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Tomorrow is Hoetry but today is Poetry (non-exclusive version)

4 Nov

Guess what, audience?
Starting today, I will be doing some “exclusive”
and “non exclusive” versions of my posts.
Want to read the juiciest, most back storied, tricked out versions of my posts?
You will have to donate 100 bucks to read password protected versions.

Once the kickstarter project is launched, you will be directed to a site where you can donate funds to The Babe and once I receive funds, you will be given passwords to access my private and more exclusive/no-holes-barred versions of my material.

Until then….I give you the more restrained versions of my material.
I’m a cunt for doing this, I know.
Cunts get things done though.

A creative detour for today.

Close Your Eyes
walking up and down these halls, walk to every bell
pull the strings of my core, i will never tell

close your eyes/one more time/close your eyes

hear the name
hear it twice
i don’t remember

see the face
feel the breath
feels like forever
think of every love
that never will be mine

close your eyes/one more time/close your eyes

hollow walls
hollowed hearts
lips on the skin

lovely words they say
that i will not let in

down the hall
hear the joy
hear the tragic sighs

close your eyes/one more time/close your eyes

We Will Escape
Planning our escape
you and I
climb the fence
try not to get tangled on the barbed wire

go beneath a dark mans clothes.
escape between dirty sheets.
you have your spoon and you will dig beneath

it will take years
they will never notice
no one notices us any more.

plan to borrow
plan to steal
plan to break
plan to learn

we will escape.

Best Of Excuses
they’re crying in the streets, the joy is so pure
things stopped between, so unsafe and unsure

what goes down
must come up…..
i like to say

crowds of giants roar, here is one by my side
not the half preferential for feeling alive
push me into the wall
then they run away

walls of lights in this palace, everyone’s aglow
like the light in the vibrant, yet nobody knows

others leave ripples
the tide isn’t turning today

how can it be that we only get pieces
the best of excuses i made up for leaving

i never said thank you for helping me find better ways.
i never said thank you for helping me find better ways.

you’re the prince
i’m the pauper
forever failure’s daughter
you’re the words
so unnamed
i’m the wreck
i’m the shame
the reasons for leaving
there’s many
there’s few
the pit feeling losing
that battle was you
too tired
too broken
too sunken to say

i never said thank you for helping me find better ways.

Virgin vs. Ho, take one.

13 Sep

I found out today that a friend of mine is a virgin.
How unlikely is it, a virgin and a ho being good friends?

Where does one even go to find a virgin these days?
I don’t know. I give virgin lessons to geeky 20something/30something males,
and indian boys….but a virgin female is like…seeing the last unicorn walking about the fucking city.

I was explaining to her that in real life, the only time I have ended up with boyfriends is (literally) when I have thought to myself,

“sigh, I want you to be my boyfriend.
The only way this will happen is if I fuck you now. “

And then I take the guy by the hand, drag him back to the nearest bedroom, and as soon as the fucking becomes a regular thing, we are a couple. If it wasn’t for taking the guy back to the bedroom myself, I would never get laid, because most guys don’t talk to me.

There was one other time I got laid outside of this rule. It was when I wore pointy heels and when I wore a shirt that put my boobs right out there. In real life I am a t-shirt & sneakers girl but when I wore pointy heels and a cleavage shirt, the guy knew, “game on.”

But I have found that if a guy wants to fuck me, and I let him do the chasing…
first off, the fucking isn’t very good.
Secondly, I feel like a slut whore because it was all for nothing and I usually don’t even get off.

Some months ago, Mr. Wrong said, “It’s all about the mental buildup for you, the moment leading up to that point, isn’t it?”

I realized he was right: I’m all about the mental buildup, and all about conquests. Yet….if I lay out all the cards and set it up JUST SO, and the GUY doesn’t ultimately “drive it home” – I am disappointed. This is why I end up with mostly taken men. Taken men are perfect for conquesting. They like to drive it home, they know how to fantasize and daydream…and hopefully they are good at giving head. All things younger men are not so good at.

If I could hire one of my married guy friends to just go down on my friend so she’d feel fucking AMAZING, I would.

If you’re a guy, you can do that. You can hire somebody to help your friend get off. Not when you’re a girl. What the fuck. Can you even imagine what a brothel filled with straight “working men” would look like?

I bet there would be a bunch of really hot heartbroken women cumming in for some amazing cunninglus.
It would be so damn beautiful. Conversation would be useless. All of the men would have mouths too tired to talk, from licking too much pussy.
The younger men would be up for conversation though, because younger men are better at fingerbanging. (Why don’t older men like to fingerbang? I don’t get it.)

Back to my friend, though
I was trying to tell her that her happiness was more important than what God thinks,
and if she needed a companion and most BF/GF things require sex, then SO WHAT if her relationship with God takes a detour.
She can come back to it later, or just find a church that’s down with fucking!

We were discussing what was worse…
people finding out she was a virgin or people finding out I was a whore.
That was one of the questions of the night that we didn’t answer.

Sometime later, oddly enough, I got a random text from a friend who was probably at a party or something:

“Your secret is out but it wasn’t me, it’s all you.”

Damn right its all me! I suppose I’ve told a “couple people.” about my hooking habits…………yup.
Strangely, I feel like I’ve gotten more respect with my guy friends (and men in general) once they find out I am a ho.

Being able to talk openly about sex has done wonders for my friendships, whether its a friendship with a virgin, or a friendship with a 50 year old man.
Sex is something everybody needs to talk about. I think everybody needs to be hedonistic once in a while. The Greeks did…why not us? My job has taught me – it’s GOOD FOR YOU.

Plus when you do this job, you find out a lot about your friends real fast. The true friends I have left?

They know I won’t judge them,
and they don’t judge me.
In my friends, I think that’s
the best you could ask for.

P.S. If Jesus was the only one who didn’t throw stones at the whore, maybe he was fucking her.
Just a thought.

BrothelBabe wants scientific answers! TheĀ 10 day fallout.

26 Aug

Every time I come here to work, about at day 10, plus or minus a few days, something happens which I call the “10 day fall-out.”
10 day fall-out
Call it homesickness, heartache, or a break down.
What I imagine is….your heart is a vessel for all these positive emotions.
Everything from your cat wanting to be held when you get home,
to the hand you hold with your forbidden lover, to your mother saying, “lets get lunch this week.”

All of your most recent memories have a 10 day holding time.

When the last drop of love drips out of your heart, like the last grain of sand
in an hourglass…something in you also runs out. Your body knows it, feels it, senses the loss, and doesn’t like it.

You’ve been physically cut off from all of the comforts of your other world back home, and when this moment of loss hits, all you can do is cry.

This time is strange as its the first time I have been back here not having an official boyfriend.
I HAD a boyfriend.
I HAD a ring. Well…he had it. Waiting to give it to me.
I didn’t want it.
I fell for somebody else – somebody forbidden.

Not intentionally either – I’m talking about the kind of love where you tripped, you fell hard, and there isn’t shit you can do about it. The kind where you say to yourself, “Really, heart? Are you sure?! I think you might have lost your mind.”

Knowing my heart no longer wanted to be with Mr. Sensible…I ended things with him some weeks ago, in favor of the untested waters of Mr. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

My boyfriend and I had a very different routine than this time’s 10 day Fall-Out.
Day 10 was when we would fight, and I’d want to break up.

This time all I could do was cry.
Because I miss everything that’s right,
but mostly I miss Mr. Wrong.

I wish I knew the science of “Day 10.” Alpha female, biological chemical warfare, explained. Maybe my ovaries sense the loss. Maybe after 10 days of a night shift, my dopamine levels are low, and the crying is due to a lack of natural sunlight. Its certain that exercise alone doesn’t fix it. No amount of treadmill running and pole dancing is a suitable cure.

Having this much free time working the night shift allows your brain the opportunity to get a little too imaginative. Your head spins around all the magical “what-ifs”.

What IF Mr. Wrong was suddenly available. What IF Mr. Wrong knew how I felt.
I don’t know that he knows. There’s plenty to dig up. We have facebook, after all…where I’ve left plenty of pieces making it easy for any love detective to put together.

Talking with my genius writer friend online, he said that I should tell Mr. Wrong how I feel. I type out a practice letter, as if writing to Mr. Wrong. My friend revised it. It became brilliance and simplicity, all in one.

I took that letter and re-fashioned it to my liking in an email.

Then I got reasonable, and asked myself questions.

What is the result of a whore saying “I want to be with you”?
You can’t really be with a girl while she lives in a brothel.
I’m here to take care of my life. Relationships seem imaginary.
Mr. Wrong is just as broke as I am so saying “lets run off and be together!”
is the biggest joke imaginable.

Unlike other women, I don’t seek to possess or own any man.
No man can truly call me “his” right now, and knowing somebody is the keeper of my heart would not change the reality of my situation.

That email? I saved it, and it will never be sent.
I have too much pride to be anything other than realistic.

Instead in my moment of longing, all I could do was text Mr. Wrong and say,
“How’s the weather back home? I’m missing it.”
As if to say, “I’m missing you.”
His response?
“It’s hot here too.”