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just like thisyou should remember me like this
i had a brown bifold leather wallet beaten up but in great condition
worn down smooth and i was so proud of that thing because it was the first
truly manly thing i owned and if my father taught me anything it's that
a man is judged by the quality of his wallet.
i could listen to music like rufus wainwright and darren hayes for hours
but most of the time i was speeding down a highway--with friends or myself--
blasting filthy rock music, most likely buckcherry, laughing at the thought
that anyone would even try to have this much fun.
you should remember me like this
i cared a lot about my work even if the job was shit i still wanted to be
respected and a hard day of work sung harmoniously in my bones because
i have never been one to shy away from work even if i was in pain most
of the time.
i played a careful game of cover up and wanted people to think that i was
sensitive and soft and innocent.
but i could have and was ready to kick the shit out of anyon
signsmaybe these are signs of healing
that i don't want to be with anyone
who doesn't treat me as good as i
i don't want you
if you don't want me back
the same way i want you
i'm sure in what i want
i want you to want to spend
as much time with me
as i want to spend with you
i want you to be crazy about me
i want you asking me out
i want you asking me what i want
i want you asking me for consent
maybe this is a sign of healing
where instead of taking whatever i thought
would be good enough for the moment
now i feel confident to demand
the basics--comfort, respect, consent--and
hold out for the extras
i'm no longer interested in settling
or compromising key aspects of myself or what i want
it's either you pay attention to me
meet me half way
treat me as i deserve
treat me as good as i treat myself
or i can wait
i can wait for something
maybe this is all a sign of healing.
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More