powdered sugar

dementes:

singlemansdiary:

Some general questions, it’s ok to be shallow… respond with a comment if so desired.

Would you date a guy that……

1,) Is 30-60 lbs overweight. Has an obvious belly and tits? Not a problem.

2.) Is balled, not balled like Q ball but balled like really fucked up thinning hair and a horrible receding hairline? Hmm… I’d probably try and talk him into getting rid of it.

3.) Is 5’7 or shorter? I’m a tall girl who can’t walk in flat shoes, I don’t want to look as if I’m out with my son.

4.) Is tall, amazingly hot, but has 1 arm that has a hook as a hand? Yes but I can’t promise not to dress him in full pirate regalia.

5.) Has one eye and wears an eye patch, but other than that he’s perfect? See question 4.

6.) Is blind or deaf? As long as we could still communicate, sure.

7.) Has a massively hairy body, like pretty fuckin hairy? I don’t mind a bit but nothing caveman like. Oh and monobrows are grounds for divorce.

8.) Has the looks & body of Adonis, like as perfect as can be… But is extremely insecure and jealous? No no no.

9.) Is a fat slob, like a gross fucking mess but is the most confident and romantic man in the world?  Fat I can deal with, slob no.

10.) Has the looks & body of Adonis and all the confidence, romance and charm you could ask for…. But he’s the WORST sexual partner you’ve ever had there is zero hope? If there was absolutely no hope of things improving, then that would mean he’s ignoring me and that means he’s not for me. Nobody’s immediately brilliant at everything but not being willing to try speaks volumes.

 My answers are the boldy bits.

6od:

The sad girl.

No one wants the self-deprecating one who smiles faintly and acts like everything is fine and okay. She’s okay. The one who thinks things she’d never tell to another soul. Not one around her at least. No one wants the girl who’s emotionally volatile and likely to fall apart at the drop of a hat.

No one wants to have to deal with her outbursts. No one would be able to console her. No one knows what to say to her. No one really thinks much of her. No one sees who she really is. They glance. They don’t look twice. They just see what she shows. Which isn’t much because she’s scared of showing too much of the inside, so she focuses on the outside.

No one really looks into her eyes. And when they do she worries about what they see. She tends not to look back. But once they look away she studies their faces. She looks at their pupils and the lines around their eyes and mouth. She watches lip quivers and nose twitches. She wants to know what hurts inside of everyone. She wants to know the pains of others so that she doesn’t focus so much on her own.

No one knows that under her skin, she is the littlest of girls with the biggest of hearts, completely lost and vulnerable and soft to the touch. No one knows what to do with her. No one can really please her. No one even tries. Rarely does anyone genuinely make her smile. And she’s in constant search of a happiness. No one bothers.

She tip toes on the edge. She leans towards it. She prays for gusty winds. And she finds solace in the pouring rain. She finds beauty in tragedy because she understands it. She consistently wants to rip her heart out of her body but she wouldn’t know what to do with it. She doesn’t want your pity. She just wants your hand.

She knows she’s not alone. But she still feels it all the time. She always wants to go, she just doesn’t know where. She looks up at the sky at night and for just a split second a sigh of relief overwhelms her. Because when she looks up like that, she could be anywhere. It’s when she lowers her chin that everything hurts.

No one wants to clean up after her, and she sure as hell doesn’t want anyone to have to. She doesn’t want to burden anyone. So she says she’s fine. She’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Life’s good. I’m doing just fine. I’m a big girl. I always end up okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Nothing bad ever does. It doesn’t matter that I’m dying on the inside because I’m used to it by now, or at least I should be. I mean, I’m alive. So that should count for something, right?

This is who I’m not going to be anymore.