Aftermath

Bit of movies, oodles of pizza, awkward hand holding, where are we going to go from here?

Still lost in your eyes, want your hand on mine, when did it get like this, my dear?

You never even saw the worst of me yet

But still looked for alternatives to get your umbrella wet

Was my rain not good enough? Not wet enough? Did it fail to soak through your clothes?

And now so early, you have to experience the part of me that everybody loathes.

Everything was perfect, was clear, blue skies

Now you've made it more difficult to distinguish between the truth and the lies

Maybe it's not a big deal, maybe I'm to blame

Maybe I'm overreacting, maybe you're not mine to tame.

I still love you, though I hate how much I do,

It's impossible to hate you, even through the abominable things you do

My love will push you away more, than my hate every could,

And I suppose you'll consequently end up doing things, you said you never would.

You crushed my ego, you bruised my soul, you made me not like me,

You tamed the shrew, you had your fun, now you stare but you don't see

It might go back to how it was, but you don't even seemed to have learned anything,

You say forever, but you didn't even last a month before you wanted to hear another girl sing.

I cannot be with somebody, who insists on dimming my shine, 

And who cannot see through the consistent lie "I'm fine"

You'll never understand, though I thought you would

Left me on my own, stuck in the mud,

They tell me I'm crazy, that I'm stupid, I shouldn't go back there,
They send all sorts of attacks and try to pass off that they care.
Now I have to watch other people be happy,
Now I have to watch people I loathe be sappy.
Left alone to my own devices,
I once again come to face to face with my vices.
You wonder why I don't tell you what's swarming my mind,
I won't tell you or let you in because I'm scared of what you'll find,
Masses of storms, tornadoes, rain
All thrashing down on a city of pain.
You don't know about it, I made sure of that,
Tried to make myself perfect, even got rid of some fat.
Now I'm sat
Writing a woeful
Fu
cking poem
About how you used to love me
And how I still love you
Rhyming is boring
Sentences too long
Can't
Frog
Umbrella
Crocodile
King
Swear
You think I'm going to be okay?
Because you're wrong
There's a lot you don't know,
A lot you won't ever know.
I'm not usually okay
You made it okay
Then you took that okay away
And now I'm not okay no way
Not even my lame rhyming scheme can deny
The feeling of content when in your arms I lie,
Do I bore you?
I bore myself
Maybe thats why you went to Whats Her Face...
Does she bore you?
Did you speak about much else?
Do you know her favourite colour?
Do you know mine?
Purple by the way
I told you the first time we spoke
And you thought I was weird for asking about favourite colours
I guess that bored you a little bit.
Can we work through this?
Are you worth working through this?
Hand on heart, am I worth working through this?
Trust has broken, trust must be repaired,
Our hearts are on the floor beaten and snared.
You broke my heart
And through it broke your own
Face this aftermath
I'm not a force to be reckoned with
I'm not a fool
Nor a foe
Aftermath will be large, confusing and it might sting a little
But it's what you get for hurting the girl who enjoys the aftermath.

Cheat

Ego says drop it. Make it stop. You're doing it to yourself. You are who you are and you made me and I'll protect  you. Ego says I'm better. Better than a lot of what I get. Do I deserve more? Probably not, I'm shitty, but that doesn't mean I can front like I do deserve more. Ego finds his clothes, tells me to burn them, bonfire, marshmallows, jolly old time. Ego finds him pitiful, inconsiderate. Ego reminds me of the first finding of the messages on your computer screen. Ego reminds me how the visions and the hopes crashed and burned as it captured my breath. Ego reminds me you stole the happiness, you did, not me. Ego reminds me that you were worried about me doing this to you. This pain I wouldn't wish on anything.

Head tells me to man up, you're a smart girl. How is it that you can know so much grammar and go so deep into linguistics yet crash and burn when it comes to men? Head tells me to love, to run, to not look back. Tells me to pack up your shit into a bag and post it as soon as I can. It reminds me of the dumbass Christmas present I got you, reminds me of all the empty memories you imprinted on me. Reminds me to never let myself forget this pain, this hurt before I fall for anybody again, let alone fall for you again. Head tells me to write it all down in a crappy little blog like somehow expressing thoughts on a computer screen will help. Maybe it won't help. Maybe it will. I'll try anything to ease this. Ease what you did to me.

Heart grapples with logic, heart throws it out the window, heart screams to me as it pounds in my chest. Heart hurts. Heart feels, it touches, it breathes, it stops breathing, it does acrobats. Heart doesn't know what to do. Heart is more honest than the other parts of me. Heart wants to help- it really does- but doesn't know how, it can't find the words. Heart tells me to do what love wants to me to, to find his clothes, put them on, wrap up, turn off the light, and go back to the place, that I love the most. To lose myself in you, once again. To dream of the you that only ever wanted to me, the you that's a distant thought to me now. I muse about you, and what to do.

There have been disruptions of my trust, over the past few years. The nudes, the lies, the backstabbing. I think you'd understand, more than anybody, that, I needed you more than anyone. You have a past too, and maybe that's your justification for this. I suppose I have more hope than you. No matter how bleak it was ever for me, I would get ice cream and a Disney film and realise Prince Charming will be on his way. But what does a girl do, when Prince Charming, is a Dom, who wants other girls, to gag on his fat cock? When he lets Cinderella, slip from his mind, asks another girl, to show him a good time? The future is distorted, your face is too. Remember that game you like, Five Nights at What's His Face's? Or something, or other? Well sweetheart is this special night, night 8, the monster you. I had all cameras up, before this popped up in my face. Stupid of me not to close the door.

While I hate you more than I breathe, I love you more than I respire. The trust is gone now I'm stuck in a wayward labyrinth. No one can make this decision for me. No one. Not even you. Frankly there are too many sides to me, for this decision to be easy. If I was logical I'd be gone, if I was irrational I'd stay. If I was neither I'd be the confused mess I am now. Wishing to wake up. This was all a nightmare, right? You're my perfect, my master, my baby, my muffin, my lover, my protector, my boyfriend, but you're also a cheat.

Things I Don't Like

I don't like when he takes
2 hours to write back.
He might be speaking to
Somebody better.
Or worse
I might be.
I don't like watching Cops
At tea time because
It reminds me of kicking back
At my dads with beer.
We don't speak any more.
I don't like busy buses
I get offended when people
Sit next to me but also
When they sit next to
Somebody else.
I don't like mushrooms
Their texture is just wrong.
I don't like snow
I can't leave the house
It reddens my hands
It's too similar to my heart.
I don't like drunken men
And their obscene slurs
And their rowdy auras.
I don't like violence
If someone was
To be violent to me
I would turn around
Let them hit the other cheek.
I can't stand most people
They don't talk about anything
They don't know the books
The films
The music
That I do
They speak of nothing.
I don't like how different I am
How I am made out to be
I am an outcast
Drowning.
I don't like talking about my problems
When  I am sad
I cannot open my mouth
And make the worry come out
It's not that I don't want to
I just cannot.
I don't like screaming children
Because they don't have much to scream about
Why do they waste the best years of their life
Screaming on an hour long bus tide?
I don't like when you get jealous
Because you don't trust me
And think I don't love you
When you are the best thing to happen to me
Since... well... me.
I don't like irony
It's stupid and over used
It lost its humour
A long time ago.
I don't like when people don't say please
Or thank you
Take 2 seconds to say it
It does not hurt
Like most things in this world.
I don't like people
Who think mocking people is cool
Jealousy makes people spiteful
But makes other people
Kill themselves.
I don't like people
Running across the road
Just wait a few seconds
Or press the button.
I don't like how
Stupid people get famous
But clever ones are put
In a box
And left
For hundreds of years
Until their work is discovered.
I don't like when people
Make stupid poems
Out of things they dislike
I hate that they can't
Find anything nice
We write about things
That are shit in our lives
Forget about the good
But the things we don't like
Are the things that somehow
Mean more to us.
Life is strange
And that is one thing I like.

The Soldier in the Battle Against Your Hauntings

We all have our pasts. We all have things we're not proud of. The Sublime gives us the idea that the highest amount of pain will always be more intense than the highest amount of pleasure. It's true. We think of a bad memory and we get a twisting in our stomach, it will linger and haunt and the more you try not to think about it, the more intense the memory becomes, but we do a nod and acknowledging smile at a good memory. Nothing more. It's human nonetheless. The person sat next to you on the bus has their own dismal souvenirs. Just not everybody carries them around. Some people lock their momentos in a closet. Closed forever. Untouched. 

The only way we can conquer our hauntings is if we find peace within ourselves. If we accept and love ourselves. It's difficult. It could take years. Years of looking in the mirror and not liking what you see. Years of pain, heartache, crying on the bathroom floor, blood everywhere wondering where it went wrong and where your saviour is. 

Frankly, most spend time waiting for their saviour and end up in a vegetated state. You forget to live while waiting. You forget that you cannot save yourself. You can. 

You may suffer at the harsh hand of injustice. You might get horrible looks, obscene rumours spread about you and your name might crop up frequently in a dark light. It might get to you. It might make you doubt your worth, your existence, the purity of your soul. 

It's unfair that you should suffer because of someone else's insecurity. This is where you can acquire the upper hand. This is where you become secure. You look at yourself in the mirror and begin to pick out the features you like, your pretty features. We both know you have them. Do you fear pride? Do you find terror in the possibility of being called pretentious? What is wrong with these attributes? What is actually wrong with liking yourself?

The only way to be happy is to be content. If there's an aspect of your life you don't like, change it. If it's not tangible then try and find a little joy in it. Smile more. Dress in what you like to wear. Don't listen to anybody else. Jealousy makes the nicest people spiteful. It's difficult. Sometimes the voices surround you, you drown. 

Injustice affects everybody, on all sorts of scales. How can it be that the most horrible of people are the most liked? Fear. Tell me, would you rather people be friends with you because they actually like you, or because they're scared you'll turn on them? 

You are not alone. You are not half as bad as you think, or as everyone makes you out to be. We have pasts, we make mistakes, but it is how we utilise these mistakes that makes us who we are. Be proud of who you are. You've made it this far, it's time to be happy, it's time to throw in the towel on self hate. It's time to live, it's time to breathe. You have not tasted the air if you have not ever loved yourself. Your past is who you were. It's time to focus on who you are. Hauntings come and go, but their a lot less nauseating when you begin to enjoy them. 

People who make you feel like you're worth something will come and go. It's what people do. Their indecisive. They're temperamental. You are too in someways but we don't see it ourselves. We are not inconsistent when it comes to our own being. You will always be there for yourself. While it is indeed possible to break your own heart, you are also the only one with the power to mend it again. 

Love yourself and love others. If you suffer because of others, love them even more. Be bigger than them. Be better. Don't just aspire, inspire too. Inspire yourself and you'll begin to inspire others. True beauty comes from confidence, which comes from liking who you actually are.

Make that change today. "Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent".

You're a soldier in the battle against your hauntings, so fight.

Numb

Sometimes bad hours become bad days, sometimes the light doesn't shine in the morning, sometimes when I wake up from naps, I wish I didn't at all. Nap, I mean. Sometimes I'm... not ready to face the world. Don't have the right clothes. Can't apply the right make up. Struggle to tie my shoe laces. Open the wardrobe. Pick the mask for the day. The smiley one will do... will do.

Will anyone ever know? Should they ever know? Thousands of faces, false faces, faces hidden behind the masks of friends. Devils hidden underneath the ambiance of an obedient angel, grabbing me, pulling my hair, kissing my neck... no...

Tell me, when do the devils stop? Is there such a thing as real angels? Do I give up hope now, or later? When will the devils carry me to the place they call Demise? Will the angels fight for me in my final hour or have I been estranged that much? I don't want to be far gone, but frankly I'm much too numb to know how close I am.

Sometimes it's just not even anything. Sometimes it's like you're drowning. Silence. You are silent. You do not want to give any... thing away. Make eye contact. Draw your eyes down. Eyes are the windows to the soul, don't let anybody see that soul. Beautiful soul. Damaged soul. Oh, what would they say if they knew about you?

Then Night comes and engulfs me. Like a tidal wave. I prefer the night sometimes. I like the night. The stars, the moon, the silence. The deadly silence of night. Foxes rumbling in the bushes, make my dog bark. I wish I was a fox. He's holding me close now. Asks a few questions about me, he cares? He shuffles, gets up, looks out the window, sees Night approaching us, runs back to bed, holds me closer, my saviour... my saviour.

It's numbness. It's knowing what people say, when they say it and why, but not answering those questions. The answers are the worst. Keeping quiet is hard. There's a lot they don't know. A lot I've seen and heard. A lot of She Doesn't Know That We Said That. They say what we don't know won't kill us. They have never said anything truer. Sometimes I wonder if you have to stop breathing to be dead. What if death is a state of mind, until it becomes a state of physicality?

Numb. Its a strange word I always felt. I'm not wanting to die, I don't wish for death, I just wish to feel the fullness I used to feel once upon a time. I remember when fairytales were real. I remember the Disney films. I remember my potential, my hopes, my aspirations, my wishes for Prince Charming. Oh! How my reputation has made such ambitions impossible. How people love to see another fall. We have not progressed from throwing fruit at other people, except now the things we throw do not rub off in a singular wash.

Everybody can stab at the egotistic bubble you formed to protect yourself from others. They can try.

People get close. You fall for them. So fast. So deep. You push them away. They won't want you one day, then what? Pang in your heart. Breathe. Brea...the. It's you. You get over it, right? You're strong enough, right? I mean, you've done it several times before, right? The German for heartbroken... Todunglücklich. Deadly unhappy.

How many will leave before someone stays? Who won't get bored of the silence? I question, if anyone would ever squeeze the past out of me, sit me down with a coffee and talk about it. I cannot run away from the demons that chase me from a broken and battered past, and the demons of a present day are parallel to me now. I'm waiting for an angel. A saviour. Sometimes people need saving from themselves, and sometimes those who are numb do not realise how much they are hurting themselves through their own actions.

One of the reasons why sex is fun, is because you cannot be numb during sex, but you can be numb to thoughts. You feel physically and the only thing that attacks your mind is a physical euphoria. No nasty thoughts.

If people only thought before they opened their mouths. If only they considered the several year long consequence of their actions. If only they reminisced before they clicked that button. If only they remembered you're real. Thank yourself for that egotistic bubble, you're going to need it now.

Naughty

A smile. A laugh. A glance across the table. An "excuse me, Miss" and a slither down beside me. There's so many people in this room, I know, but I can only see, smell, hear, feel, taste you. Just you. Oh Gosh. It's only the first course of the meal. Five to go. Gosh, I want you. How. The fuck. Are we going to make it through all this food? Don't fill yourself up too much, there's going to be something sweeter at home.

A hand on my leg. I love those hands. Those fingers. I feel the goosebumps, my heart stops, my voices catches. Oh, people are actually speaking to us. We're both acting oblivious. I feel your hand sliding its way up. "Yes yes, still single, yes, well right... guy hasn't come al...ong yet". I smile. I beam. I blush. You love it when I blush. How do they not know? I wish you were mine. I fold my legs. I shut you out. Not here. Not now.

You're chatting away now to your friend. He introduces you to his friend. She's pretty. She has bright eyes, glittering in the candlelight. There's a lump in my throat, but yesterday it was your lump in my throat. I'm going to be sick. I... your hand's on my leg again. Yet you're flirting away with her. This isn't fair. I blush harder, there's red of angry melded into my cheeks. Two can play this game... Your twisted little ga...me.

Oops, did I just spill water all over that immaculate crotch? Whoops, deary me, what am I like? Let me dry that up for you. We evacuate ourselves. We go out for a cigarette. You complain about the cold hitting the water around your crotch. It cannot be as cold as your heart, though, can it? I watch the cigarette smoke curl out of your mouth, gorgeous mouth, lucky cigarette. You're wearing your tux, the one I helped you pick out a few months ago. You smirk down at me, say "lets get out of here" then we are out of there, we are running away from that horrible several course meal.

We're in the taxi now, you're grinning. You catch me looking at you. You stop grinning. You lean over, kiss me, kiss me deep, slow, fast, cold, hot, all at once. I kiss back, I don't stop. I'm not holding back. I want those lips, I want your soul against my soul. Taxi ride is taking too long. How much fu...rther? Oh no don't grab my dress th...ere. But do. I'm melting in your hands. You feel it, I feel it. You know it, you love it, you love my moaning and gasping and my wanting more.

Get home. Throw me on the bed. Won't be needing those panties, no. Stuff them in my mouth we're ready to go. Tie my hands up, position with my bottom up. You love it that way, you love me every way. Pull my hair. Apologise for the flirting with the other girl. She won't compare to your slut, you say. Nothing compares to me. Nothing, master, nothing. You explain, you say its too complicated right now, and you can't stay with me, you can't be with me, you can't commit to me, but you won't get jealous if someone else says with me, is with me, commits to me, but we both know someone else won't suffice. I don't say it, I can't say anything with my little panties in my little mouth, but my eyes say it.

There's a glimmer in your eye, you stop talking. You take off your clothes. You look perfect. Body sculptured by the gods. Do you know what is like being in love with someone who only loves you when you're being humiliated? Do you love me back perhaps? Do you love me without the tying and the gagging? Do you master, do you?

I love that touch, touch me more, touch me harder, throw my clothes on the floor. I hear you grunt. I know you crave. I know you more, than you think I do. I know you're hurting. I know you care. I know you'd be with me, I know I'm your air. I'm your guilty pleasure, the one you try not to call, the one you avoid more than anyone, anyone at all. I know at dinner you hated the company, but I know you love mine and now I'm here in your arms I know it'll just be fine.

You say to call you daddy, I prefer master. I say it a few times over, then I say for you to go faster. It felt weird at first, not calling you by your name, but I understand it's better this way, trust issues are to blame. Only do it from behind, it's my favourite place, only because, I can't see your face. No... no that's not an insult, please, sir, I just prefer it when I'm totally numb. I hate that you're not mine, yet I'm under the thumb. You take the panties out of my mouth, say you prefer my moans, pull my hair up right to your face, kiss my neck, spank my bum, tell me we're both a disgrace. I laugh. It's funny. We're funny, you and I. This twisted little fucking game.

Collapse in your arms, you collapse on my breast. It's not over now, its not over yet. Pick me up by my thighs, pin me up the wall, look into my eyes... not even only my eyes, you're looking at everything, my soul's exposed, right there, I can see the reflection in your perfect pupils. I wriggle and writhe, makes you thrust more, I can't take it much more. I look at you, that face, oh gosh you are so cute. Even when you're dominating me, even when you humiliate me, do you know how much I adore that look? That look of concentration, the look of pure awe. You look at me like I was the first woman on earth, the first one at all. I cannot help but blush and write even more under your gaze. This time I hope you stay for days. Once it was a week, another time a mere hour. I could stay here with you, forever and ever.

Smear it all over me. I love that too. Feels like I'm your property. I belong to you. Fall asleep, me after you, I prefer to see you, safe and sound, in my breasts, which are red from being bound. Watch your eyelashes, how they flutter, play with your hair, hear you mutter.

Fall asleep, next to you. Wake up, next to somebody else.

Your eyes are black. Your nose is bleeding. Your nails have ashes underneath. Your phone bleeps with messages sorry mate it's been a year, need any help giz us a call, here for you friend, I know you loved that girl. What girl? What? You're screaming and thrashing a broken mirror, you broke that last week don't you remember? See a picture of us, smash it up... Kick the door down, swear and cuss. What did I do? But you don't hear, you're on a rampage now, your mindset unclear. Curse and swear, say shit she's gone, but I'm here I'm here, I'm screaming for you now. Stand infront of your vexed state. Another nightmare about her, another nightmare about you, why do you haunt me, is it out of hate? Not even a nightmare, just a dream, about you. You're angry. Why? Darling what's the matter? I loved her, you say, I loved her and she never knew, maybe she did, maybe she does. Do you love me? Do I love you? Slave, slut are you there? Do you hear your master? You walk toward me, you look right at me, yes I'm here, I'm here I say. You walk right through me.

Master, master, did your love kill me? Did it kill us both? Who is the dead one out of you and I? Your slut till the end, a slave to your testosterone. You killed me, master, I should've known. Killed me one night, you got jealous didn't you, sir? Saw me talking to another man, one that'd treat me better. You knew you loved me, you knew you cared, you just knew you were too selfish to ever really be there. Smashed his face in, took a bottle to mine. No one knows it was you, do they "daddy"? Which is why I haunt your mind. There was no me at the table. No one knows what happened to that glass. The taxi driver deemed you crazy. You didn't actually slap my ass. Slut till the end, slave to your testosterone, but your baby, I'll be forever more, until you meet me here. Never again could you fornicate, never again could you care, because your baby is gone and so is your mind. I re-enacted your favourite nightmare.

Autumn

Red, orange, red, green, yellow. Autumn has embraced us once again. Her auburn smile greets us elegantly, her exquisite taste for unpredicted rain hits us. The sudden coldness might make you ill or encompass you in fatigue, but do you care? The sun is sinking. Good bye sun, good bye old friend. Shall we ever meet again? Summer seems so far away but I know you are worth the wait. Until then I shall settle for Autumn and her ginger hair. I miss my sun, I miss the warmth, I miss the familiarity of his shine. Why did my sun go? Why must it always leave? Why must I get left in a new, cold world? I cannot shake Autumn, I cannot get the word off my lips, she has come and you have gone. Her foliage temperamental, her temperature tangible, how will I last in this inconsistency alone? You always seem to fade away when it gets a bit colder, when the colours seem to change, you change with the seasons, but you're omnipresent to me. Always high above me in that sky, in the mind, my mind, the dirty, gloomy sky of my mind. 

What am I to do when the sun stops shining completely? When you're gone forever? I lose my breath when you're hidden behind a cloud for a day or two. Where do you go? Do you enjoy the cloud's company more so than mine? One day will you vanish forever? You tease me, when you're high in the sky, you blind me, you stun me, yet you do not warm me, you don't play fair. 

I could never set on you, you know. I could never blind you or hide from you. Tell me how can my sun enjoy the chase so much?  Why must I suffer the Cold so much? 

Then, when I don't suffer the Cold, when I enjoy the Cold, when I embrace him like he embraces me, why do you get angry? Why does envy fill your heart? You chose to hide behind that cloud, you chose to stop warming me. I'm alone, I must surrender myself to Cold. You began to melt my heart and after you left it froze right back up again. You'll be back again soon to repeat the process, the saddest thing is that I'll enjoy it.

Oh Autumn, how I hate to love thee. I feel fear when I hear the sneers and jeers of the Trees, how they hound me, how they follow me. It can be awfully more daunting in your dark Autumn, to be left alone in streets full of Trees. Do you know how much they dislike girls like me? Yet do you know how little they know about girls like me? Tell me, when will your wrath make the trees die? Will they ever die? Will the voices ever stop? Autumn, I need you to help me, but you just do not listen, I cry out to you, I hold out my hand, but you reject, you let the Trees continue. They will follow me to my death, won't they? What if the Trees push me to it, Autumn? Will my sun punish them? Will you? Will the Cold?

It is dark, Autumn. Too dark to see. I cannot see what is happening right in front of me. I cannot make out all the shapes and shadows, until they are close enough to pass me by. Why do you taunt me Autumn? Why do I love it so much? I enjoyed the sun's games too much, and now I enjoy yours too. Oh, is this masochist? Am I wrong for liking this? 

The sun, I need my sun back, please come back, hoist me to safety, I cannot bear this golden blanket anymore. Do you even hear my pleading? Do you follow me in the days? Are you looking at me? Do you suffer in silence after seeing what you did to me?

It is dark and I need my sun back. I am hurt and I miss it. I miss the sun, the Cold cannot suffice anymore. I need the sun. I need you. Do you hear my pleas? Do you see my wounds? Can you feel the heat of the hell I'm in?

Come back; come back.

I Want You

I have been waiting years for the certain element called "love". I've felt it for what months? Years? (The time is hard to tell) for you, but to have it with you would be a phenomenon. Do you know how often I think about you? About what could be? The subjunctive mood takes it toll on "love" when it comes to us. I've become a fan of waiting, being your scapegoat and eagerly wishing to be yours, to hold your hand, to be the reason behind that brilliant smile.

I want you. Plato says that morals are relevant to the individual, so how about we become an individual being and make our own morals? Can we make our loves ours? Will our story be a compelling one?

I want to hold your hand in public, I want to drink coffee with you, I want to make you laugh by being cynical, but I also want to provoke your thoughts by being so. I want to be yours on winter nights, darling, I want to feel your warmth as I curl up in your lap. I want to hear the heartbeat, beat. Beat. I want to make a rota of who should make the breakfast in bed and I want cute showers. I want to wash you, feel you, pull you closer and tease you. Gosh I want that smile behind that wet hair. I want to dry you, to touch that skin. I want to be sleepless about you, I want you to haunt me in my dreams and my nightmares. You always made it difficult to distinguish between the two.

But I don't want it all to be perfect. I want blazing fights and flaming passion. I want petrol to be added to the fire we have. I want angry arguments, swearing. Fuck. Bitch. Slut. Twat.. I need a bit of roughness, putting in my place. Do you not think I am so outspoken sometimes? Did you ever see Taming of the Shrew? I want arguments, but I want there to always be a solution. I don't want you to ever fall asleep mad at me, but I want you to fall asleep holding me in your heart closer than ever. We both know how hard it is for me to hurt someone. I could never intentionally hurt you.

You know the morning after exactly how I'll roll out of bed, covered in bruises from the make up sex, in your t shirt, too big for me as it hangs off my back. You know how the cigarette will look in my mouth, you know how your boxers will look on my bum, my thighs, against my skin tone. You'll just know, know, know. You'll dawdle outside into the sunrise with me in the garden, looking ridiculous in oversized clothing, and you'll light up your own cigarette and just gaze. You'll know. You'll know how much I've ever wanted you. You'll see the smoke curl out of my little mouth as I smile up at you. I hope you know, know, know. 

You'll be getting ready to leave, but you won't want to. I'll roll on the bed, smiling up at you, toying with my lip, teasing you about leaving. You'll sigh in defeat. You'll get into bed once more, and we'll love, love, love and sleep and love some more. You know your kisses are forever my favourite breakfast. Joy Division will play in the background and half full tea cups will be left on the bedside. We'll love and talk about death while we love. I'll kiss your scars, your scars. I'll make you feel better. In fact, no, I'll just make you better, you'll be okay when you're with me, and even long after I'm gone, sweetheart, I'll make you okay, you'll be better, you'll be okay, even if I'm not here anymore, I promise. You are my mission, my heart, my murderer, my favourite flavoured pizza, you are the sun, the moon, the stars, you are the first drag of a cigarette, you are the last rolo, you are getting into bed with shaved legs, you are the ultimate thing to me. Ultimate sensation. You enlighten my senses, you set them ablaze, they burn, burn, burn.

I want controversy. I want to piss people off. I want people to say "She's with him?" or "he's with her?" I want people to talk, and you know they will nonetheless, so I would want us to lap it up, play along with it. What use is a love story if there is no one around to critcise it? It'll last a month they say, but they don't know, they don't know about us, about you, about I.

They're not supposed to know.

Do you know how difficult it is? To love someone who won't believe it? I'm the girl who's sat back and watched you be hurt, over and over, your heart breaking, my heart breaking. You get jealous over me, and why? Shall I spend the rest of my life as your fool? Bottling up my emotions, my wants, my needs, my yearnings for you? Not even you know how I can only get to sleep if I imagine you holding me, those arms around me, protecting my body, protecting my soul...

I hate how vulnerable you make me feel. You can crush me with a few words and leave me hanging for hours without giving any care. I miss you. I even miss you hurting me, it feels raw like a fresh wound, like I'm rubbing salt in it more salt, salt, salt. What am I supposed to do? I love the hurt, I love you. You broke me. You left me. Now you're back and I'm smitten again. It was fine before you came back, but it won't be fine if you leave again. I'm in so deep, deep, deep. Drowning under the ocean of a bittersweet love. Everyone knows if you are rough with such a fragile element, it breaks, tell me, are we broken? Broken?

I need a chance, a little tiny chance, I don't get chances very often, but you're the one that matters.

I want, want, you.

Demise

Death is on everyone's lips, at the back of everyone's mind, the only thing that is truly certain in life. Death is there when you read the newspaper. It's present in your subconscious, when you look both ways before crossing the road. It's there when you pick out a cigarette, when you put it in your mouth, when you take the first drag until you're down to the cigarette butt. Whenever your heart skips a beat or you feel pains in your chest, the thought of death looms.

So tell me what happens if you stop looking both ways before crossing the road? What happens when you take drags without thinking about anything at all? When the pains in your chest stop becoming lethal and just become a way of telling you you're still alive?

A lot of people fear death. I do not. Death is certain. Death is a stage of life. Death does not lie, it does not beat around the bush, but death is also fair because we all get the same fate. Death is a key factor to humanity because it reminds the arrogant and those with a God complex that we are all human. Death has nothing to do with karma, you cannot evade death, doing good deeds will not make you live longer. Death is less deceitful than your best friend, which is perhaps where the fear of it comes from.

How does it make you feel to know that one day you'll open your eyes and you'll be somewhere else? Or perhaps not open your eyes but more expose your soul to somewhere better. That one day you'll rise in your most basic physical form and there won't be anymore pain. It'll be like the prettiest painting you've ever seen, like the most captivating book you've ever read, I'm not talking about heaven, or about hell, but about something bigger than us, something beyond the comprehension of the human body and mind. Science can tell you a lo about the body and the mind, but not about the soul. There's a reason why we feel, why we are sensitive, why we love, why we hate. 

I've considered candyfloss trees, grass made of pizza, vodka rain droplets and cigarettes that grow on flowers. It can all seem so immaculate in your head sometimes. It almost make life here seem dreary and dull and you forget to live because your obsession with death becomes a new way of life and while its fine to debate about the afterlife and what it beholds, you must remember to live. You must be Michel from L'immoraliste "Je veux vivre !"

I haven't written this blog because I want to die. I'm perfectly content living my life until mother nature decides to smother me and swallow me in her stride. I just think death is a taboo, it's feared, it's not talked about, and that's why I feel it is imperative we talk about it, no matter how morbid the thought seems. 

How does it make you feel to muse over the idea of haunting someone? Tell me, if there was someone on earth who had mistreated you, would you make their life hell or would you help them to prove to them that you're not the awful human being they thought? How would it be to watch them in their darkest times at their peak? Would you feel joy? Would you want to reach out? Does it make you paranoid that someone perhaps haunts and watches you in your darkest times? They know your secrets, every tear you cried, every mistake you made. That could be you one day, too. 

Did you even ever think about death? Was death ever an option for you? Obviously I cannot ignore the suicidal thoughts my readers might feel from time to time. Perhaps you don't want to die by committing suicide, you just want to disappear, you want to be missed, you want to see what people say, what people do, if anyone who pushed you to it stands up at your funeral and pretends that they loved you, or even if someone who pushed you to it stands up at your funeral, falls to their knees and yells "nooooo!" in a dramatic turn of events. 

It won't happen. You won't know if you're missed. It's better to stay alive and give people hell instead of calling it quits. Once your dead your life on earth doesn't even matter. Your soul is elsewhere, your body is six feet under. Sure you might be somewhere happier, but that doesn't mean you won't be alone.

As aforementioned, death is a stage of life, it should not occur prematurely. You must live. Oscar Wilde once said "to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." It's true. Most of us do just exist. We cruise through life and don't seize a lot of opportunities then we wonder why we want to facilitate our demise. 

Seize everyday and stop wishing you were dead. Nature decides and nature grants you with what comes after death, but until then, live life on earth and remember you are loved. To exist is not enough, you must have ambition, you must have drive and you must always keep your head in the game (excuse cringeworthy High School Musical quote). 

The Loneliest Socialite

I always associate loneliness with similar symptoms to love. The symptom I find most significant is the bold sense of helplessness and the antagonising twist in your stomach as you realise how much the feeling is a part of you. The most ironic thing I also find is how you can even love others, and have others love you, yet still feel lonely, still feel like you're on a different planet to people. Being misunderstood is a huge part of loneliness.

I am not lonely because I have a lack of friends or people to talk to. I'm lonely because I struggle to actually talk about anything. I'm a blunt person. Ridiculously blunt. It's often commented on. Frankly, nothing anyone speaks about anymore is interesting and worth wasting more than mere few words on. Certain occasions arise where a conversation will spark an interest and you will get paragraphs out of me, but this is rare. As much as I love my own breasts and sexual intercourse, I quite simply cannot discuss it around the clock. I get bored. You look tedious and repetitive. I even had someone say that I could work in a strip club. I could work in a strip club, like any other woman on the planet. However, I'd like to think that my time in sixth form, doing foreign work placements and constantly writing would count to a little something more than ripping my clothes off in order to please sleazy men. 

The other part of being lonely is watching other people not be lonely. It's incredibly easy for pretty girls who have never had an issue getting a boy to like them to slate others for "begging" for a relationship online. Some of us don't have amazing confidence, some of us cannot relationship jump and frankly going outside to find a boyfriend is illogical. Shall I sit outside ASDA in a bikini with a sign saying "tfw no bf"? Not all of us find it easy to love others or receive love unto us. Some of us reject love because we don't know how to cope with it. I always found one of my talents was distancing myself from people. I suppose other people had always made me feel like I don't deserve love and I don't deserve to be happy, which in time drilled into my mind like it was nature to me. Frequently I sit up on my bed and just cry for a little while and mourn my smile asking where it went, questioning if it even existed in the first place. No one will ever know when that happens. Of course I make it obvious when I break. Every strong person has to break at some point. Some breaks are more severe than others, and the severe breakings are the ones I like to keep secret.

I get a lot of abuse off people, both online and offline. There are plenty of rumours going around about me and a lot of hearsay. People will go to extreme lengths to damage someone else's reputation and promote their's. Jealousy makes people spiteful, it makes them a monster. I recognise this, and that's why I prefer to stray towards arrogance instead of jealousy. I don't want to become envious and twisted like those who have caused me so much pain. No one will ever know how much it hurts, how isolated it feels. How soul destroying it is to hear "is that Jess Webb?" followed by an eruption of echoing laughter as if someone's told a joke thats won a Nobel prize. No one knows how many hate messages I have received or will ever receive, but I receive more than I let on I do. Of course there are messages of support, but the two are outnumbered. I feel alone in this situation. This makes me lonely. No matter how many times people will tell you not to care, not to worry, that they understand, they don't. They won't. 

Everything will seem fine, I will be smiling around my friends, I'll be the one cracking the jokes and you won't notice anything get to me, but I'm more conscientious than I'm made out to be. I'm cleverer than people think. I'm so proud of the thick arrogant, egotistic shell I've built. I'm glad I'm bold. I'm glad I'm outspoken. Sometimes I'm glad people hate me. I laugh at people who attempt to bring me down, but even I cannot walk away from the fact there are oodles and oodles of these people that bring me down without reason.

Totally without reason. I don't even know some.

It's lonely knowing that total strangers will hate you because of rumours they've heard. It's lonely to know that you are such a strong person surrounded by such weak ones. It's lonely to know there's so few people standing up for you, so few people in your army in a war that's meaningless. No one will ever understand it. I don't understand it myself. It hurts my brain, it dims my mind, it lowers my IQ thinking about it. 

Then it stops getting lonely and it starts to tug on my heartstrings. Its the worst thing in the world to know that the person you love the most doesn't want to be with you anymore because their friends are these kind of people and they don't want you to be happy, they want your smile to die. It's happened twice in the past year. I've been dropped on my arse because my own boyfriend can't even big me up to his friends. Then I have to sit back and watch as I'm made out to be the bad guy, my name dragged through the dirt, all my defenses cut. I have to sit back and watch that boy that I helped, I stayed up for, I cooked for, I fucked, I cuddled and cared for call me names under the sun, laugh with his friends about me and get with other girls days or weeks later.

Then I have to go through the entire "nudes leakage" fiasco. I remember being at my dad's at the time and curling up in the tepid room under a fur blanket crying my eyes out wondering if it'd ever get better. I had messages both abuse and supportive. I was a mess. I needed a friend right there with me to hold me and tell me it was going be okay. No one showed up. No one was there. I had to pull myself through what seemed like the worst thing in the world to happen to me with a few words on a screen. No one would listen to what I had to say about the situation. No one does even to this day. It was humiliating walking out the house again and even with my friends I felt isolated, like everyone was talking about me. I was paranoid, my trust had been abused. I still have so many trust issues. I get confused and frustrated with myself more than anyone.

It constantly feels like I'm screaming into a vacuum. 

It feels like no matter how many variations of this blog I could write, or how many times I could attempt to vent this issue to someone, I could never find the right words, the correct gist. I cannot connect with my reader when it comes to this issue, but I needed to write this blog. I need to write when I feel alone. Its daunting having so many thoughts with no one interested in you enough to vent them to.

Nudity and the Wayward Generation

Anyone who knows me will know my feelings towards self respect, nudity and the receiving and "leaking" of naked images. I'm quite outspoken about these things, but I'd like to further establish my feelings in the form of a blog. More characters and thinking space gives me more justification, which hopefully won't end up with me sounding too forward or promiscuous. 

A lot of people these days seem to link self respect with nudity. I disagree with this connection. I believe that self respect should be exactly what the term implies- respecting yourself. This would entail keeping yourself fit, making yourself happy and doing what's best for you. Though while some may argue keeping yourself covered up is what is "best", we have to consider why these people may say these things. So we don't get sexually assaulted? So we don't offend people? So we have something to leave to the imagination? So children don't get corrupted? But of course times are changing, we know it is not the fault of the victim in a sexual assault, people should not get offended over anatomy, there's plenty beyond our body that we can leave people to figure out (one of my favourite quotes is "seduce my mind and you can have my body, find my soul and I'm yours forever") and with the television shows, the films, the social media children are exposed to these days, I very much doubt the few inches of cleavage you just tutted at in the street will make a huge impact upon them.

The sooner we stop sexualising bodies, the sooner we will see a change. Mothers cannot breast feed children because of the revelation of a breast yet there is nothing sexual about breast feeding at all. There have been news stories of even if a mother and child are in a quiet part of the restaurant complaints against breast feeding. It seems our society is more offended than ever before, but only really about women's parts. The female anatomy has transformed into a sort of taboo. 

I feel so strongly about this matter because it affected me closely not so long ago. I had my personal image sent around and people mocked me for my body. It was of course humiliating at first, because those were personal images. They were not taken to please the eyes of the inquisitive perverts. I received a lot of abuse about it. But why? Can we not get over the fact that female bodies differ in shape, size, colour etc? The mole on my stomach served as quite a discussion point to some, but not once when I have became intimate with a male have I been rejected because of a mole. It seems if we strip off then we are made to feel bad. Never in a million years do you expect something quite so horrible to happen to you, but when it does you must brace yourself for the backlash. No man nor woman should never be put down for their body, but I feel as if women get more stick for personal images, especially due to the rise of revenge porn. If anyone has suffered this, you can contact me on Facebook and I will do my best to help you through it. It can be devastating but someone to pull you through is all you need sometimes. I'd imagine it'll happen to every girl at some point, whether on a large or small scale. Do not think you are alone in this.

When will such a barbaric view of anatomy serve its time? Can we not indulge in a new perspective yet? 

The wayward view of nudity also affects men. I find it offensive to men to suggest that they cannot handle their sexuality due to lack of clothes. Men have control over their sexuality (of course in some cases both men and women choose to lose control), they are not neanderthals. To blame a victim of sexual assault or rape for their attack due to lack of clothing is a naive and frankly ridiculous view to look at things.

In this blog I'd also like to discuss "slut-shaming". Sleeping with numerous people is what some people would say a sign of lack of self respect. I don't understand how, however. If a woman is safe, gets herself checked out and does the dirty with a single man then where is the issue? I agree, if the guy is taken then she may be seen as a slut or a homewrecker. Not all women are built for relationships, likewise with men. Women also get scared of commitment, women also want fun and no ties at some points. It is often said that a man is legend if he sleeps with loads of women, but a woman is a slut if she sleeps with loads of men and it's true, isn't it? Personally, I don't sleep around much, but if another woman wants to then who am I to stop her? Sometimes I think people need to get their own sex lives instead of slating everyone else's. There are worse things going on in the world than hanky panky. Sexual liberation for women was first introduced with the invention of the pill, which allowed a contraceptive that meant women were in control. Before a man could prick a condom, or simply not wear one and if the woman got pregnant, he could easily leave her. The pill helped do away with this. On one hand, you may say that this idea of a girl being a slut for sleeping with different men is men's way of punishing women for their sexual liberation, similarly to women in patriarchal literature. For example, Beatrice in Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" is portrayed as the "bad" female in the novel, the less innocent one, because she does not want to get married and she wants to dispose of her sexuality as she pleases, whereas her cousin Hero is portrayed as the innocent one and when she is framed for sleeping with another man while she is betrothed to Claudio (who I despised in the play- he did not deserve Hero back), she was shamed without any chance to stand up for herself. Not my personal viewpoint, but something interesting to think about. Of course with the loosening of the rules with abortion, as discussed in another blog, women gained more control over their sexuality. I think that women's sexuality will always be never ending discussion of morality and of equality- which one is best to have? Is there any difference?

To conclude this blog, I'd like to hope that together we can over come our issues with female anatomy. We should stop being offended by a bit of breast or cleavage. There is plenty worse that could happen to mankind than female genitalia. We also need to stop picking on others and invading privacy for our own credibility and twisted pleasure. It's time to put a stop to slut shaming and body shaming. If I have at any point sounded misandrist I have not meant to (I love men, I promise). I think that both men and women are important to note when it comes to nudity and sexuality and that the viewpoints from both genders are equally important to think about.

What is Love? (Baby don't hurt me)

Of course the definition of such a word is relevant to an individual. To some a relationship may be more sexual, to others the intercourse takes time. To me though, relationships are something deeper. Something that should go beyond the sexual feelings and the "I-I like like you" shameful displays. 

If any of you reading this blog follow or have me added on Facebook, you will know I make such a big deal out if relationships and you will also know I get much abuse because of my alleged "desperation". 

Now it's difficult to explain in a status update, mainly because a) nobody gives that much care to read (it appears to me that the only statuses that grab real attention are the ones that are ironic and controversial not necessarily explanatory) and b) I started this blog to explain and enlighten those who care about me enough to read my blog. 

I don't have many friends who I meet up with on a regular basis perhaps 2 or 3 at most and while I do enjoy the company of my friends, they have their own lives, own partners and own commitments. When I'm in a relationship the feeling of loneliness goes away because someone finally has an excuse to make the effort with me and come over to see me

And gosh! What joy! I enjoy making 2 cups of tea instead of 1, I enjoy asking how many sugars and how much milk, I love making 2 sandwiches. I love taking care of someone else.

Perhaps this desire is driven by the fact some say I love somewhat selfishly. They are to an extent correct. I do live for me, myself, my wants, my needs and perhaps my bluntness and honesty flows before I consider someone else's feelings. I smoke, I drink, I'm a bit outspoken, a bit controversial- I don't want to change no but I do recognise my faults and I also recognise how less selfish I feel in relationships and perhaps this is selfish again of me, which leaves me in an oxymoron, nonetheless the best kind of oxymoron. 

However I cannot avoid the influence  reading has had on my expectations of love. I'm a lot more widely read than people give me credit for. Most of my vocabulary, morals and knowledge come from books. I prefer to interpret books and apply them to my own life instead of being told what to do by someone middle aged and who has had different life experiences to me and has a different mindset. From a young age my parents got me reading, even making up their own stories to tell me before bed, which has later on encouraged me to engage in a passion for writing and begin my own novels. 

I know that love does not always have happy endings, I know that love is not always easy but I also know that love will never be as blissful as a John Green novel nor as downbeat as Wuthering Heights. 

My mother and I once got onto the subject of marriage when I mentioned I wanted a Jurassic Park themed wedding to which she replied about how she was pleased to see that her and my fathers separation hadn't had an impact on my views of marriage. 

But it has. Everyone who knows me knows I despise marriage. Perhaps I always have and just never thought about it until the separation. What was once a religious and eternal promise is now a piece of paper torn up by people at their own free will. People may as well not get married. I explained this to my mother along with a monologue of how I don't want a man to tie me down, how I could earn so much money yet have to halve it with a man when he wakes up one day and decides he does not love me anymore. She told me that I don't believe in monogamy but this is also incorrect. 

Then it occurred to me that I do believe in monogamy and that marriage is still a massive COULD HAPPEN in my life (God help that hypothetical man) but I did not believe in eternity, I did not believe it's last forever. People fall in and out of love all the time. Love does exist but does eternal love? 

And this is my issue because we cannot distinguish between the two. We always consider love as eternal when we are with someone, but when they leave we spend time sobbing to Bridget Jones movies with ice cream in Jammies convincing ourselves "it'll never happen again". 

But it does. 

Which makes me realise it is not love I want but I want perhaps the predicates of love. I want consistency, I want affection, I want someone "there", I want passion, I want late night conversations, I want to smoke and watch the stars, I want to cuddle up in a jumper and knee highs and watch lame movies, I want cute dates, I want hot sex, I want a happy ever after. 

But do I want love? No. 

Because you can fake love throughout the whole thing. I want proof. I want sufficient evidence. I study philosophy and love is just an outdated theodicy. I don't want anymore "I love you :) I mean it!" because it is not meant, because we both know one day you'll get bored and leave. 

If there should ever come a time where I go into a relationship with someone and they take me out for my favourite food, take me home, lay a bed of roses, put Jurassic Park on, give the rough love we both need and then let me smoke in bed in his t shirt and nothing more, then wake up, put his boxers on and nothing more to make him bacon and if he appreciates it, then yes I will eat my words, I will scream it to the heavens, why as the saying goes I will even "eat my own hat" but until that time I will leave with a Shakespeare quote: "I would rather hear my dog bark at a crow than hear a man swear he loves me". 

Abortion- Who Are We Really Killing?

After having read an article this morning in The Independent about a suicidal woman forced to have a caesarean after having been denied an abortion in Ireland. This is eerily similar to the case in 2012 when an Indian dentist, Savita Halappanavar, was refused a life saving abortion because "Ireland is a Catholic country". Then, Dr Peter Boyle, leading obstetrician in Ireland, said that it's highly likely that Mrs Halappanavar would have will been alive if the termination was granted. Too little, too late, doc. 

It saddens me that in 2014 women are denied the right an abortion. Even if Ireland is a Catholic country, there is the doctrine of double effect, where an abortion can be granted if the life of the mother is endangered, so incidents like these push religion further down into the abyss of rejection and the secular society throws tomatoes and spires at it relentlessly, even though religion isn't the bad guy. 

There has been a recent sexual liberation for women. With the introduction of the pill and other forms of female contraception women can finally have a similar amount of control to men when it comes to conception. Abortion is a last resort in all cases. No woman wants an abortion and no woman should be forced to have one or to not have one. 

But here we are still dictating what women should do with their own wombs as if abortion is a walk in the park. If a woman requests an abortion, she has not made the choice uninformed. It is her body, thus her choice. Some may debate that abortion is a breach of civil rights on the foetus' behalf but how is it logical to assume that the foetus' rights come before a living woman's? A foetus is not the same as a baby and it is time people realised that. 

When it comes to some "religious" people are concerned (I won't use the term "religion" itself as it is too general and religion would generally oppose things that a lot of people do in the name of religion), they are no saints. In America some pro life protestors have been known to hurl eggs at women coming out of abortion clinics. In Australia there are fake abortion clinics set up by the "religious" that shows women the stages of abortion and encourages other routes of action in order to put them off having an abortion. 

This is wrong. Although our society is majorly secular, there is very little people can do to change pro life ideologies but for any woman who has faced an abortion or might have to face one one day, as long as you you didn't let anyone tell you what to do, whether it was something you had to do due to financial situations, family situations or health risks or whether it was something you wanted to do i.e you wanted to focus on your career, you didn't want to raise a child in your current relationship, wanted to wait until you married etc. You are all strong women and if you don't get an abortion when someone was forcing it upon you, you are still a strong woman. Don't let anyone tell you you didn't love that foetus if you did the best thing for it. 

To sum up, we are not killing a baby, we're terminating a pregnancy. If we delete abortion, we kill women's rights, we kill women's hope and we may be killing babies if the baby is born into an unready family.

Article from The Independent surrounding abortion in Ireland 
False Abortion Clinics in Australia

Introduction

Introduction

Hello. I'm Jess Webb, 17 years old living in the UK. Due to my passion for English literature I've decided to start this blog. Sometimes I feel as if there are too many words and ideas swirling around my mind and it's recently become rather unhealthy keeping them all in. A Facebook status won't suffice and neither will the ignorant comments that come with it. I feel as it a blog would give me more leverage and space to voice my ideas so they can be understood easier. 

I'm not a normal person. I don't mean that in a LOL RANDOM WEIRD XD kind of way. I'm quite wayward and cynical with how I see the world. This blog might inspire, it might change lives or perspectives, or it might not it may just be a collaboration of cheap, hypocritical teenage girl ramblings. Either way I aim to entertain and perhaps educate on a few matters. A lot of my opinions are misunderstood or taken the wrong way so hopefully this blog will prove that I'm not a bad person, I'm just a different person. I don't see the world in a similar way to everyone else and not many people like that. 

Blogging should be consistent, daily if not more. I always have an opinion to voice or something to get off my chest. I suppose this blog will become a best friend to me also. It becomes tediously lonely to have so many ideas and no one to speak to about them. People are afraid of new ideas because they are foreign and may disrupt the status who and sometimes outcast the deliverer of such ideas. I aim for this blog to conquer that.