Honest dating profile

I just want someone to sleep with in both ways. Someone with whom a love can grow happily – with neither one of us shouldering more burden than the other. I don’t want to labour or suffer for you. I want to easily please you and to be easily pleased in return. In you hands, I want to feel my restlessness lift away and leave me. I want to exercise vulnerability and not resilience. I want to feel no restraint, only joy, as I lie with you fondly and feel gladdened by your heavy presence, your lion-gentle breath.

It’s been nearly 6 months

It’s been almost 6 months since I started posting on here – and I just thought I’d do a little post to mark it.

I still love doing this – it’s one of the only things I genuinely enjoy, as bleak as that sounds, haha.

But, I’m still amazed about how different the writing experience can be day to day and post to post.

Sometimes I write so much in a day, that I feel awkward posting everything I’ve written and have to let them bleed out gently over the next few days or weeks, and other days the mine is empty and I either don’t touch this at all, or I edit something I’ve done previously.

I wrote a 100 and odd word poem in about 15 minutes this afternoon (it is a bit of a silly one mind, just something sort of playing with rhyme, with a nursery rhyme sort of rhythm), but this morning I was thinking today was gonna be one of those days where I just feel like the blankest blank as soon as I open my laptop. I also had an idea for a (very) short story, that I wrote the first part of whilst squeezed in the dusty crevice between my bed and the wall.

Part of me feels like I should go back and attend to previous work, I’ve started that I intended to follow up, but haven’t quite got round to. (e.g. https://headdome.wordpress.com/2017/04/28/experience-what-ive-learnt/)

I’m not entirely sure what’s stopping me. I feel like I’m always lured in by the freshness of starting something new and clicking on that “Write” button.

(NB – I’ve just followed that link and realised part of what might be stopping me – just the fact that I’m mildly embarrassed by what past me has written/ how I’ve worded certain things. I don’t think that’s helping, because I feel reluctant to go back to something that makes me cringe even the tiniest bit.)

Maybe it would help if I found the previous parts, printed them off and bashed down some ideas by hand, instead of relying so comfortably on my laptop and what I can pull out of my head. I definitely feel like editing and annotating comes more naturally when I can scribble all over the page in different colours and things.

The other post that I feel has slightly got away from me is “NPC” – which was supposed to be a short story, but, at the moment, is just in the form of one actual post and one sort of side post which is a poem of a few of my notes on it compiled. I also have a couple of locked essays in my Drafts folder: one’s an unfinished reading of one of my favourite musicals and the others have escaped my memory at the moment, haha – must be good then, eh?

I feel like I’m learning all the time and I love the pool of work I’m exposed to here, if you’re reading this, thanks for your time :). Again, as with most of my prose posts/ notes on my poems, I’m not entirely sure of the purpose of this, except for a bit of a record of my thinking I suppose. Not everything has to have a proper purpose, right? And this is my space to write, so I should probably stop second-guessing myself, as I come to the close of the final paragraph liiiike this. (full stop.)

I’m off to sleep now :). Night :).

H

Prose for goodness sake get off the roundabout, you might fall. Don’t go developing a healthy sense of balance and risk now. Poetry, yeah course you can go and play near the train tracks -just don’t lick the track or anything because trains never wash their feet, good lad.

I can let poems out of the cage as unfinished monstrosities,

as lumbering creatures sort of sewn together, but not quite –

all the filling sort of hanging out like a burst silicone implant (I watched a lot of surgery programmes today).

But not prose, it sort of gets treated like the over-guarded, over-disciplined older child.

It feels too real and I feel like it has to be better, has to be more of a photographic representation of my feelings… I just can’t be as playful or carefree.

And I find that annoying.

Because my feelings are in flux all the time anyway, “so what does it matter?” I ask.

But what if by the time I press publish it feels out of date?

I don’t know, I just can’t let go of it the same.

But I’m sure I will, I just need more practice and more time, a few months ago I would have felt sick posting a poem on here and now I’ve posted over 200.

I feel like I’m being very lax with them darling, don’t you think?