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Bonfire Out-group

Let me see your hearts

Imploring them not to feign

'Twas never the same—

I like to say I don’t have expectations, but the truth is I do. I often don’t know what they are, I just take in the realities and don’t think until I look back and figure out what I thought. And I never end up thinking what I’m supposed to think.

I do not kiss her back when my head my heart my body is screaming to. I let her think this is not what I was expecting, not what I want. This is not a movie. But the next time I kiss her it explodes.

I do not pin her against the wall in one smooth motion like you are fictionally supposed to. In fact, the process of pinning her to the wall involves a lot more breathless laughing and tripping over each other’s feet and general not smoothness.

I do not give her exactly what she wants. Half the time I don’t know what it is. I give her what I can, what I need to, and hope it’s enough.

I do not do everything right. She is as imperfect as I am. But if she was perfect I would run the other way. I would rather have this reality.

by Jeph Johnson

"If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed." ―Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Instead of trying to avoid disappointment, and looking at the jar as half empty, try seeing the jar as half full: Let's build up and encourage admirability in our loved ones by using positive assertion, rather than discouraging them by recommending passive ignorance.

Without some basic expectations, attributes like trust, promise, possibility, hope, respect, honor and commitment are impossible.

If it weren't for there being such a vague definition of love, I would venture to say that indeed love would be impossible too. Sylvia Plath's depression and inability to feel loved influenced her decision to kill herself.

“I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep my expectations.” ―Bill Watterson

All too often we often choose "easy" over "fulfilling" and find in the end that our lives had little purpose.

“There were two ways to be happy: improve your reality, or lower your expectations” ―Jodi Picoult

Yet there is one way to make those around you happy: improve their reality by raising the expectations you have of yourself.

“If you're going to say what you want to say, you're going to hear what you don't want to hear.” ―Roberto Bolaño

Ain't it the truth!

I would like to add that I believe Sylvia Plath was a great poet, but I don't think she should have used a Bell Jar as her metaphor. A simple glass would have sufficed.

I was in line at Stop and Shop for longer than usual.
At first staring blankly ahead, I began to catch up on some important women’s issues.

Nail polish! Thigh gap! Please your man!

Did you know there are 462 new ways to do that? 462 new ways to please your man.
16 new sex positions
10 don’ts that are now dos
10 dos that are now don’ts

How to keep him coming back. How to keep HIM from coming back.

What am I supposed to do with my face during sex? TELL me, Cosmo!
What is wrong with me this month?

Wait a minute. 462 ways. Really?
462 ways to please my man.
I call bullshit.
I have seen the magic of mashed potatoes, XBox, and blowjobs.
Don’t tell me you’ve come up with 459 more things.

I mean, we’re not this helpless. Are we?
Jesus, I haven’t checked in a while.
Let’s see what the Q&A section has to say about that.

Halfway to the answer I am blindside by a mustard gas perfume sample,
and suddenly I am confronting one of the lesser reasons I stopped going to church.

Try this: the name is written in cursive
and a shiny lady, she holds the bottle.
Better yet, a shiny man. He looks so sad.

Now listen… I saw the little blurb about Hillary Clinton on page 4.
I saw the survivor story
and the “feminist” Dove soap ad.

But that’s just the problem…
It’s the same old patronizing, belittling, stifling crap now wrapped in
“strong woman” paper,
independence gossamer,
the idea that we are in the driver’s seat of our own self image
but the speedometer is painted on.

22 MORE new sex positions
15 reasons your boyfriend might be running late
12 ways to tell if he’s going to call you back

If you’re going to patronize us, go all the way!

36 sexy ways to put your pants on!
45 reasons high heels are worth permanently fucking up your knees!

How do I know if I like my job?
What’s the best tampon for me?
Where does the penis go?

In ten years I’ll segue into the target audience for
Women’s Day and Redbook.

And I’ll still need to lose weight,
And I still won’t know my ass from my elbow,
And instead of telling me how to meet men,
they’ll be coaching me through a divorce,
and then menopause…

But at least by the last page,
I’ll have a pie.

Bound by the cities

Bound by another one's pity's

Expect a place to be

Or expect not want to be seen

And I'll take you as walking money

I see you as a pretty big funny

We and I, all have found our place

And you my dear, have barely found a face

Bound to me, and to my briefcase

I'll lend you a smile, but you're a secret disgrace

Find the comfort in another's eyes

But in reality, another girl will have them hooked on their clever disguise

Find a place to be

Or expect not want to be seen

Stuck in a rut

With no qualities, not knowing what

Who are you and what are you in this city?

Gone and withdrawn, alone and all shitty?

Expect a place to see

Or expect us to be mean

For you are bound

What goes around, comes around

You are stuck here, forever with me

With no voice, or founding plea

For you are bound

My slave, to paint my sacred ground

Tell me, is it ever really "Okay?"

At times I wish I could disappear, away from the day.

Tell me, was it really all a mystery?

Or was I really something plagued by history?

Judge me, try to reason my scars,

Yet, were you there for  my unreasonable wars?

Did you ever set foot in my shoes?

Taken account of what brings the blues?

Tell me, does it really matter?

If I was any more the sadder?

Perhaps it's just my business, only my trouble.

Not another place to intrude into my bubble.

I'll solve my self alone, and myself alone only

Not for you to break my silence, maybe tonight, I'd just like to be lonely.

Blame my shortcomings for my scars if you dare.

For me, it just occurred, the past isn't something I ever chose to wear.

In 2001 I wrote a book about teaching and I was pretty sure

My book would be hailed as a work of art, a great piece of literature.

At that time I was ecstatic. “I’m a writer!” I declared

I knew I wrote a bestseller...and I’d soon be a millionaire.

So I followed my progress on Amazon awaiting my ultimate fate.

But it seems my bestseller never got past number 900,998.

I never got discouraged, never whimpered, never whined

At least I was ahead of the person who wrote number 900,999.

It seems my first predictions in hindsight were to bold

And I would have to put my dreams of wealth and fame on hold.

In my defense I thought my book great insights would reveal

And naively thought a book about my life would have a broad appeal.

But fame can be a fleeting thing and in the end, in truth, who needs it!

Besides it’s not enough to write a book...but people have to read it.

Yet when I think about my life, there’s no reason for dismay

For I have many reasons to count my blessings every day.

I have a family whom I adore, and they seem to like me too

No matter what the world throws at us, we’ll help each other through.

I have friends, I have my health and life seems to be following some plan

You see, I may not be a famous writer, but I am a lucky man.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed at the riches that have come my way

It seems the most important book we write is the one we pen each day.

high expectations are not my cup of tea, people need to stop tryin' to suck the life out of me..

do we return to the memories..? or do they come back to us?

the only person I really want to talk to right now is my father.. but why bother thinking about it.. 

I just want to question him on everything that seems to of passed us by... like the time.. 

or what we will become after wasting away.. after we've deteriorated & our skin is past grey..

slowly paralyzed, fingers first.. trying to figure this out, tying up loose threads.. 

I need to feel alive.. have I been living a lie within my head..?

or am I trapped inside, knowing outside is the reality in which you've been dead.

I could spend the rest of my life in bed, until i've cried enough tears to flood the entire house, both stories.

but wouldn't that just be a waste of potential..? to let the pain push me down, further each day.. 

the weight of nostalgia get's heavier, despite it's dismay..

memories are like an impenetrable fog, & everyone else gets the sunshine on their face.. 

do we all pity the fool, that is ourself..?

The least I expected you to do for me was to extend your hand as I’ve done for you
To offer your help and to ease my worry
But even that was too much
My words were stolen and pulled down the spiral of your conceited misery
It doesn’t always have to be about you
Do you think that you are the only one to suffer?
Get real
We all have a past, but some of us choose to not be victims of it.
Next time you ask me for a favor, I’ll remember your words and spit that right back at your face.