إكبرى يا بنت
إكبرى وكبرى معاكى قلبك
قلبك وحضنك

جتت
جتّة متلقحة حنب جتّة
أهى محاولة

حضن- قبل التحلل والتراب

Just cuz you feel it doesn't mean it's there

there there

Of Spine and Men

i realized something yesterday. not happy with it. will probably never have the balls to do it. but hey! at least im aware of it now. at least now i know what should be done...and never do it. Yay me.
when there is a man in my life, i become a clear case of arrested development. The minute im manless (i was actually going to say the minute my life is empty-which so proves that this is NEVER going to go beyond an enlightening theory for me)...i develop opinions, creativity flows, i blossom and branch out into so many wonderful new directions.
Do i blame the man? Wish i cud-but no. Im sick and tired of women always blaming men for everything. Take some responsibility, we've just become so comfortable with the "its the man's fault" excuse that its such a hassle to get off our asses and actually do something instead of all the boo-hooing.
so its my fault. 100%. I have an automated switch in my head:man out of life:"ON", man in life: "OFF". When im with a man, i feel obliged to sculpture myself to his liking and preferences. Not at all in a deceitful way-its more of an accommodating ritual...honoured by our damn society.
Does this mean its either manless or spineless? At the beginning of this post, that's what i thought..but on second thought...hell no! I will find a way to be me as fully as achingly possible AND as accommodating as womanly possible to my man (simply because i love it). I will have both the man and the spine please, thank you.

just so that we're crystal clear about this: love is a bitch! If I could get my hands on that filthy tramp id scratch her face so bad she'd be gushing blood from every little square inch of that pretty little face-id render her completely unrecognizable..then..id get a hammer and cripple her-for fucking life-we're talking arms, hands, fingers, legs, knees, feet, toes...toe by fucking stinking toe.
Clearly, im not a fan.

unsick

I'm up against the wall again. I somehow always manage to walk myself straight up to that same wall, politely turn around, and press my back against it-like a good little girl. Now...I'm beginning to suspect that if its becoming a pattern...I do it because I like it. Sick. Subconsciously, of course. But still-sick.
Wait...what is sick anyway? and what's..."unsick"? Damn! I hate it when im comfortably writing about little egotistical nothings and an annoying, pain in the ass question decides to grace my already messed up head with its unwanted presence. ناقصة أنا؟! ما هى متلصمه خلقة! أحا!
Ok, lets get it over with. Sick, psycho. What? we use this word or that when describing a peculiarity of character. Something that "society" would"gasp" at. God! just that last sentence makes me wanna do "pycho" all the time!(Yes-im racist). Look, lets cut a looooong, boring story short...
In society, there is a uniform way of doing things. We know every little rule by heart. Act out our roles to perfection. The refined, cultured you. The "representation" of that which is "Human" (just in case God or aliens are watching)
And then there's the other you. The "sick" you. The "psycho" me. Inside our heads. Our closest relationships. Our homes. Rooms. Closets. Bags. Ipods. Fridges. Bookshelves. Prayers. Dreams. Beds. Garbage cans.
I stink at conclusions. Conclusions stink anyway. You do the math-or not. Don't care.