JOEY NG  | e-mail tumblr rss ask me anything Will you still love me, tomorrow? |
I think people are fairly cognisant of what’s going on, what’s going wrong with their lives.
It’s the common complaint of a mother’s lament. She calls.
And she makes you feel like shit.
I mean, she means well.
But she’ll point out all the things
All the things you already know aren’t quite right
All the things that you wish you could make your momma proud of
But aren’t
right now, not yet.
You should be making more money
You should be with a man who deserves you,
instead of letting him allowing yourself to be,
continue to be hurt by him.
You should call more often.
No, fuckit, see your fucking parents more often.
You should do better.
You were supposed to do better.
And you can, y’know
You know.
So when someone who is supposed to care
shows they care by pointing out the things you
I guess, were perhaps, maybe even embarrassed to acknowledge
or in the very least trying to shelve.
It
doesn’t help.
I think
maybe
if you mean well, be kind.
If you care, then help them feel better
not worse about themselves.
And I don’t mean that you should lie
or enable a bad situation to get worse but
think
take a step back and ask what you can do to make the other person feel
happier.
Cuz usually, I don’t think people turn to those they love
for advice
for a better understanding of themselves,
I think they mostly want to feel loved.
This entry was written by , posted on November 23, 2010 at 2:47 am, filed under Self-diagnoses, Writing and tagged 5am, I just hoped you'd be nice to me is all. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
for him to make the first move any
move,
but you don’t hear a thing.
When you’re wondering
whether he still cares or thinks of you,
but you just can’t
tell.
You forget
how it’s supposed to be.
He’s supposed to look at you and
gush
“You’re so pretty.”
He’s supposed to put his arm around you
when you cross the street
on the walk home.
Give you an earnest kiss
goodbye and ask to see you soon.
You forget, and so did he.
This entry was written by , posted on November 16, 2010 at 12:39 am, filed under Love, Writing and tagged Until someone else reminds you how. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Like his independence or his individuality.
But to
give.
Nice things.
Things like his favourite snack, a soft surface,
compliments and good head.
She just wants to know if you’d like those things from her and whether it’d be ok to do it again tomorrow.
This entry was written by , posted on September 15, 2010 at 7:02 am, filed under Love, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Let me tell you about travelling. It’s lonely.
To be ready, jet-set at the drop of an Expedia confirmation may seem like a cool job, and if I have to think about it, it really is. But ask me how I feel and I’ll tell you that “I don’t know, I don’t have the time to consider these things” because it’s easier to pretend that too much is going on in my life than to admit that I am completely, emotionally wrung dry.
You basically take your usual hipster non-committal nonchalance and put a giant, erratic, ticking clock on every relationship (romantic or otherwise), multiplying any sense of isolation ten-fold.
I meet someone. And I have to declare:
“There’s only one thing you need to know about me. And that is.
I will leave you
- unwillingly.”
Which usually lends to the other person behaving in one or two ways:
1. Like a total dick. The I can do whatever the fuck I want with you. It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving anyway.
or
2. In fear of attachment. Making it known that I’m not going to emotionally invest in you. Cold and infrequent.
They both suck.
When you operate every day knowing that someone you’ll grow to care for and like is actively suppressing your significance in their life, it FUCKING SUCKS.
When you relate to people knowing that you are merely transient, not important in their grand scheme of things, well, it essentially nulls the point of relating at all.
It makes me feel like shit.
So you have a good cry and chalk it up to the experience, the situation, the occupational hazard and move on to the next city.
And then you have to do it AGAIN.
So for people to assume that I’m always running away from something, taking the easy way out, that it’s always easier to leave than to be left behind… no.
It’s not that. Ultimately, I do have a choice.
It’s just that no-one has given me a reason to stay.
Not even tried.
This entry was written by , posted on September 11, 2010 at 4:45 am, filed under Babes, Friends, Jokes, Love, Self-diagnoses, Sex, Writing. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Things we learn from our mothers. Like how to love.
I was about four when my mother told me that she didn’t marry for love.
That people generally don’t. But that it was just the right time.
Cuz my daddy was an honest man,
from a good family,
he wasn’t going to hurt her.
Cuz he asked and she was nearly 30.
She said “always be with someone who loves you more than you love them.”
She did.
Because to love someone
more than they do you, would be to suffer
and I, her daughter, did not deserve to live a life in pain.
And so I vowed, never to settle for a schmuck I didn’t respect, didn’t ridiculously adore
just to be safe yet unsatiated.
But these men, with all their genius and magic-stry,
I suppose, never wanted to settle with me – the one who’d always pretend
to love him less.
The things we learn from our mothers.
This entry was written by , posted on August 3, 2010 at 4:58 am, filed under Love, Photos, Self-diagnoses, Writing and tagged American Apparel, Ballet Pink, California, Love, Men, Multi-Layered Reversible Petticoat, My mother, San Francisco. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
My favourite kind
Heather grey
Thin and flimsy
washed over
and over
on your ass cheek
Except I can’t even remember whose ass I’m remembering
This entry was written by , posted on July 6, 2010 at 3:40 am, filed under Writing and tagged Who do you love? Are you for sure?. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.