I have a lot of half started post that I never finish but I figured I’d just share a little blurb of something that’s been on my mind lately…


Nobody ever prepares you for the right guy.

The guys who listen to you when you speak,

Goes the extra mile just to see you,

The ones who attack you with cheek kisses and show their affection openly and proud.

You see I don’t know how to let a good man in

you are everything I could ever want and I don’t know what to do with that



Does watching too many romantic comedies actually ruin you?

Why is that I’ve watched almost every romantic comedy ever created and rather than feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside I just end up feeling shitty about myself. Not all the time, sometimes I get really inspired and have this light reignited in myself to live life in a positive and happy light, spreading joy and all that bullshit. But other times, times like tonight, this very moment to be exact I feel downright unfulfilled. This idea that if I’m not loving   someone or being loved back  then I’m wasting my time is embedded into my head. It’s all very fucked up but I know for a fact that I am not alone in this, which is somewhat comforting. I mean knowing that there are a whole mess of us out here all alone doesn’t change the fact that we are alone but it sure as hell makes it feel less lonely.

These movies just take me to a place where I’m just left wondering,”well damn, why can’t _________ and me get a happy ending” or sometimes we’re even just left asking “why couldn’t I just get an ending”. I have to say I like how Romantic comedies always get a very clear cut ending,there’s rarely any loose ends or unanswered questions. I always hate how I have crushes on people and nothing ever comes from it. In movies your secret crush always comes to light and you get some sort of ending whether that be in the form of rejection, happy ending, or even a revelation where you realize your crush was not who you built them up to be in your head. In the real world however some people go their whole lives without ever expressing how they feel and the crush isn’t given a chance to get its ending. Instead it just lives on in your head cramped between the ideas you have of love and the flaws you know yourself to have. The same flaws you’ve learned to love but aren’t fully convinced anyone else could.

I guess the moral of the story is that we are all scared shitless to be vulnerable and say how we feel. More specifically, I suppose really I’m scared. Oh well I really don’t see that changing anytime soon… this isn’t like an advice piece but more of a solidarity “man why the fuck are we like this post” 😂😂


It’s hard not to categorize all men into a box. When all your experiences with them and all the experiences of the people around you with them, seem to be negative. While I know not all men are the same, I sometimes like to write from a place where I view them all as such. Here’s to females relating to other females through the shared experiences of dealing with men who don’t know what they want & the ones who drag you along while they figure it out 🍻 

Did you get what you needed 

I know what it feels like to need the attention of someone 

Did you need more than what I could give 

How many people have you gone through

I wonder if you’ve stayed up at night wondering if you were ever good enough 

Have you ever cried at the thought that you were never going to be easy to love 

Better yet I wonder if you ever think about love as deeply as I do 

Like do you care if you ever get the chance to experience something bigger than yourself

Do you ever think about the people you’ve hurt 

Do you ever wonder about me

New Year’s Eve

 I could probably write a whole novel about short lived interactions I’ve had with people. Small moments that come and go are somehow the most memorable. Yet they are the ones that often times get distorted overtime. Two people who share the same interactions can remember them completely different, neither one wrong just simply different from one another. Here’s my recollection of that night…

It was New Year’s Eve. I wore my plunging V neck dress. You had on a black leather jacket, not the ones that most people my age wear to be cool but the ones that people in their late twenties wear because its practical evening wear and doesn’t call too much attention to itself. I kept smiling because I was nervous and knew that after four dates and with it being New Year’s Eve, we would finally share our first kiss that night. 

I felt your gaze more than ever. I just kept on nervously smiling and looking away. It wasn’t until you told me that you wanted to kiss me that I pulled myself together with fake confidence and said “fine”. I had planned to be romantic and hold off on kissing you until midnight but you couldn’t wait and I was too nervous to let that weigh on me the rest of the night. I took charge, as I often do when I have no clue what I am doing. We found ourselves on the staircase. The only private place two eager young adults could find in a loud, crowded Latin club. I took your Stella and placed it on the floor next to my Tokyo tea. I wanted our hands free of distractions. This was my attempt at trying to be as romantic as one can be at a club on New Year’s Eve. It was there, at the top of a dark staircase that we shared our first kiss. Me holding onto your face,while you held me by the waist. It started off like any normal, make out session but by the end I found myself laughing because it didn’t seem to be coming to an end  and you just kept going. Eventually I pushed away to catch my breath, smiled at you and handed you your drink. For the rest of the night we kissed several more times than I can remember and you danced for the first time ever to Latin music. 

Sunday night // 9:30pm 

I want to rip you to shreds with my words. I want to not have to be nice, to not have to think the consequences through. I want to pick at your insecurities, poke them until the pressure builds. I want to be cruel, for fucks sake let me be cruel. I’m so sick and tired of always being the only one hurt.

Se acabó 

Haveces dejamos que los hombres nos hagan sentir que no tenemos derecho a tomar tanto de sus tiempo. Nos dejamos convertir en entrenamiento para lograr convencer los que deben invertir en nosotras. No nos damos cuenta que lentamente empezamos a tomar más interés en las cosas que les gustan a ellos y dejamos de cultivar nuestros propios intereses. Jamas se nos ocurre reclamar les que ellos no hacen lo mismo por nosotras. 

Los hombres son rápidos para decirnos cosas dulces sin en verdad sentir las. Jamás e pensado que los hombres me decían cosas bonitas tan Solo por querer avanzar sus propios planes o peor por solo hablar. Nunca pensé que no podía tener confianza en un hombre que hablaba con migo todos los días, que me hacia sentir que en verdad me quiere conocer. Pero después de tantas veces de intentar hablar y conocer los, tantas veces de pensar que esta vez sí iba avanzar,ya no les tengo confianza en sus palabras. Han pasado demasiadas veces que ellos me han hecho sentir desechable y sin darme una explicación ya no se puede perdonar o justificar. Hací que esto es un mensaje para todos los hombres llenos de pura mierda, ya dejen de chingar con migo. Dejen de pretender, mandado me mensajes todos los putos días de la semana para solo dejar de hablarme (sin ninguna explicación) cuando ya estén conforme con la información que han aprendido de mi. Ustedes jamás fueron dignos para tomar tanto de mi tiempo y creo que ustedes mismos lo supieron. Haci que gracias por haber me hecho un gran favor en dejarme atrás. Por qué sola avanzaré más fuerte conmigo misma. 


 The problem with writing is that It takes you to places that you don’t want to revist. It makes you painfully aware of how sad you didn’t realize you were. I try to avoid it sometimes, months turn into years but eventually I always end up  writing. No amount of alcohol or drugs can keep me from spilling my feelings out. No matter how busy I try to stay, I am constantly reminded of how deeply I feel.

  When you avoid part of who you are it goes on to later allienate you from others. The others who have yet to see all aspects of you. It creates a vicious cycle of feeling like you don’t belong. I’d like to think we are all writers, that if we shared our stories with one another we’d find that we have more in common than just music and people. We’d discover how we both plan out conversations in our heads with people we’ve never spoken to, incase the circumstance should arise.

 For the most part I try not to hide who I am, but it’s hard to be transparent when you’re constantly told that the transparency you seek is a flaw.