Jason Mraz - a Beautiful Mess

You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,
And lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needy,
Humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language,
And shoddy cursive I've been reading
Your style is quite selective,
though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests
that this is just what happiness is

Hey, what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
'Cause here we are, here we are

Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks ‒ they're quick
And probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy,
Depending on how you take these
Words that paraphrasing this relationship we're staging

And what a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like we're picking up trash in dresses

Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And "kind and courteous" is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
'Cause here, here we are, here we are
Here we are [x7]

We're still here
What a beautiful mess this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"

Through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth

And tides ‒ they turn ‒ and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together

And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts
But it's nice today. Oh, the wait was so worth it.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIj42LYUOO4&list=AL94UKMTqg-9Cm9ZMI1CoWwyDEZd7fuLh1

Flaccid

I grow tired of the feel of my skin, the sound of my hastened breath, my self induced release. It is no fair substitute for your touch on my flesh, your moist tongue, the warmth of your breath. Self gratification pales in comparison to the caress of your arms, the heat of your loins enveloping mine. The quiver of your breath hastens my crescendo in ways immeasurable to my own - my engorgement feels not the same in soft slightly callused hands, as it does anticipating lips. I need desperately a reprieve from self-intercourse; self-love is slowly becoming self-loathe.

Speak not with haste

Jaded minds speak in angered tones of things we can't control
Confusion besets the mind inebriates the soul
Moments of vexed passion leads to venomous words carried with the wind
The damage is done; no rewind, no pause, no undo; fences to mend, vacancies to fill
Good sense absconded with logic, illogical confounds reason

Mr. Fix-It!

We're broken but not shattered
We've been here before
This feels fractured, but not broken
It can be mended
I feel at the point of severing ties, but not detached
We need to patch this up
This hurts, but I'm not bruised
Wounds will heal
My feelings are a bit bruised, but not too much pain
I feel pained, but I will survive
We're ok, but not quite good
We have work to do
It's getting good, but not yet great
The work never ends

Gender Inequality

Where else can I vent and to whom else - cyberspace seems best; my public private place. What is it this time that has me peeved? I'll tell you what it is - WOMEN! their emotions; gender sensitivity; the battle of the sexes - call it what you will. Why is it (well at least to me it seems) that every time there is gender sensitivity talk it's about being sensitive to the needs and emotions of women - what the fuck, the gender door of sensitivity only swings one way. Pappyshow! Why must I be sensitive to their needs and emotions and my needs, emotions, thoughts feels get treated with scant regard - as if my only purpose on earth is to pander to what ever need, emotion, feeling or thought the woman might be having when ever they might be having it.

Why do I have to understand and adjust my emotions, response, behaviors and actions being cognizant that men and women are different - deal with things differently, process differently; while women treat men's differences as a footnote in the book of how to interact with the opposite sex. Somewhere, some how the message of gender equality  got lost and moved from gender equality to female superiority. Men are now expected to be sensitive and more in touch with their feminine side. FUCK THAT! While I don't consider myself a callous person and I'm not advocating for men to become more callous - but where is the fucking parity; where is the equality in gender equality; why must I be made to feel bad or less of a human being because I don't share your particular emotional disposition on a particular issue. So I'm suppose to be sensitive to you, but you can simply disregard my own masculine disposition - I must some how accept that you are emotional and you suppose to force me to be emotional about something I see no need to be emotional about - and if I don't I some how drop a notch to sub-human.

What de ass is this! That sort of foolishness cant' be right and should not be perpetuated - it's time this foolishness stops; if you want to be equal, be equal meet us half way, it can't be all about you and a fraction about us. I will stand this no longer - this gender inequality must STOP!

Smile, Thanks, Love

There are a few simple things you do that make smile, be thankful and I find just down right sexy.

• The way you smile at me, not necessarily because I said something funny; that smile you give when I say or do something sweet, it's infectious. Even when I pretend I didn't see it, or it's no big thing, I smile broadly on the inside.
• The way you laugh until you cry or have to stop to catch your breath. I love that I can make you laugh that hard; I love that you have a sense of humour and could care less about laugh lines.
• The way you stroke/rub my head when I'm upset or having a bad day. The way you go a little out your way to make me smile; hold my head to your breast and touch my head gently and lovingly. I love when you kiss me on my forehead.
• I love the way you look so sultry wrapped up in your towel (yes, your towel) - don't ask me what it is but there is something so sexy to me about a woman in a towel and nothing else.
• The way my t-shirts fits you like a mini-dress, falling just below your butt. Your tiny feet in my slippers.
• Those boy shorts, or lawd those boy shorts, fully covering your butt, but barely covering your butt

Just a few simple things you do, they make me smile, they make me laugh, they make be happy that I'm with you.

Best unsaid

The lyrics of the song "Secrets" by One Republic plays over in my head as I ponder my own secrets. "...My life is kinda boring, need something that I can confess...till all my sleeves are stained red from all the truth that I've said..."

Confession, they say is good for the soul, I'm not sure the same can be said for the heart and the mind. Some things really are better left unsaid, un-confessed - secret. Collectively my friends and family can disclose a lot of the secrets that I've kept over the years - but even then their collective knowledge of me can not unravel the secrets I still keep, or comprehend the confusion that at times is my mangled mind.

The secrets I keep, the thoughts I have entertained; many of which I will take to my grave - are better left unsaid, confessed to none. Secrets are necessary, they are meant to shield the innocent from the deeds and misdeeds of the guilty. Secrets are not kept by inherently bad people - bad people could care less that they deeds/misdeeds are known by all and sundry; it's the inherently good who struggle with their human condition  who find it necessary to keep secrets - invariably to protect the ones they love. These untold truths are a necessary evil, a bi-product of the good intentions that pave the road to hell as it were.

What we choose to not say is a blessing and a curse. It is the path I have chosen;  I'll accept the tedium of this life I live, my sleeves need not be stained red with truth.