#with the selfish honesty in question being telling your mom you don't feel good
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#i loooove writing characters who are fucked in the head <3#i love getting to follow up some emo bullshit like ''submitting to selfish honesty''#with the selfish honesty in question being telling your mom you don't feel good#love characters with a Normal & Hinged thought process. love to look at my blorbos and say I Could Make You Worse#whistling my merry little whump tunes tonite#nebular.txt
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Don't ask me about God.
Don't ask me when am I graduating.
To repeat what I said when I'm singing.
Don't ask me about my religion,
or why I don't faithfully go to church anymore.
I don't like questions with answers that make me feel stupid.
These are the things I think about in the shower,
When my empathy is running a race with the water.
I think about things like, I need to exercise more. Is my hair growing? Is my ability showing? Is God a man or a woman?
I don't look at myself too long.
I'm afraid that I won't like how
honesty and accountability look up too close.
I tend to shove things in the biggest of closets,
and pretend that I bought a home without any doors.
I'm not the easiest person to walk through.
I'm selfish.
But I'm honest with myself, when I feel like hearing
what truth sounds like with a jammer and a hammer and a jigsaw, truth.
I am just as insecure as I am confident.
I barely believe in my own brilliance or my beauty.
I need current confirmation from my friends,
and I look for it in their faces.
Are you pretty today? My god, are you lovely.
I'm a star who doesn't pay her light bill.
I wish that my mother told me that I was incredible at 10,
maybe I would believe it at 23.
I convince myself every day, every day
that I'm right where I'm supposed to be.
No matter how many credits short I am of graduating.
Do not stare at certain parts of my face.
I'm not sure how comfortable I am with such open flaws.
I've become pretty good
at covering up what isn't beautiful about myself.
Excuse my sarcasm, it's the ugly trying to come out in me.
Ignore her, ignore her please.
I'm trying to figure out how to apologize to the person I am,
to forgive the mistakes that I've made, on replay.
Forgive yourself before you ever look for an apology.
I want to write everything that you're afraid for people to hear,
everything that you keep in that closet in your back.
I wanna break my pride's ankle with a sledge hammer,
anytime she gets too tall.
I wanna do open heart surgery on the boy who couldn't tell you, ‘I love you, Tank.’
This is your reminder list.
One, fuck him, I love you.
Two, you are everything your mama forgot to tell you.
Three, forgive your dad, he has Alzheimer's.
Four, shut up, your little brother looks up to you.
Five, you should try fingerpainting somtime.
Six, stop looking for your reflection to wave back at you. You are the same person.
Seven, stop looking for the congratulations in your mom's eyes. She is proud of you.
Eight, record your heartbeat, and play it in reverse. It sounds the same. You are still here.
Nine, your niece is holding fire for you in her hand, just for your attention, she will burn herself with everything that you forgot to saturate with love.
Call your sister.
Shut up.
Admit to your friends why you are always crying.
God, it is amazing what you tell yourself when you think no one is watching.
INSTRUCTIONS ON BEING // TANK AND THE BANGAS
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"I got pregnant from a one night stand we had 12 years ago and didn't get around to telling you, but now my kid wants to know their dad so I've told them all I know about you."
* * * * * * * * * *
Unfortunately You don't know much about him. You know what his first name is and that you liked the way it rolled off your tongue that night, at a crowded bar in Virginia. Nobody in the place caught your attention until him. The devilishly handsome man with his motorcycle boots, leather jacket, and an I don't give a fuck attitude. A hell of a lot of women were looking at him, but he only had eyes for you. You didn't understand the why of it. You weren't witty nor were you conventionally pretty. You hated whisky, but drank every shot of the Johnny Walker Blue he kept ordering just to please him. He had a dazzling smile. It was the dimples that got you. His voice, deep and smooth drew you in. You found yourself leaning closer and closer, hanging on his every word. It didn't take much convincing to get you to leave with him. His arms were around your waist as you stood outside the door. Your hands shook as you tried to swipe the key card quickly enough to get it open. You got it right eventually.
He kissed you thoroughly, slow and deep. He made you feel desired. He undressed himself and then you. The way he looked at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your bare form made your knees weak. There was reverence in his gaze. You began to feel embarrassed, but his kisses and compliments distracted your mind. You became too wrapped up in him to give your insecurities a second thought.
Just after he left you realized, You wouldn't ever feel so good again. What were the chances that you would meet another man who could make you feel as seen as he did, as alive? You knew you wouldn't forget him.
Four months later you found out you couldn't forget him if you tried. There was a little being growing in your belly that shared his dna. You considered looking for him. You thought better of it. After all You hardly knew him. Didn't even know his last name. Maybe You were being selfish, wanting to keep your memory of the night you shared intact, not wanting to spoil it with finding out who he really was.
You didn't think of him as often once your little girl was born. She might have his eyes. In all honesty the memory faded as memories do. By the time she started asking what he was like, you only remembered a few things, like his eyes and his smile. That is why you were currently in smalltown Virginia. Because she has so many questions and you do not have the answers. You feel foolish. You should have asked for his last name. You should have talked less and listened more.
His first name, was uncommon to you, but for all you knew it was regional.
So, you checked into the smalltown hotel. Your daughter says she's hungry so you take her to the diner down the road. A bell rings as you pull open the door. You walk right into him.
"Negan?"
His eyes widen. He assesses you from head to toe.
"Well I'll be damned." He grins. "You haven't aged a day."
He's looking at you the way he did that night. You feel a blush rising.
"Mom?"
You blink.
He turns and sees the young girl, tall for her age, she has his jet black hair, and hazel eyes.
His eyebrows raise.
"How old are you?" He asks already knowing the answer.
"Twelve."
He nods in understanding.
"You're...Negan?" She asks nervously.
"I am."
Your heart is beating wildly in your chest.
What if this was a bad idea? You realize belatedly that you should have met with him alone first.
They size one another up.
"I don't even look like you."
"Like hell you don't." Negan says on a laugh.
"You hungry?"
Your daughter frowns.
"Maybe."
"Why don't we get you something to eat and get to know each other a bit."
"Mom?"
You shake away your fears and go up to the counter.
"For three please?"
A stack of hot cakes and a very long conversation later, Your daughter and Negan have found they have quiet a bit in common. They have decided they would like to see each other again and make plans to spend time together while you're in town.
He doesn't let you pay for the meal. Your head is spinning. You feel overwhelmed. You can't shake the thought that this was a bad idea.
You are about to get into your car, but he stops you.
"I need to talk to your mom for a minute." He tells her.
She nods and gets into the car.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't... I don't know."
"Did you think I wouldn't want to know her?"
"Yes."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because it was clear to me that us sleeping together was a one time thing and I..." You crossed your arms over your chest. "I didn't want to mess up your life."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Did she mess up your life?"
"No."
"Then why would you assume she'd mess up mine?"
You released a shaky breath.
"I'm sorry."
He tried to read your expression.
"You're right. I should have at least tried to tell you."
"Do you mean that?"
"Yes."
"Then, I forgive you."
Over the next three days you find out that Negan is a widower. He and his wife had wanted children, but hadn't been able to have any. It seems to be the right time to have brought her here.
"So you were married when..."
"I was."
"Oh."
"Are you?"
"No."
"Hmm..."
You laugh.
"What are you hmming about?"
A small smile graces his features.
"Oh nothin'. It's just, You're single. I'm single..."
You play it off as if he's kidding. He must be kidding.
"How about I go visit you next time?" He tells your daughter.
She tries to hide her excitement, but you both see through it.
"That would be okay." She says nonchalantly.
He gives her a great big bear hug that makes her laugh.
To your surprise he hugs you too. Not at all innocently. He holds you in such a way that your whole body is pressed up against his.
"Negan." You mutter a bit breathless.
"When I go up there, maybe you and I can spend a little one on one time getting reacquainted." He purrs suggestively in your ear before he lets you go.
"Maybe." You manage to reply. Every part of you that had been pressed against him feels hot and tingly.
"Y'all drive safe now." He smirks, a knowing look in his eyes.
Despite your misgivings, hope blooms in your heart. You try not to get too excited over the prospect of seeing him again.
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