old Young Lady” I’m an old soul, not as a kind wise soul ,nope, as in I already have arthritis and a bad back(maybe also a bad eye sight,but shuuush Glasses are trendy these days, yay me).

I, also tend to nag ,a lot,I was told plenty of times to stop complaining about shit and lamenting the good old days by people in their seventies.I don’t know what most people will consider young but who cares what people think I’ll always be 16 in my heart.

My mother will not agree and will say that I have the mental age of a 4-year-old and my doctor will say that I have the heart of a 65 years old chain smoker who’s only diet consisted of fried chicken; both are true in my case to be honest.

Why would I share any of this online you ask,well no one asked but just so you’ll know, I keep losing my diaries ans my files and my train of though (something that you’ll notice a lot, that’s why i love parenthesis, I can’t for the life of me organize my thoughts or my life, I’ll be talking about something and then hop forgotten the next second) mm so yeah where was I , I forget shit a lot ( It might be the start of Alzheimer’s , Old I tell you!)and one of the things I always forget is where I’ve put my diaries or under what super secretive name did I save those files( no one is interested in my ramblings, why I’m putting all that effort in hiding them like a 15 years old is beyond me too) (and no i’m not an ageist and I’m not shaming anyone I like people of all ages, I’ve a bit of every age in me)

Again where were we, yes, this blog, so I kinda need to write or at least talk about shit that happens in my daily life so I won’t go crazy, and since I moved away from the city where I lived my entire life ,a few months ago , I’m all alone with no one to complain about shit to, phone calls aren’t that cheap and who has the time for that anyway , not my friends and family of course .( but that’s a story for another time)

The other reason I need to put pen to paper or my fingers to this key board is my anger issues, If I don’t let go of the thoughts and issues that are eating at me I’ll lose sleep and be more grumpy than usual (and believe me, no one needs that, I’m a bitch at my happiest no one needs to see me at my worst).

Introductions are supposed to be short and sweet ,I didn’t get the memo apparently, but this will set the tone for this entire blog, sour ramblings , filled with me me me , the world sucks ,boo , but fuck you, this is cheaper than therapy , (that I will still go to, no need to panic) and creepy online stalkers are always better than no friends.

On that hopeful note, cheers everyone.

On making Voodoo dolls and avoiding murder

When you want to kill someone,or just smash their face into a wall or just break some of their limbs with a sledgehammer; mobster style, just remember that Tunisian prisons are not for everyone and that they have a strict no pets policy (even though some animals are locked inside, but you want to take your cat with you and they’re like, no thank you) well I digress, Tunisian prisons don’t have cheesecakes, cupcakes or even brownies on the menu, and the hygiene is shitty at best.

So before committing any of these acts, that I so long for,[please don’t tell that to anyone, my psychiatrist will get me committed and I’ll probably get fired too, and even though my work is almost always the reason for my murderous impulses(that i never indulge in ,I promise) I still enjoy doing it, “occasionally”not the murders ,my job!]

 I think very hard, is it worth it? Most times than not,the answer is always YES(notice the capital letters that’s me shouting it) but since I have a terrible sweet tooth( The reason why I am always broke and complaining about not being able to lose those few extras pounds). I found the perfect solution, making voodoo dolls and casting my curses away.

If you ever get a  broken foot and see me snickering while you limp by ,know that without a doubt I’m not responsible, cause magic is not real (believe me I tried it) and that’s not me, that’s karma bitch! You should have been nicer to the universe and me, of course.

However I find instead of spreading my negativity and shitty mood around focusing my energy on doing something with my hands, is a good stress reliever.( I tried knitting but I kept imagining tying the scarf around people’s throats and choking the life out of them, so that’s out).

So just take a rag (all those shirts that you never wear but never throw out either because you’re always planing to lose weight and fit in them again, come on it’s probably never happening, put them into good use), make a cute small doll and then proceed to putting wholes into it , sewing some buttons as eyes will help you visualize your target better,(i like to be creative, change the eye color to fit the asshole of the day) and It’s a good use of all those discarded buttons you have lying around(we all do have a drawer or a jar filled with those, let’s not pretend otherwise) also ripping those eyes out is satisfying as hell when you’re extra pissed off .

Well that’s it for today’s art and craft class, it can also be regarded as an anger management one,and Remember kids, violence is bad and all that crap.34d55faca0f52eff351d9ca6e275df3a

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