Why Im not a Liverpool fan....

The purpose of isolation.
Being alone with ones thoughts often brings about some clarity. Or insanity depending on ones state of mind,  state of affairs.
And being surrounded too deep is based on the assumption that someone actually cares long and hard enough to pay attention and listen, understand even, maybe even empathize.
Assumptions are the mother of all thats wrong with the human race. Your mind churns up ideas and expectations and fantasies and foolishly mirrors it onto reality. Insanity. The hurt and disappointment when reality sets and bares the fangs of inadequacy. Why do we even bother?
Humanity is built on the the structure of interdependence and support systems, why people pay millions to have someone listen. Personally I say read a book, scream out loud, cry if u have to, pray endlessly and mindlessly without ceasing- thats the only set of ears that ACTUALLY cares enough to listen faithfully and gracefully. Everyone else is a sad state of affairs just waiting to happen.
Back to isolation, why? Thats easy, away from the hypocrisy of human interaction and the disappointment of unfulfilled promises one finds peace. I do anyway. So many people asking how you are and no one wanting to hear anything past you being okay. Saves time when it leads to nowhere. How elso do you explain telling a person you are drowning and they reply with "ok" or the unfortunate classic "lol". Its shameful is what it is. But humans wouldn't be humans without elements of need and greed all intertwined into a deep set of emotional baggage just threatening to spill over. The need gets so strong it starts to produce a stench so strong no one is trying to be around you. The greed also, no, nobody trying to be on that train wreck.
When you dig deep, if ever, does anyone really know you? Past that which you allow them to know. Past the walls you've put up. See i find most people are okay with the superficial. I don't mean makeup or weaves, well that too but thats for another day. All day indulging in conversation with this person and that person, boy and girl, lovers and friends (im talking hours and hours of your life you have no chance of ever getting back), you should know these people by now and they should know you yes? But really, does anyone really know anyone? Im starting to sound sad and even angry, im not. I have the curse of being so cold and distant ive often being referred to as being robotic, sometimes even a drone. Thats not praise,  thats recognition of a problem and now I can work on it. I may not be a fan but I am human with a need to co-exist with others. And genetically, I need it to make it past 30.

Thoughts

I failed again last night. Fell into the pits of death and darkness in sin. I knew the moment it happened, knew it was over for me. The light of hope extinguished, the spirit of peace vacated the temple leaving behind only a pile of clay. In the absence of light darkness has crept in and made itself a home in my bones. I wanted to cry, infact after a while for a while its all i could do. I couldn't pray, still can't, in my sin i pieced together the veil of the temple that was torn when Christ died separating myself from his gift of salvation, hiding myself in the garden of eden when God came calling i ate the forbidden fruit.
There is no mercy for me this time because this time i went in knowingly with eyes wide open i took the leap straight down into my personal pit of hell.
The guilt weighs heavy on my chest like a 30tonne truck going nowhere fast choking me up with shame and self loathing.
My help, my circle, the ears at my disposal are "holy" ears that will not understand or forgive my fall from grace when all our interactions are laced with scripture and righteous presentation all of it designed to keep from going down this path. The church, it is only home when you are faking the straight and keeping all else hidden so i could fit right in except my walk was never about seeking comfort in religion but in Christ. The struggle is real.
Like butchers leading sheep to the slaughter you skipped the gospel in your teachings and sermons. All of you in your suits and ties talking about your perfect lives purposefully omitting Romans 3:23 on how we all fall short. Never once teaching confession or repentance like David in Psalm 51 you just want to tell me how God will make my money long. Why aren't you telling people who's hope is gone about his mercies that are made new every day? Traded the truth of the gospel for loud crowds and television slots and having just one more twitter follower is now worth more than a mans soul. Weren't you told to be fishers of the very man you tossing into a sea of despair? And here i was thinking Christ came for the ratchet. Like me.

Petals on the bed that is my Grave

A toast to us.

In our hands champagne glasses, this is after all a celebration.

Keeping eye contact, both anxiously excited about what the rest of the night holds we take the first sip.

The smell of the crimson coloured liquid, a metallic ting, like raw iron and earth. It tastes the way it smells with faint sweetness I wasn't expecting.

Its perfect. I finally understand why vampires are unapologetic. 

He's ordering for me; our starter is "brain", human is best I am told. Its been smoked with mind numbing gas. Goes perfect with the "blood" in our glasses. The main course is the chefs signature dish, spiked "heart" laced with feelings and seasoned with a hint of emotion and my favourite dessert, "souls" baked at low heat and glazed with caramel sauce, served on a plate of illusion. It couldn't be more perfect if Cinderellas' godmother planned it herself.

Fast forward into the night, high on blood, I mean wine. Full on hearty chunks of premium human flesh and organ we are home. His home. I've been here before but tonight is special. We have waited a long time for this, 31 days to be exact. I have lingerie on, got it for this occasion, blades disguised as pieces of silk and lace woven to look like a layer of skin. I have never looked more dangerous-ly desirable. He's looking at me, peels his eyes away for a second to look at the box of condoms beside the bed, or was that a shovel? 

He reaches out to touch me and pierces a large hole in my shoulder, Edward Scissor-hands? His other hand reaches out to stroke my hair and the axe he holds pierces a hole at the base of my skull. With every touch I bleed but I cant think, left my mind on the dinner table and the rest of it still trying to find its way inside of me. The chef lied when he said the illusion wasn't potent because I still believe I am living a fairytale. My skin drenched with liquid that cannot be blood because I had that with my dinner, I reach out to return his touch. Draped in blades I slice him on impact. We are at war. Killing each other with every touch, tearing flesh and breaking each other limb by limb. Its okay though, this is why "soul" remains my favourite dessert. But wait, before we take each others breathe away, let take the shovel beside the bed and dig our graves. 

PS. this is us today. Satisfying our carnal mind at the expense of our souls.

The Black in the Rose

I recently came across an article comparing the womb of a woman to the holy of holies in scripture.
Brief history lesson;Holy of Holies was the innermost and most sacred area of the ancient tabernacle of Moses and temple of Jerusalem. The Holy of Holies was constructed as a perfect cube. It contained only the Ark of the Covenant, the symbol of Israel’s special relationship with God. The Holy of Holies was accessible only to the Israelite high priest. Once a year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the high priest was permitted to enter the small, windowless enclosure to burn incense and sprinkle the blood of a sacrificial animal on the mercy seat of the Ark. By doing so, the high priest atoned for his own sins and those of the people.
The comparison;" Just as no one other than the High Priest could enter the Holy of Holies and live, so the so- called “priest” in marriage is the only one blessed to enter a woman’s womb.  If any other man trespasses, it means partial death to his soul and often his body, too."
I could sit here and ask "why didn't anyone tell me this before?" But that would be hypocrisy because truth is i probably heard it a thousand different ways i just didn't stop to listen. Wouldn't if you paid me.
Truth is, (and try not to judge or do, whatever works really) i couldn't be bothered! Couldn't understand what the fuss was about, in fact i hated the fuss. The men, all of them hounding you like dogs on heat just watching and waiting for you to slip. How they'd trip all over themselves trying to come up with the most tired lines just to get the "precious".
Now before you start thinking i hated the fuss so i ignored it and shut it down let me stop you right there, no, it was such a pain i decided to get it over and done with. So i went with the next guy that came along. Easy on the eyes, kissable lips- thats all that mattered, mind so slow i could fool him into believing it was his idea but a player so we could both walk away with just a handshake. (Ps. Do i sound like a man right now? I feel like I do, anyway....) 
Fast forward, lots of alcohol later we are in his room and the guy wants to start talking (a big shout out to brewers around the world) so this has to be over fast. And it is. Painful and messy and uncomfortable and just plain horrid. And im more confused than ever because really? Really? Really? And he asking if i want to go again? No i am not that far gone into the business of misery. Worst minute of my female existance (no hard feelings If you happen to read this, it is my hope that you have gotten better with time) but on the bright side i did walk away with a handshake. On the not so bright side to this day there's nothing that makes me walk away faster and easier than a bad sexual experience.  Maybe we are all damaged.
Years later; the article or the holy of holies, heartbreak and pain, new lessons and knowledge of love and living all under my belt. Knowing life as i know it now, i simply cannot believe anyone who says they have no regrets. Given the opportunity to do it all over again, bet we'd all be standing at different doors. Id like to think so anyway, but then i find im sometimes in denial about how hazardous humans are to themselves.

Closed Book

I've come to appreciate the need to talk it out. When it feels like all is coming down on you keeping it all in is like a time bomb waiting to happen. Talking, feels like exhaling even if you don't get a solution. Just letting it out is like breathing it out. With the right set of ears its all you need, to bring clarity and most days even the much needed sense of serenity.
For some reason ive never had that kind of luxury. I don't know why but for some reason i can never find a listening ear when i need it the most. Sure there's always people around but never the right ones, not when it counts.
And I hear it often, how i should let them in, express myself, kinda hard when they fall off the grid. Its hardly their fault, how will they know when its time? Not like they are psychic.
So i do what i do best, i bury it, deep in my soul and let it rip me apart. I let it tear through me, feel as it gets my blood boiling, errupting my vessels till its organ failure. Till its a miracle I'm still breathing. And when it feels like im drawing in my last breath, when im sure my last words will be my last, then the pipes burst open and its all i can do for what seems like forever. I cry. For the longest time, shaking and screaming but no sound comes out. This must be what death feels like, screaming out from the depth of the darkness that surrounds you but no one can hear you. Reaching out for anyone to pull you back but no one ever does. Its the last straw because when its done i don't know if I'll ever move from here.

Heavy Love

They say love is a beautiful thing.
That the greatest love of all is loving yourself.
To forgive and be forgiven a sign of great character they say.
These people, whoever they are, they talk too much. Telling us everything without really telling us anything.
They skip the part where a broken heart bleeds too hard to love. That sometimes the anger and hatred and the bitterness is what keeps the heart from dying altogether. They don't seem to understand that seeking forgiveness means having to take responsibility when all one wants to be is a victim.
So what kind of love is this that only serves to hurt, to manipulate, to curve a hole from the depth of your soul and rip your heart to shreds? Is this what we queuing up for? The chance to be "loved" with Ts and Cs? From tedious ones like explaining and keeping tabs on your "bae" to the costly ones like riding on the highway to hell in our varying vehicles of fornication, adultery, lust and all manner of personalised perversion. Cant even hear your persons phone ring without grabbing your insecurity blanket. Cant socialise without risking a heart attack everytime smiles are handed out and none in your direction.
If this is love then I'll pass. I can destroy myself all by myself.
"Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered, keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perserveres. Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 13 : 4-8
Now this, this is Love.
My kind of Love anyway.
"Johnny met Donna and they fell in love but had no idea what love really was."
We all victims of the situation. Idolosing so badly the idea of love we settle for its evil twin- lust and their cousin infatuation. (Oh how we love to be complicated!l) All the while not knowing what it is, this things we yearn for.
Love is what happened on the cross, when the one who IS Love gave his son as ransom for our transgressions. Love is a promise, to have and to hold in good times and in bad till death parts us. It is that which reminds us of Genesis 2:18- it is not good for man to be alone. But most importantly; God IS Love.
Johnny and Donna had no idea what love was because Johnny and Donna had no idea who God IS. You can't claim knowledge of one without the other, and to expect it from one who doesn't know the who IS, is in the words of Da ' Truth; like taking anger management classes from Bruce Banner. Like asking Renee Zellweger to bring back Bridget Jones' face.

Perfect Imperfections.

Perfection.
Different strokes for different folks.
The perfect shade of lipstick, perfect dress, perfect shoes, perfect job, car, clothes, date, the perfect man etc
For one girl the perfect pair of shoes are her converse which another girl feels belong on boys and should only ever be found on female feet when one pretends to work out.
Perfect job, the dream job, different strokes for different folks. For some all things are a science and if they could spend their entire lives learning and growing and discovering the fascinating and mesmerising world that is Science, they would never know a moment unfulfilled while others, just want to rule! Politics.
Personally im a lip gloss kind of girl. Makeup too messy and i cant be bothered to remember to not touch my white blouse after ive touched my smeared face. That's just me. But there's the girl who wouldn't be caught dead without her bag of....well faces. Cat eye, dark eye and whatever else is out there.
The perfect man, then it gets interesting. The checklists going around are enough to send any sane and noble man running. He should be tall and handsome and have a good job and intelligent and strong and protective without being possessive. A little jealous but not insecure ("because jealousy is how you know they care", she said rolling her eyes), charismatic but not a flirt, fun but not the life of the party. He should be God fearing but not a prude, family guy but not too close to his mother (too much pressure), ambitious and driven but still able to make me the centre of his world..... and it goes on and on and on. Like i said, even the most noble of them all is sent running after this. And they must have their own lists these men; cooks like my mama, nurturing, caring, hot, legs as long as a train but modest enough that only i get to see them. Lady in the street, freak in the bed...and we wonder why JLo having a hard year. There's just no winning!
You can't be yourself because half the time you have this deep rooted fear that yourself isn't good enough or strong enough or sexy enough. So you settle for a string of 20s to give u the feeling of a 100 partner talking about all man are the same!
U? Miss i have so many alternatives i can't settle on one because he flawed too deep? You can't even see the guy trying to love you unconditionally because you too busy being some no good mans woman between 8-10pm. And you want to cry out to God to send you a man? Why should he when you can do bad all by yourself? So far gone conforming to the norms of this world you cant see how you killing yourself. Everyday eating away at your own flesh and drinking your own blood you dont see the ghost of a man you have become. And you still wondering why no one stays? the living and the dead can't live under the same roof. Ask Emily Rose.
-Black Rose-