The skin I’m in Part 3

Beauty has always been skin deep

Ignorant to the flesh around me

Simmer yet unastounding 

A breathless lie indeed

This is all you see as I try to hide

This is all you see there is no clear reason to hide

A fact upon a wooden spoon slapped across a cheek

Don’t worry, your lies where beaten into me

Beautiful is not you think it is

Earth splayed across my skin

Try to scrub it free

Panic cause I know inside

Beautiful was never skin deep

Forget the lies you tell me

Simmer all in one 

Pat the snow unto my flesh and pretend it is my own

Walk with my head to the dust 

Copper tones turned to rust 

Flakes off doubt begin to seep

Do not bother lying to me

I know where I stand today

Always hated yet in demand

A prize to won and then forgotten

I know what I am to you

I know that I am bound to lose

 Simmered in long held doubt

I know what my life is truly about

Whether black as tar 

Or white as light

I will not matter by the end of the night

My skin is judged

Hated by the abused 

And the guilt ridden oppressors 

No matter the color of their skin

In their eyes

I will never fucking win

Open a list of half baked rules

Slice me to and fro

In the end it means nothing

Cause my skin is all this world knows.

Whether from friend or foe

I will be judgef by this cookie cutter mold 

Beauty is skin deep all but me

Because nothing I do will ever please

Fuck this shit don’t lie to me

Say it is all in my head when over

And over

And over

And over again

You cut with me your half baked lies

Cookie cutter mold never will fit just right

To which method would you to slice? 

Mud colored skin never looked so dirty 

Against those who said they will always love me

Whether black or white 

In the end

No matter what I do.

I will never win. 

A/N 

I am an American who just so happens to have ancestors from Africa. I deal with Racism a lot but not in forms others are willing to talk about. 

Because if the way I talk, my interests, the way I dress…everything. I am judged by the world. Black people want nothing to do with me same as other races. They say that we are all brothers and sisters and yet I am excluded because of who I am inside. 

My skin plays a big part in how people look at me. They think that I need to act or look a certain way or I can’t belong. 

Even people who are open minded have this lovely mold in place for me. See freedom is a lie. Freedom is basically every living in someones version of Harmony.  What it is good for the people as a whole is not always a good thing. 

People expect others to step up and live their dream with them but that is not fair. We all have our own ideas of perfect. Freedom isn’t fair…it truly isn’t.  Someone is always going to be left in the dust

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Doubtful sea

There is a middle ground to all this noise

Something that can’t be easily ignored

Pulling straight the doubtful sea

Weathed away by simplicity

On one hand an island, stable yet carefree

On the other a mountain, unmoving yet alive

Both have their reasons

That they want the sea to die

Each see it as a hassle

As all middle grounds are

A sea so full of doubt it might as well not be a sea at all

So they each give it gifts of anger

Hatred

Judgement

Rage

Hoping to pull it closer

Yet destroy it all the same

Both the moutian and the island are wonderful to behold

A creation so lovely

A sight to see

But in their eyes 

The other is the enemy

So they trash the sea aside them

Each feeding into it’s demise

Both unwilling to change their views

As the doubtful sea dries before their eyes. 

Colored words

Graceful tears turn to mud

Mixing, swirling ‘Did I say to much’

Come hither lips of Ruby Rose

Smirks solumly with broken words

Watches tackful with a blade

Two figers dancing within a haze

One of Amber

Full of rage

Another of Sapphire

Living without pain

Tasteful tears turn to blood

Shifting, slipping ‘I think I said to much’

Two figers darken and turn away

One buring bright 

And another dead in name

Sassy people doing normal things

 

Every last single female needs to get their heads out of their ass. Men are not mind readers, sure, but yet they all expected them to be. There wasn’t much chemistry in these story. While they were all full length they didn’t read as one. Things happened, people got into fights. The end.
It was cut and paste for each story. All the girls meet their guys earlier in life. They are all best friends and drooling over one of the friends brothers. While “researching” for….something…they each get pounced by the brother the desired and things pick up from there in a domino effect. Even though everything happened at the same time these girls are not all truly vying for the guys attention until after a friend has gotten her happy ever after (?).

During this all the guys are running around like beheaded chickens trying to get them to love them. Funny because every one of these ladies goes on and on about how the Wolfe men are protective of their ladies but as soon as the men to prove it, they suddenly think the worst of the guys.

So after a wonderful (?) Smexy scene in  the woods each girl gets her chance to run from the guy she loves due to something in her past. Every last single one of these ladies has neglectful parents.

As they work ( really never is ever truly solved just glossed over or forgotten) through their emotional baggage things happen.  What sort of things you ask! Unimportant things. Things that are supposed to be the story but ends up not being the case.
The best part about this series is how the guys say they are going to protect the ladies, but in reality they are never there when they need them most.
This is porno ex machina.
Okies ranting over and let me go into a bit more detail on this.

In Sassy Mates book 1 Scent of a mate we meet Jordan and Aric.

Jordan is a human with a troubled past of bullying and an Alcoholic family that never loved her. She befriends a young wolf shifter named Ellie while in school.  Over the years she comes to be apart of Ellie’s family and the two befriend two other girls, Karla and Emma.

Each of these friends is, respectively,  a mate to each of Ellie’s four ( convenient right! ) brothers. One of the brothers being Aric.

That’s all you really need to know to be honest. Because that is all there freaking is to this book. Aric is a Wolfe (get it…cause he is a wolf shifter so his last name Wolfe).

During a shifter ceremony to encourage mating Aric and Jordan mate, like mate mate. She has had the hugest crush on him since she was 13 and he was 18. He knew she was her mate since the first met. When she was 13 and he was 18. Of course they didn’t do anything but were instead forced to hold down their emotions and move on with life. Years later they mate. There is no warning he just comes up behind her, sniffs her, and proceeds to bump sandwiches with her.

Wrapping his salami stick with her cheese cake until salsa is made…

After this is said and done she runs away and basically refuses to talk to him for a bit. Pretty much ignores him due to her trust issues. Now as I stated before, her and every other female talk about how protective these guys are yet will go out of their way to make it impossible for them to be together. It goes way past “Give her time to heal” and into “Just find someone else already”!!! Like I understand the first few times of rejecting this guy but then it got ridiculous and took away from the main part of the story…whatever that was.

She nearly dies a few times and he has to save her right as soon as she is ok. Seriously he comes it once the fight is nearly over just to take her to safety or get all alpha cause he wasn’t there.

Oh and yea by the way he finally got her to talk to him was by sneaking into her house at night, waking her up, having sex with her….mmmmm romantic.

It ends on …I guess a happy ending. See even with her being in the other books you can’t tell that they are in love. They are barely in the same room with each. When they are she is either covered in blood or just not talking. So….maybe happy ending.
Not going to bother telling about the other stories. Just copy and pasted work.

Girls comes from bad home, woods sex, ignore guy, guy sneaks somewhere to bone girl, girl gets hurt, guy tries to save day, girl ends up saving day, misunderstanding is misunderstanding, happy maybe after with no explanation as to what happened to the original story.

Ever watch those cliché porno with the plumber and the house mom. These stories are the demented offspring of those porno films.

Milly Taiden (Her personal website)

Book Page (on her page)

Amazon (to check out book yourself)

Her Amazon Page

Life as a Poster Child

Ever pay attention to those posters in your doctor’s office and say, “Glad that person isn’t me!”, Or , “Wow that’s sad, I should Facebook that”.

You never really stop to think if that person is truly like you. They could be talking about starving children in Africa, and all of a sudden you forget you are in that office due to an eating disorder, brought on from constant malnutrition as a child.

You forget it all because they seem worse off . You suddenly have your crap together, despite dying inside, because someone on that poster is suffering.

You will never see yourself as that child. Never see yourself hunched over in pain with overly watered eyes. Will never see yourself covered in bruises, crying in a dark corner as someone yells at you…again…

You will never see your scars as you stare at the poster of the child with scars on Their wrist.

You won’t see it because they are suffering more.

You will strive to get better, sure, but there is always someone out there that has it worse than you do.

It is like you invalidate what to have been through. Because you are…

It is easy to care about those poster kids. So why can’t we care about ourselves?

See, I am a poster child for mental health. Not the good kind but the one where the homeless kid in a beany (why are they always wearing beanies) is sitting on a bus stop (again why always a bus stop) looking at the people around them with vacant eyes. I am that girl ( cause it’s nearly always a female in these posters) who is homeless and clutching the hand of child. A child who may or may not be crying (usually not crying because that defeats the purpose of the unhappy mother. Always put lost mother next to somewhat better dressed and vacant eyed child. There lies the money-maker). 

Always surrounded by those who are better off.

In some shots she is smiling with her child and others they stand as if they are drones.

I am that poster child who is holding out a broken bowl for food

I am that child who covers their bandaged wrist.

I am that mother whom begs on the street corner for help.

I am them and I still believe that their suffering matter more than mine ever will.

I am a poster child who can’t help but view the posters of others and try to figure out the best ways to help them.

I know what my picture means, I will not ignore it, but at times I find myself forgetting all about it.
My suffering is no where equal to that of others.

My favorite poster to ignore is that of a single mom. Mainly cause there are not a lot of posters on the subject. At least not many attempting to seek help. 

Just success stories of those who rose up from the life given to them and raised children who is turn where successful. 

The “Thanks mom, Thanks dad” posters.

The ones littered around some community colleges.

They are there though, go, take a look. You are bound to find at least one or two posters, maybe just a pamphlet, stating something about single parents support-group. If you don’t find one I will make you a special gold star made of real gold and the tears of a very hangry dragon. A very hungry…very angry…dragon.

It is my favorite to ignore because I tell people that being a single parent isn’t that bad all the time. I tell them that I enjoy the solitude. That I am perfectly fine being single and alone. I like eating pizza with just a toddler. I hate going on dates anyways. That it eventually gets easier to tune out the most basic cartoon noises.

It is not that bad.

But it is.

It is that bad.

But I won’t tell anyone why. I won’t tell them that some days I go into my room and cry. How there are days when I washing the dishes and have to fight the urge to “accidentally” slice open my arm. I will never tell them of the days I resent my child. Of those times when I want to run away. See I can’t tell them that I go days without adult interaction and the reason I am so silent is because I forgot how to talk to people my age. I can’t tell them how my daughter is my best friend. They would think I was strange but she is the one person who has never left me. She has never abandoned me to the wolves and instead tells that I am the best person ever.

I talk to people online. They keep me insane more than they know.

If I died do you know how long my child would sit here alone? Days…maybe even weeks before someone started to worry about us. Even then it would be because I haven’t posted a video or picture of her.

I am the Poster child of a single mom.

But it is one I will greatly ignore. I will share pictures to the world about how single parenting can be fun. Every once in a while I will reach out for help.  Only rarely though.

I will lie to the best of them but am also willing to help others in the end. Other single mothers that is. The posters always meant more to me then my very own. I will seek help, I will not ignore, but I will invalidate my own poster for the better of others.

Cause I am the perfect poster child of a broken home.

Post haste with paper and paste.

What is it like before it ends? Moments filled with laughter and pain? Is it worth it?

I think it is.

I was created to a punching bag, something meant to be destory all in the name of fun. Do not pity me though, I am ok with this.

I knew the moment I was born that I was meant to die this way.

I remember the smile on my  creaters face. 

Their pride was addictive. Held together with paper and glue; I never thought I amounted to much. Cheaply made but they where proud anyways.

The exciment, the laughter, easy to forget the pain.

It took awhile for them to find me. The perfect family to want me. The feel as the child held me in their arms. I don’t think I will ever forget it. 

The car ride home was the  scariest part. while the child was happy to have me they still worried. What if their friends didn’t like me? What if I wasn’t enough? Where they to old to love me?

I remember how their  parents just laughed, “It will be ok”.

The child grasped me closer nodding but still confused. 

I wanted nothing more then to comfort them. Even though I knew my fate I still wanted them to smile. 

When we had gotten to their home the child gently walked in and placed me on the counter. Running their hands along my face and tail. Leaving warm trails along my side. 

The parents walked up;  bowls of candy in each hand. 

I won’t lie, I was afriad. I wished I had the abilty to run at that moment. I knew what would happen. I was proud  but still… the pain wasn’t something I looked forward too. 

They were gentle though. Not to rough as the filled me to the brim. Still I shook (or at least I think I did).

The child  stood by me the whole time though. Reminded me off my creater with how serene he was. Even when faced with something difficult and new, they stayed brave. In the end it made even me feel brave. 

Once the parents were done they walked away. I stayed that way for sometime before someone came for me. They gently carried me outside and tied me to a nearby tree. To me it seemed to high but I know the little ones would it perfect so I had no complaints really. It took awhile longer for people to arrive. As they did I made sure to watch and get an understanding of the guest. The kid in blue looked like he packed a punch while the boy with the cornflower hair seemed timid and thoughtful. Many more beside them ran inside. Each with their own story, their own personality, their own power. 

I was still in control though, I got to choose which one had the honor of taking my life. 

To others it  seem like a grave power to have but I was ok with it. Proud even; I was in control of my own destiny.  How many others could say that? 

As the final hour crawled closer I sat and watched. The children played merrily as the adults rushed around stopping little spats and encouraging fun. 

It was all so exciting.  I watch as the little timid boy, the oddest in the bunch of hyper children, stand by himself. Ignoring even the young birthdays boys attempts to play. At first I felt pity for him but then I realized that he was truly enhoying himself. Sure it wasn’t like the other little boys but the soft smile on his face allowed me to see that he took pleasure it watching the lives of others. 

This little boy reminded me much of myself. Watching from the outside. As carefree as can be, yet thoughtful. 

I decided that he would be the one to kill me. 

A/N 

I was never one for happy stories but this is the closest I have ever gotten to one. I have decided to not show the finishing moments because we all know how that goes. Instead i wanted to show the pinatas viewpoint from creation to moments before it is destroyed. 

If it had feeling would it be ok with it being broken? I like to think it would. It would be bringing joy to children. Yes it will hurt but life is never easy. This was a special pinata and it felt looked because it was. I remember always wanting one as a kid. I loved going to others peoples parties and having fun especailly with this ginat paper mache madness come out. These words of art that will be destroyed in the end but is well loved beforehand. 

How many of us has had one and held it closely to our hearts because we felt it was the best thing ever. The excited smiles and giggles. 

Even though it is the parents and other kids who decide who is lucky enough to break the pinata I felt that it was best to leave it up to the one who will be broken. It was always interesting how much effort it took to break one and how sometimes it seemed to take forever and others it didn’t take as long. Almost like the person who broke it was choosen. 
I found this via google and think I may keep doing this. 

A Goddess Named Nova

Sweet angel on bladed wings

I remember the words you used to sing

How you smiled

How you laughed 

Blamed for things that are in the past

Remember the fights

The taunts

The rage

All things left behind for sillier days

A goddess named Nova taken to soon

A angel flying high, bladed wings can’t abuse

Fly high Nova 

Fly high indeed

One of these days 

I will again hear you sing again 
Losing someone you care for suck. No it more then sucks but right now I can’tseem to think of anything better past my tears. I have been crying and all I can think about it how there wasn’t much time. I used to think you were the world. You were everything I wanted to be and more. Tall, beautiful, strong and confident.  There where times when I was extremely jealous of the friends you had. The friends we shared who treated more like a follower then an actual friend. You were also so freaking nice lol. Used to drive me insane. It wasn’t till recently they I discovered your true struggles. Sure you hear things in high school but rumors are rumors; not always to be believed. 

Still I loved hanging out with you. 

The first day we meet it felt like forever before I got up the courage to talk to you. You had been sitting with this girled (appropriately named Jessica Music, both sharing my first name and my lve for music) 

You two were the first friends I had made on the bus. I had been looking inbetween the crack of the seat and window when I saw someones MP3 player. I believe it was Seether being played and just the only song I knew all the lyrics too. 

Lol I worked through every scenio on how to talk to you both. Eventually I did and it led to us being friends. We all talked a lot. 

Jessica ended up moving and yet me and you still talked. We stopped once high school really got started and they changed the bus scheduales around. 

You gained friends in our crowed that I barely hung out with, I stopped talking but everyonce in awhile we would still see each other. I was never truly angry with you. Sure I got jealous but I was never angry. 
Recently though…we started talking again. You made a post about something on social media that touched me. I responded and we begin talking. We made plans this past weekend. We had so much in common I regret not talking to you sooner. You are a Goddess. Dark skinned Beauty that touched so many lives. Who made me realize that not everyone is who they seem. 

I was never angry at you, just so very jealous and so very alone. You never stopped being kind to me. You talked to me. 

I will never forget that…

Gabbie Wilson

Happy birthday in Heaven sis. Don’t worry I will never forget you. 

1/12/1994 ~ 1/12/2017