u n t i t l e d

It’s been over two years since I’ve opened up this site, and a strong part of me wants to delete my blogs from here for good simply because I’ll never use them again.

I have been changed so much from the teenager who started this “On My Terms” blog back in 2008 – that was FIVE years ago. The one romantic idea that has kept me from deleting my account here: What was important to me in 2008? What were the motivations, emotions and thoughts that got me through high school? Was I as immature and naive as my peers and just didn’t realize it?

It almost feels embarrassing to read over some of the posts I’ve made here out of pure frustration. The poetry. The romantic longing. As a twenty year old who will turn twenty-one in just a few months, I don’t have very much in common with sixteen year old me. The important things in her life were looking forward to her first kiss, online RPGs and finding a new pair of jeans that didn’t show so much of her thick legs. I had absolutely no idea how much was going to change in the next year, how my values and the thoughts I’d had my entire life were going to completely flip.

Through the years, I met people that let me open my mind and THINK – I stopped accepting the ideals my parents had thrust on me about racism, religion, social structure and fitting in, and started to try and think my own way, become my own person. At least that’s what I thought I was doing, because even today I’m still finding new crevices to my personality and windows to my soul.

I thought love was going to be simple and that I’d get it right the first time. Just a year later, at seventeen, I thought I was actually in love with a boy who wanted nothing more than a night with me, because he disguised it with sweet compliments and a humble attitude. Four years later, I can’t believe I was silly enough to fall for that. I didn’t fall completely, didn’t give all of my body to him because he was the first young man to ever show interest, but I came dangerously close to giving my happiness to a horny boy. That was the year I started hating myself, and it’s taken YEARS to recover that inner happiness.

So if you ever read this, Devin, sweetie, I’m talking to you: you were clever. You called me beautiful and said that I would fit right in with your family, and you hit me with an ‘I love you’ that was way too fucking early and way too fucking insincere. I wasn’t in love with you, but I said it because the thought of you disappearing terrified me. After that one date, that one night that I’ll probably have in my mind forever, your excuses grew larger than your ego, and I spent way too much time crying, asking myself what I’d done wrong.

I’ve seen you preach these days about how much you love a woman who respects herself enough to wait. But you’re a hypocrite, baby, because at seventeen you were just as anxious to jump into my pants as any other teenage boy, and you were no virgin back then anyway. I am so glad that the Me back then had enough sense to keep her pajama pants on when you’d have been so happy to peel them off. I was naive and in complete lust with you, but you are not worth the emotional trauma I’d have suffered once you poofed into a cloud of smoke.

One last thing before I finish with you though: that kiss, my first kiss? That was perfect. It was soft and easy and took my breath away easier than anything else that happened that night. Looking back, it wasn’t with the right person, but it was a story that I can tell people now and not be ashamed of. So thank you for that one thing you did right, I suppose. And fuck you very much for the rest.




Here’s a little literature-inspired ramble for ‘ya’. It, like every other story I tell, felt so good to get out onto digital paper. Funny thing? I hadn’t known before an hour ago that I had something to say:

Us roleplayers, we’re not all that different from the Suicide Pac(k)t (reference to albert borris’s book). Going into this online writing relationship, every one of us has problems, and most are seeking ways to handle or solve those problems. You might have grown up in a poor home where you never got to wear or eat name brands. Your parents may have loved you too much, overbearing and pressing in on your life from all sides, or never loved you at all; they could have been cold, money-calculating human beings with no sense of how to raise a child with love. You might have never had a romantic relationship – you might be too ugly, too fat, too lanky, or too young; you never felt like you belonged in the crowd you had to belong in. Someone once told me that every writer in this community has a story, a reason why they are there and not out shopping in a mall somewhere, and he is absolutely right.

Loneliness or “the itch” are the two main factors I’ve recognized in my fellow roleplayers, and I know that both exist in myself at the same time. Loneliness develops naturally, from rejection or instability or both. The Itch is the craving that some creative peoples feel in the “gut” of their mind. It’ll push them to do something, change something, but until they really sit down with a pen, paintbrush, or a ball of clay, they can’t fully understand what it is they are supposed to do.

The moment I wrote my first story, I knew that I’d found something to satisfy that itch, albeit temporarily. Other kids feel that roleplaying gives them a chance to live in a different world, maybe even a fantasy world like Pandora or Middle Earth, where the sky (i.e. administrative rules) is the limit, and life always has an off-switch. With the internet, if you are so frustrated that you need to get up and walk away, you can. It’s as simple as that. No one is going to follow you into your room when you don’t want to see them, or call you a million times just to yell at you when you finally do answer with a low,“What?” When you turn your computer off, you turn off that world, but it is as easy as electricity to immerse yourself in it all over again.

The characters are probably what I love most about my online community. Creating a character for a story or for a roleplaying forum is like molding a child, only this fictional “child” doesn’t have to be young. You, the creator, choose every single thing about the character from it’s weight to its history, likes and dislikes, appearance, personality, age, hair color, eye color, its passions, its fears, its hopes… essentially you are creating another you that doesn’t have to be you at all. How amazing is that? First, you create this character, following whatever form or guidelines are required of you (if any) on that particular board, and then you release it into this world – every character in that world can possibly be affected by your one character, just like every real person in our world can be impacted by us if that is our choosing.

A lot of critics in my own life, my closest family and friends, show me that only an RPG writer can understand what it means to be a part of this culture. Unless someone has experienced it for themselves, the good, bad and the difficult, it is an impossible concept to grasp. The biggest and most obvious statement tied to roleplaying: it is not real. They repeat that it is not the real world, and that we are living our most precious years out online instead of where we belong.

I know a few facts of my own, like: when I was in my early teens, an absolute noob to the online community, there was nowhere else that I did belong. I was awkward, lonely, unsatisfied with how I lived my life and how I looked. Sure, I had “friends”, but I did not fully understand how important a real friend could be until I began making them. Whether it be through chat, private messaging, or through your writing, the members of an RP site can become connected closer than any family in “real” life can. The anonymity that comes with a computer allows for complete honests – usernames become real names and ages, likes, dislikes and histories. The puppeteers, controlling all the fictional characters, become characters themselves. I would have never imagined the camaraderie that is aroused between two people living hundreds of miles apart; the love you can feel for someone you have never physically met? I have sisters in different states. Brothers that can put a smile on my face in under ten seconds, that live in cities I have never heard of. You start to share your life with these people. And whether you’re holed up in a room by yourself, or you’re signed into an internet cafe downtown, you start to live.

Hello again,

— this is something new.

 Under the watchful cover of a Georgian spring moon, two pairs of eyes flashed brightly in the darkness, looking into one another with a tone that could be only loving.

“I’m telling you,” she started with a giggle, “I am getting so old I can’t remember your name, much less mine!”

The sly graze of his eyes in her direction signaled her unfortunate play on words. Damn it, she scolded herself, rolling her eyes at his next words with a shake of her head. Too easy.

“I’ll make you remember my name,” Josh spoke at last, moving his hand from where it rested comfortably on her stomach to the top of her right shoulder. In the dark, Amanda raised her eyebrow but it was lost to the pitch black, so she could only giggle to relieve her nervousness. Even when his words have the most carefree meaning behind them, it still made her spine shiver; one day, one hour, maybe even tonight, there was going to come a time where he was serious, and a rebellious (big) part of her couldn’t wait for it. She couldn’t wait for him to ooze that cocky confidence that he hid deep in himself, knowing that the little girl inside her waiting to be tamed would eat it up.

“Uh-huh,” she muttered so that she didn’t have to verbally respond, but her body turned sideways toward him, and her feet brush against his ankles. It was touching him, smelling the boy scent off his skin and clothes and feeling what it felt like against her fingertips – that is what she loved the most. It would also be the memory she clung to most once he was gone.

A few stray pieces of hair fell onto her face as she moved, and he touched two fingers, sweeping them up and behind her ear, to tuck it back into place. Soft sighs escaped from both their breaths at the same time. He was the one to laugh this time.

“You’re hair’s gotten longer,” Josh mused, rubbing the ends of a strand between his fingers gingerly before laying it back on her shoulder. His proximity and his breath softly moving just below her neck was making her heart jump and smack against her ribcage, but Amanda remained silent, even as he brought two of his fingers down against her side. Her reflex was to shy away from a man touching anywhere near her stomach or legs, but this was Josh; he said he loved her, and she had finally allowed herself to believe that maybe he was telling the truth. This wasn’t going to be another screw up. This was her Josh, and he was tied into too many aspects of her life now for her to feel that self-conscious around him.

His hand flattened out against the dip in her side again before it moved up and over her hip, and curled gently around her upper thigh. As it moved, he rubbed in small circles slowly, creating a massaging effect that did wonders to her comfort level. She wanted to kiss him. But with her eyes closed, her mouth perched in a near purr after his hand began its path, she could neither see or sense him.

Kiss me, her body said. Her hand wrapped over his bicep, squeezing a little, as his hand dropped lower down her thigh, only grazing the inside near her knee before it pulled back up to her hip. Amanda wasn’t sure about his breathing, but she was so sure that her own was beginning to sound like panting. Not that he would mind that, she though playfully, and that idea made her open her eyes.

His bright blue eyes were moving over her face thru the dark lighting of her room, looking at her hair spread out on her pillow, and the lower lip that was caught painfully between her teeth. She’d once told him it was a nervous habit – did he remember that?

She gulped.

“What are you thinking?” she asked nervously, scooting her torso even closer, and maybe moving her hips just a little bit closer to his too. One of her feet moved up his ankle and settled her calf between his. It was intimate. It was nerve-wracking.

Josh shrugged, smiling in that way she loved so much that showed all his teeth. It wasn’t just his smile she loved. He had become the sole beneficiary to her romantic interest, and she could feel her mind and heart both falling in love with him.

“I was just thinking how much I love being here right now.” His left hand cradled the side of her face briefly and dropped down to her neck. It forced most of the silent breath of her lungs. “How much I like being able to just lay here with you without all the motives and drama outside.” Both their eyes flicked toward the ceiling, where her mom and step-dad lay side-by-side, grouchy and oblivious to any real concept of love between them. It was sad, really, but she could think of nothing else but him when he was connected to her by so many points of skin. Her tank top suddenly felt like nothing, her drawstring pajama pants like high-cut shorts that left nothing to the imagination.

“I love you,” she whispered, emboldened by his presence. His breath did that little stutter thing that made her think she might have done something right, and his eyes closed for a second. Feeling even more brave from his lack of response, she pulled herself up so that they were more face to face. After so many months, there was nothing that separated the two of them but a few wisps of air. Amanda brought a hand up to each side of his face and smoothed her thumbs across his cheekbones.

“Hey,” she said softly. When his eyes opened, she continued, “Believe me?”

He needed to see it, to see the love that shone in her eyes when he wasn’t even around. He needed to understand that she didn’t see him as he saw himself – as something undeserving of the things she wanted to give him – because when he was gone he needs to know without a drop of doubt that someone out there thought he was beautiful, funny, crazy, and loved him for all of it.

There was clear hesitation in his voice when he mumbled, “Sometimes…”

She shook her head.

“Please believe me.”

And with a breath that smelled entirely of him, she pushed forward and swept her lips up against his.

Let me tell you Guys something. . .

Women are smart. Women are to be treasured, not treated like meat or mules — not specifying myself this time, but this post does spawn from something that happened to me today. The expression “a woman’s intuition” is not figurative, but literal, and it is not something you should underestimate.

When you approach a lady, and I do mean lady and not tramp, doing something that makes you look dorky or maybe even a little corny is absolutely okay! In my opinion, it makes you look more open to accepting the many traits that make us look dorky. Most women pull their strongest and most bubbly personalities when others around them seem nervous, including myself.

But something that is too staged or too practiced, like a terrible pick-up line, or sleazy size-up from across the room, is not going to impress her; in fact, it would probably turn a lady off. It will make her suspicious, so — Honest to God — be yourself, even if yourself isn’t the coolest, or most attractive person they could be. Honesty can never make a bad first impression, so try a little of that next time you’re planning on hitting on a girl in a crude or overtly sexual manner.

A guy so very ignorant to this concept tried to pick me up this morning while I was working my 7-4pm shift at our local breakfast joint. He actually came back to the counter and asked for a job application just so he could talk to me, and in the same sentence he asked if he could have my Name, Number for a “reference” on the application. Instantly, of course, I knew the whole thing was bullshit. I almost asked for the application back so we wouldn’t just waste the paper, but I thought that might give the wrong impression to him. Despite the fact that he wasn’t my type, looked way too old for me, and had a glaze to his eyes that signaled a little trouble to me, I thought if he was brave enough to ask for my number, that maybe I should give him a shot. It is not every day that I’m approached like this. Also, if someone has the kahones to ask, that has to say something positive about their personality, right?

Well our text conversation continued through the day; I learned that his name was Zac, that he was 24 (a whole 6 years jump from my own age), and that he thought I was beautiful despite the horrible get up I must wear to work. At first, I was so impressed with his bluntness and how sincere he seemed, that I was gladly responding to him. But through the few hours that passed next, his words became less cute, and more vulgar. Asking for pictures of me that I didn’t have and would never take (or give for that matter), talking about different parts of my anatomy he really shouldn’t mention  unless he wanted to seem sleazy, and going so far as to send me pictures of his own anatomy. Deleted. Erased. Gone, thank God.

And what did this chameleon male say when I promptly told him I was not that type of girl, and that I was interested in someone else? He said, word-for-word, “I’m not tryin to marry you and I saw it in your eyes you wanted me.” If I have a single guy reader, anywhere out there in the world, please read the following sentence carefully and accept it into your heart: If you want to hear a girl laugh, tell her what she’s thinking.  Because I promise you that no matter how sensitive you are, you’re probably way off in left field.

Not only was he wrong, but he also raised a giant red flag with that sentence and a few following this statement, which led to him being ignored completely. His name has been changed to “That Dick Zac Guy” in my phone, and if it is even possible I am now more cautious over what kind of guy I’ll look at twice.

So, again: women are smart, and they are to be treasured. If you have one, grab her and hold her close; if you don’t have one, keep looking. She’s looking for you too, actively.


I am too petrified to feel hopeful, but too blissed to be pessimistic.


Cat for catastrophe!

Apparently, I just received my first failing grade in college. It was a 57 on a chapter test, three points from a “D” which is unacceptable in itself — it was my worst subject: Math 1111.  The teacher didn’t give us adequate time to finish because she is a bit of an illterate-to-technology twit and the test was online; despite that, she is a sweetheart so you have to give her that. Still, I believe that even with another hour or two of time, my score would have still been quite low. Maybe not as low as it turned out to be, but somewhere in that margin.

I glance around the room now to the faces of my peers, and nearly every one wears a face of anxiety. Between the test we just took, and the impending homework assignments, each section of which includes nearly 50 questions and are five sections in total, we are all feeling hot little coals under our feet; I may be feeling it most of all. I am in college on a federal grant, and I have to keep up my grade point average if I want to keep my financial aid requirements, and stay in college.

Teacher is back. Gotta run. Later, wordpress!

“Just Perfect”.

Not a poem, but a story, #2 in the short line of them. The repetition is not meant to be lyrics, or lines of poetic wit — it’s something I wrote, something extra hard for me, and I wanted to share.

This one’s it, folks.

  “Just Perfect”

You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me. 

We were a match made with wit and games,
an erotic display of knowledge
with more than a bit of struggle for power.
And in the end
you made love to college, and you fell for her,
and I stay here in my lonely skin.

You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
– – –

You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me. 

I never thought I’d be involved
with such an exotic sense of humor.
Music connected us across oceans,
and your smile kept us awake.
And in the end
you wanted to wait,
and I stay here in my lonely skin.

You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
– – –

You are perfect
God you seem so perfect
You are perfect for me. 

You claimed the first brush of my lips
and to you I held the fastest.
Words were said, and things exchanged,
and I let myself believe it.
And in the end
there were things you couldn’t handle,
distance and bridges so far,
and so I stay here in my lonely skin. 

You were perfect
God you seemed so perfect
I was reluctant to see.
– – –


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