Tag: Privacy

Some choose a Hat.

Others wear a Hoodie.

A Podcast Feature or Entertainment-News-Social-Media Fix

Just to tell you – I leave my house like once or twice a month by force.

I’m so damn Agoraphobic from cameras I won’t go in my backyard or sit on my porch.

People sexualize doing Yoga in Grass.

And I find it Crass.

And I’ll complain and reject society and their eager temptations

To prove my Life is Bullshit.

And many more are more successful than me.

I’m 24. I was a Kid for a long-time when this started.

As Before 18.

Was 6 years and a Day Ago.

The Kid hired to write fan-fiction smut because

We grew up on Great-GrandMothers

And Single for 50+ Years

Auntie Mothers’

Sneaking us a Harlequin or Jezebel

To teach us how to talk to boys and walk across the yard with confidence, to have a moment away

From the squacking, jabbering, female haze

And it’s so annoying.

And your Dad gave you Playboy and Penthouse and said read the articles don’t just rip out the centerfold and what interests you – and you lost your Virginity in a Brothel. [even if it was no-touch. But official, none-the-less.]

That’s Sad, Bro.

You struggle with intimacy.

You got hoes.

You flirt in the comments.

OutLaw Casanova acting like your life is sad.

Crumbling cockroach apartment

Or Clean, Stark, No Decoration except a metal poster or vinyl sticker on the mirror.

600ft with 2-Stories.

And you’ve never opened the Slider-Door to the backyard.

I sit on my backporch in 3-tops and oversized sweats

And I get ads bought on me

Saying

In-so-many-words: Wow, I really like your tits.

You’ve sexualized me since I hit tv. [2002.> I was born in 2000 you Sick-Fucks.]

And called me she-go or any other platinum-haired Asian Vixen

Or I spoke Russian under my accent.

And you think you can hit.

I’ve never been Broken-Up-With.

I know Rejection.

I know how to be the curious-experiment.

And I know what’s it’s like to be a bedridden, immobile shrew dying of brain cancer and seizures.

And the 26th always looks like that too.

I don’t find you sexy.

I’m unsatisfied World Leaders rather drop an attention-time-bomb

To say take off the sweater and put on the tank top.

You say you like my hair.

And I have nice teeth and nice lips.

Then you ask “what that mouth do”

Or

State: “Yo you seem mad thicc.”

Dating Apps were terrible.

I’ve left all my Partners before.

I’ve filed for divorce many times

Only to seek reconciliation + class-approved court.

I don’t seek to ruin your life.

I’m saying I need Time.

I used to work in the mall

And anywhere in town I’d hear

“Yo it’s that mad thicc shawty that work @ — always at the register and on her knees..”

Stocking shot glasses bc they were on the lowest shelf.

I’m 5’55

And Comfortable Leggings w/ Side Pockets: Made My Life Hell.

So because of my Modesty.

I always tie or cover my scalp even if a don’t wear a Hijab,

Celebration Days my locks are unbound and wild,

And I make my Partner frown.

Like every Man that Married an Italian-Woman since

222BC

She grew out her hair and won’t let me see it

Until she comes to bed-with-me

And she never fucking sleeps.

Moorisha or Pre-Raphaelite.

I don’t like how you flirt with the entire Internet

Or talk about me

Obsessed with proving “That’s my Girl.”

You forgot which name you’re using.

Or wear my clothes I bought on clearance

To GQ Fashion-Shoots

Everybody liked you when you were a nobody.

Get the official training and years put in

To-write-Comedy.

And now other bitches call you Daddy.

I hate their fucking emojis.

Those dumbass sparkling stars and hearts.

“Oh, what I’d do for a Night with You!!”

Goes every Woman

And they best watch who they’re annoying

When I was the Gal getting the small of their back-rubbed

Bc I always Catered Family-Film-Crew Lunch.

Disguises in Your Hell.

Saying you only eat Cereal.

Gourmet Burgers

And you steal my mushroom recipes.

I don’t know what’s more Vast.

The Actor or the Artistry.

And if they really want to bed you.

I hope you’re used to 6’9 Husband that is a 1ft7inches taller than you

And dangling your Moorisha, Pre-Rafaellite Curls: The Italian Woman’s Husband First Anxiety Toy.

I diagnosed him when he was just a boy.

A mere 47.

I don’t appreciate in leading the campaign that “My Wife is a Sigh of Heaven!”

And suddenly I’m annoyed with you.

And you ruined the day before my bday

As all of Time has proven.

Just so I remember I’m a sick, disabled, brain-cancerous, seizing fool:

And now you have me laying in Bed

For 2 Days overlapping

Night Shift Hertz Grace.

Now I Need the Metal-Tipped Rattail Comb to get my part back out.

And then you named an Ice Cream Sundae recipe that, I made when I was real high

On mite and finishing journals every year, by and by.

And you want Nostalgia

Bc we waited so long for this.

Congratulations, mid-20s.

And he’s still the Coolest Guy for his quip.

Or the Soulful Poet.

Or the Talented Chef.

Or Meme-Lord.

Or Chief Submarine Corpsman Scientist.

Or Business + Restauranteur Mogul.

Or some guy on TV.

Or some Camera Grip I made Famous,

Only to break our backs together falling in Hawaii.

You suck with Ads.

Your encouragement is stern and dismal

Then I remember you created sweatbands, and A/V Silent-Velcro, and then you played around with slurpees and jolted them with Ice, and then you taught the Lore of West-Side Boys

How to deep-chug green-top ranch gats; in the industrial burger joint size.

And finish it

Then Chug a 2-liter through the fountain hose, and call it a chaser.

And Pre-Scooping Dry; frankly sir, you learned that from me.

Nesquick Powder Quick-Top Snack Wowzer

More Comfortable than Fun Dip

And Less SourZ-Chews.

You used to wrap tobacco in charleston-chews and leave a spit trail on the tiles [your personalized breadcrumb trail to come find you and where you disappeared off.]

Tootsie-Roll Colored

And made the fruity ones just to feed the ducks

Since the pigs really liked the Skittles

I don’t understand you Often.

I love you entirely

Again – why so flirty in comments where every 18-82 year old girl to woman to horny-asshole-gold-digger thinking they control a lifestyle business.

Can leave you fucking flirty emojis T

Hen I wrote dicksquicks poems

And admit I wish I was single

Since you’re An Irish Bastard Basty Pastry

And you Love your Respectable Family Values. [Keep the Secret for 20 Years then we can live Public with no-attitude! Bullshit.]

Reparations no-legal-value celebrity-contract-marriage. 

You don’t like Men or Women or AnyOther/In-between/Nothing to Queer or Questioning 

Buying me drinks. 

I’ve gone to the Club like 6 Times

And you want to see me Dance. [thinking I’m missing out on life experiences.]

Then get jealous. 

And leave me with dismal nug

When I had jar or

Ziploc sized fun

To come home to.

I DJ’d in a Dildo Factory in Barcelona for 6 Years and it was Tradition until I became baby-altoiont. 

Then I became a official

And all our Taught+Learned 

OutLaw Shit-easillyyy

And chili pepper radio hits. 

Let’s be Frank – you always come back. 

And I always wonder if this is really the fix.

Church Marriage for Eternity. 

Depraved Beacon + Nihilistic Deacon. 

And somehow our best-friend is an Imam. 

Everyone thinks he’s immature, but silently we know – he’s the Smart One. 

And in that, there’s a lot of Temperance in Our Tower.