My Definition of Love

Fall is rolling in, and I am reminded, again, that I am damned to end up with a man like my father. A man, cold to the touch, with a soft mouth and blunt words. His body would be solid and warm and calloused. His body is train tracks that lead to me. He will strike me with his meanness, and I will stay. Because my definition of love is learning to keep still when he yells at you. Don't move a muscle. Don't flinch. You made this happen.

Don't ever fall in love with a man with beautiful eyes. They're going to see right through you.

My definition of love is constantly searching- striving to be enough. Always competing with the ex. Always competing with the pretty girl with beautiful hair.

My definition of love is feeling perfect when he says "You're beautiful." It is disregarding that look he gave the girl in skinny jeans at the store, because right now- right in this moment- he thinks you're beautiful.

My definition of love is stripping for him when he asks you to. You both got into a fight because he refused to talk to you, but you're a good girlfriend, so you take off your clothes for him.

My definition of love is disregarding your feelings to make his okay. It is hours of being on the phone, screaming internally I'M NOT OKAY, but keeping quiet, as he tells you I DON'T WANT TO TALK.

My definition of love is wanting to swallow your mother's sleeping pills after the fight you lost because you couldn't leave him. And then waking up in the morning to his sweet, calloused hands cupping your face. You were made for this.

Cry Wolf

You spit your spell on me
And now I cannot run
When I tried,
You chased me down
Now I'm captive to your love
You howl your songs at me like a wolf,
Strewing your words at me like rocks to the sea
And if I try to go,
You will miss me
If I try to run,
You will chase me
You dig your claws into my Heart
You sink your teeth into my skin
You cling to me,
Until I suffocate
Under your fur
Under your weight
Under your love
You're the Cry Wolf
I'm a captive to your love
And I don't mind

The Aftermath of Calling a Girl "Ugly"

When I was a kid, I got bullied a lot. I think it started in second or third grade. I had glasses and crooked teeth and a mole on my chin. It started, at first, with just having glasses. As I got older, my face matured. Then kids in my class found more things to talk about, like my skin or my nose or my lips. I refused to cut my hair anymore after Grade Four, so that I could hide my face.

This is me in Grade Five:

I was small. I weighed sixty lb. forever. I had dimples and spidery hands and brown hair that grew all the way down my tiny spine. Everytime I see this picture, it infuriates me.

When this picture was taken, I was ten years old and thought I was ugly. I look at this picture now and I see that I was not ugly. I only felt ugly, because I was told to feel that way by kids who picked on me and made me miserable. I was ten years old.

High School came and so did puberty... Err, for most girls. I was thirteen and freshfaced. At age fourteen, I was plagued by acne. My mother, horrified her beautiful baby was struck by nature, spent a ridiculous amount of money on moisturizers and masks and creams and ointment and facewash. None of it ever helped much. At fifteen, other girls had developed breasts and were kissing boys- I was a defeated and plagued Punk in a little girl's body with with braces and bad self- esteem and torn combat boots. I responded to the bullying mostly with a bold face and a quiet acceptance of their insults as the truth on the inside. No one outside of my family had ever told me I was beautiful. Boys didn't look at me. I was pretty much invisible to most everyone, except my abusers.

At sixteen, I had my first real boyfriend. Let me tell you something: After someone has been told for nearly their whole Life that they have never been and never will be beautiful, trying to convince them otherwise is going to be a battle you will fight for the rest of your Life. He was seventeen, tall, sculpted, with long, blond hair and teeth like ivory. I was small, fragile, with stained teeth and bad skin. He was everything I wanted, because he was everything I was not. His laugh was thunder, and he smiled, big. I never smiled without covering my mouth with my hand. And forget about laughing out loud. I was trained not to do that in front of anyone.

Letting him love me was a lesson on taking everything I was taught and unlearning it. It was fights of him brushing the hair from my face just so he could look me in the eye to tell me I was beautiful. It was going into public with him and watching him carefully to see if he looked at girls. It was hours spent on looking at his girl friends and his exes and comparing myself to them, by every strand of my hair. It was nights spent staying up, looking for some confirmation of my suspicion that maybe he loves someone prettier, not because I didn't trust him, but because I did not believe I was ever worthy of being the only one in anyone's Life because of my face or my shoesize or my brasize or my skin. Because I didn't know I would ever know love without a catch or a punchline- some sick joke that was being sent up for me for months.

To this day, I cannot let myself believe anyone who tells me I'm beautiful. I can't just accept a compliment. I have to read into everything, every detail someone says to me, looking for the punchline. Waiting for the snicker. To this day, when the love of my Life, my best friend, brushes the hair from my face, he kisses me from my forehead down my nose down my chin, over both of my cheeks, I still will not believe him when he tells me he loves all my imperfections. He kisses me, hard, and I still do not believe him when he calls me cute. To this day, I hate it when anyone calls me pretty. Partly because of the simple fact that I have done nothing to achieve being pretty. Partly because I do not genuinely believe anybody who says it. Partly because when I walk into a room with men leering at me, I know they are not thinking "She must be a fantastic poet," or "She must have worked so hard to be where she is now," or "She must have big plans to change the World."

If you're out there and somehow this relates to you, let me tell you this: You are beautiful. Not because of your genetic makeup and your phenotypes and your haircut and your clothes. No. You are beautiful because you made it this far. Something in you pushed you along and you survived the kids at School and you're still here. You are breathing, organic, miraculous greatness that's going to make the World a good place. Let somebody love you just as you are, as ugly as you sometimes feel. And if you still feel ugly, I will kiss your forehead and keep rooting for you.

-xx

The Waiting...

One month...

It has been one month, and I have not seen my Period.

Can't be pregnant. Can't get pregnant.

Wait, is that it?

Nope. No, that's not it.

It's only been a month. I once didn't get my Period for over three months back in 2012.

I don't mind that it hasn't showed up yet. It's just the anticipation.

But I know better than to force it. I'm a firm believer in listening to my body. My body is smart. My body knows what's good for it. My body is smart enough to know when it's time for my Period to start and end.

I press my fingertips to my lower abdomen. Could there be a baby in there?

It feels pretty squishy. No baby in there. Just my organs. My procrastinating organs. Stagnating. Functioning. Functioning properly.

I haven't been getting adequate sleep much. Maybe my body just doesn't know what time it is- or even what time of the day it is.

I put both my hands below my navel. What are you doing, Uterus? Why are you so shy? Don't you know how important you are? I am a Woman. You're are the reason I am a Woman. If you do not work in me, what am I?

Must be patient. My body has been good to me. My body will not fail me if I treat my body with kindness.

Although this waiting can become tedious.

I'd like to start soon. I have been especially hormonal lately. I do not like this. Most of my emotions have consisted of depression or irrational anger. I am terribly sorry to those who have had to tolerate me in the last several days.

Pheromones emitted from women who are already menstruating can jumpstart the hormones of other women. When women are around each other for enough time, their cycles begin to sync. Perhaps I should spend more time with my lady friends who are on their periods.

But what a strange thing to inquire.

"Hey, are you having your period right now? Can I come over and stand really close to you?"

I don't know that I even have lady friends who I'm that close to.

So, I wait.

Womanhood. You can be so bittersweet.

No Soap, No Stank: The Background On My Soapless Lifestyle

Hello, Friend. It's been much too long since the last time I've blogged. For that, I apologize. I've been very occupied and have not had much time to write. But I've finally settled down and am able to do what I am best at: eating food and napping.

So, I decided I want to start blogging again, and I knew exactly what my next topic would be. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to make this an expository or an FAQ, but I suppose I'll try to do both. Any questions I may have left unanswered are welcome in the comments :)

When I was fourteen, I had cut my hair very short. I had skipped one night of washing my hair. I noticed my hair was much easier to style and manage after one night of doing without shampoo. Then, I made it a habit to wash my hair every other day. I liked how my hair felt and looked when I didn't wash it. Then there was curiosity; "Why don't I just stop washing my hair?"

So I did.

And yaknow what?

Nobody noticed. Nobody.

No one commented any funky smells from my head. No one asked what was different about me. No one had any idea that I had stopped washing my hair.

More curiosity; "If I don't need shampoo, do I need soap?"

Turns out I did not. And again, no one had any idea. I smelled just fine. I didn't feel oily. I didn't feel dirty. In fact, I felt better about myself all over when I didn't use any soaps. I attended School, went to Church, lived with my Mother/ Grandparents, and not anybody could tell I was soapless.

This is not to say that I didn't bathe; I've always showered. I just go about a different procedure than most everyone else. But the procedure is not that much different at all. Instead of using soaps, I just stand under the showerhead and scrub. That's it. No big secret to how I stay clean. Are you amazed yet? I'm not done.

I never wash my clothes. Well, not unless they're dirty, which, really, is hardly ever. I decided to stop washing my clothes pretty soon after I realized how super pointless it is to wear clothes once and then throw them in the wash. How dirty can I possibly be? I dressed myself, went to School, and came home. I didn't sweat. I didn't handle anything dirty. And, really, I didn't let anybody get near me at all today, so why am I having to wash what is already clean?

Albeit, I do have some bouts of pretty stanky BO. Then that's when I know it's time for me to wash what stinks. It's really that simple. Haven't you heard "don't fix what's not broken?" This applies. Don't wash what's not dirty. Not only is this good for the environment [1], but it's making my clothes last longer.

I have come out to tell people about my abstinence from soap. Some think it's great and really interesting, but others are not so open- minded or accepting. I first told my Mom about my discontinuation of shampoo a few weeks after I made the decision. She was disgusted. I received a long, embarrassing lecture about how it's important for me to use soaps and how I'm a developing woman, so my body needs soap if I want to stay clean, ect, ect. But I was unconvinced. So I didn't listen to her warnings. Later, it would become a habit for me to exit the shower and see her waiting on the other side of the door, so she could smell my scalp to find out if I was up to her standards of "cleanliness." If she couldn't smell shampoo on my scalp, I was sent back into the shower until my head reeked of lilacs and lavender. This made me more rebellious and defiant of Society's standards of what "clean" is. I was happy with the way I felt. I smelled just fine. How come "just fine" is totally un- okay? Am I supposed to smell pretty, because I'm a girl? Who do I need to smell pretty for? My natural smell never offended anybody before, so why should I care if my standards of clean don't match someone else's?

My friends were mostly pretty sketchy at first. Most of them were actually really shocked. Not even my best friends could tell I had changed my hygiene habits. Of course, with sketchiness came questions. "How can you do that? My hair gets so oily when I don't wash it!" Oilyness is totally natural. After washing my hair regularly for fourteen years, then suddenly stopping, my scalp was a little confused. First, my head made a whole bunch of that good ol' natural oil; this remained for about two weeks. Then, after everything equilibrialized, my head went back to making its natural oil at its natural pace. The reason for this phenomenon is because the human body is completely capable of taking care of itself. When we wash it with chemicals, this strips our head of its protective oils and replaces it with smell goods [2]. Now, if my scalp can take care of itself and leave my hair looking just fine all by itself, why should I use chemicals to treat it?

I will admit: I've had some pretty stinky days, but not because I didn't wash properly, but because of my eating habits or excessive sweating. But even on my most stinky days, I've had a couple of rather interesting people tell me that really like the way I stink. Which is completely natural. The human body reeks of pheromones when left to do what it does naturally. Our natural pheromones are what got us a lifelong mate millions of years ago. Our natural pheromones are still such an important part of Life; we are using our natural smells all the time, and we don't even know it [3]. But "clean" people are so quick to wash away the pheromones, because humans are arrogant enough to think that we're not primitaves.

As I mentioned, sometimes the food we consume is a factor on how we smell. I've noticed this. The unhealthier the food, the stinkier I am. This is true for everybody [4]. The human body is like memory card, full of history containing everything we've put in our bodies. Our pores ooze all that stuff we drink, smoke, inject, and used up. So, naturally, if you eat stuff that was stinky before it was processed, you're going to smell worse. I find it's much easier for me to eat as healthy as I can than to eat whatever I want so I can, just because soap is at my disposal.

Of course, I do receive flack for my hygiene choices. I would bring it up casually around "clean" people, disgusted comments ensue, and only sometimes, I was met by curious people, who only had questions, rather than comments such as the all too common "that's fucking gross." Sure, the laughing at me and the jokes made about my hygiene choices are hurtful and innaccurate, but I can feel good about keeping myself healthy, protecting the environment, and making people think "what is clean?"

[1]: http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2011/12/21/are-you-slowly-killing-your-family-with-hidden-dioxane-in-your-laundry-detergent.aspx

[2]: http://www.examiner.com/review/why-shampoo-is-bad-for-you-and-homemade-shampoo-recipe

[3]: http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/news/20000828/animals-use-pheromones-to-communicate-do-humans

[4]: http://www.naturalnews.com/004417_body_odor_nutrition.html

Springtime!

It's been quite lovely these past couple of days. It's about a week into Spring and it's apparent by the vibrant colours and warm weather outside. I do love Spring; it's my favourite season. So, today, I decided to dress up like a princess and do some lovely photography:

So, today was good. My neighbors must think I'm nuts, but I probably am :) Happy Springtime!

SNOW!

I woke up this morning, wondering why I wasn't at School. I rolled over with my tired, dark- adjusted eyes, turned to look out of my window, and was blinded.
 Here's what I woke up to:

It's not so bright because of my screen but to unadjusted retinas, it was pretty fuckin' bright.

So, I got to stay home. I spent most of my time on the computer.
Then, a bird got stuck in my kitchen window. The window is broken on the outside and my cat was freaking out.

There's the birdy. I took the picture from my kitchen. It was really trying hard to fly out but it couldn't seem to figure out that just because you can see through something, it does not mean there may not be anything in front of you. Like a window. But I freed the critter. I had to destroy the window to get to it but it was no biggie. The thing nearly flew into me when it got free!

So, anywho, my cat gets really stressed when it snows. He's been really whiney and complainy all day. He's been following me around like a puppy.

There he is, wanting to be picked up. Lady loves the snow, though. She wants to be outside all the time and she hops around and goes crazy. It's really cute.

And this is all the snow in my backyard:

Around where I live, it's at its prettiest when it snows. Everything looks so clean and bright. I love that. So, I walked around and got some more pretty pictures.

Front yard.

Spinning...

The highway.

Tiny paw prints :)

It was a pretty laid back day. I'm kind of glad I stayed home. Until later, Readers!