My bipolar episode

Murky thoughts swim against the tide

Drowning in a dark whirlpool of ideas and illusions

What is fantasy when reality is never clear

Salty oceans sting the wounds of self destruction

While the holy water purifiers my soul

Moments of both tangled emotions purge extremes

Confused what it all means

The mist vaporous energy raises to the sky

No longer anchored to the situation or outcome

Please, throw me a life raft as the shores are now reachable

Keep me afloat for another day is attainable

Denying my feelings

Pulled in two different directions, my heart so heavy

So scared to be open

Afraid you might reject me

Your warmth drew me in and I knew I was in trouble

I’m in love with

I got scared

Consumed with denial about how much I want you to kiss me gently

Touch me slowly

Feel your skin next to mine

I want to make love, the type of sex that when you’re inside of me it makes me quiver as having you so close to me makes me feel beautiful

I got scared

And started lying to myself and started to deny my needs

I you to look deep into my eyes when you cum

Aphorisms on Nature by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Aphorisms on Nature by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Nature! We are surrounded by her and locked in her clasp: powerless to leave her, and powerless to come closer to her. Unasked and unwarned she takes us up into the whirl of her dance, and hurries on with us till we are weary and fall from her arms.

She creates new forms without end: what exists now, never was before; what was, comes not again; all is new and yet always the old.

We live in the midst of her and are strangers. She speaks to us unceasingly and betrays not her secret. We are always influencing her and yet can do her no violence.

Individuality seems to be all her aim, and she cares nought for individuals. She is always building and always destroying, and her workshop is not to be approached.

Nature lives in her children only, and the mother, where is she? She is the sole artist,—out of the simplest materials the greatest diversity; attaining, with no trace of effort, the finest perfection, the closest precision, always softly veiled. Each of her works has an essence of its own; every shape that she takes is in idea utterly isolated; and yet all forms one.

She plays a drama; whether she sees it herself, we know not; and yet she plays it for us, who stand but a little way off.

There is constant life in her, motion and development; and yet she remains where she was. She is eternally changing, nor for a moment does she stand still. Of rest she knows nothing, and to all stagnation she has affixed her curse. She is steadfast; her step is measured, her exceptions rare, her laws immutable.

She has thought, and she ponders unceasingly; not as a man, but as Nature. The meaning of the whole she keeps to herself, and no one can learn it of her.

Men are all in her, and she in all men. With all she plays a friendly game, and rejoices the more a man wins from her. With many her game is so secret, that she brings it to an end before they are aware of it.

Even what is most unnatural is Nature; even the coarsest Philistinism has something of her genius. Who does not see her everywhere, sees her nowhere aright.

She loves herself, and clings eternally to herself with eyes and hearts innumerable. She has divided herself that she may be her own delight. She is ever making new creatures spring up to delight in her, and imparts herself insatiably.

She rejoices in illusion. If a man destroys this in himself and others, she punishes him like the hardest tyrant. If he follows her in confidence, she presses him to her heart as it were her child.

Her children are numberless. To no one of them is she altogether niggardly; but she has her favourites, on whom she lavishes much, and for whom she makes many a sacrifice. Over the great she has spread the shield of her protection.

She spurts forth her creatures out of nothing, and tells them not whence they come and whither they go. They have only to go their way: she knows the path.

Her springs of action are few, but they never wear out: they are always working, always manifold.

The drama she plays is always new, because she is always bringing new spectators. Life is her fairest invention, and Death is her device for having life in abundance.

She envelops man in darkness, and urges him constantly to the light. She makes him dependent on the earth, heavy and sluggish, and always rouses him up afresh.

She creates wants, because she loves movement. How marvellous that she gains it all so easily! Every want is a benefit, soon satisfied, soon growing again. If she gives more, it is a new source of desire; but the balance quickly rights itself.

Every moment she starts on the longest journeys, and every moment reaches her goal.

She amuses herself with a vain show; but to us her play is all-important.

She lets every child work at her, every fool judge of her, and thousands pass her by and see nothing; and she has her joy in them all, and in them all finds her account.

Man obeys her laws even in opposing them: he works with her even when he wants to work against her.

Everything she gives is found to be good, for first of all she makes it indispensable. She lingers, that we may long for presence; she hurries by, that we may not grow weary of her.

Speech or language she has none; but she creates tongues and hearts through which she feels and speaks.

Her crown is Love. Only through Love can we come near her. She puts gulfs between all things, and all things strive to be interfused. She isolates everything, that she may draw everything together. With a few draughts from the cup of Love she repays for a life full of trouble.

She is all things. She rewards herself and punishes herself; and in herself rejoices and is distressed. She is rough and gentle, loving and terrible, powerless and almighty. In her everything is always present. Past or Future she knows not. The Present is her Eternity. She is kind. I praise her with all her works. She is wise and still. No one can force her to explain herself, or frighten her into a gift that she does not give willingly. She is crafty, but for a good end; and it is best not to notice her cunning.

She is whole and yet never finished. As she works now, so can she work for ever.

To every one she appears in a form of his own. She hides herself in a thousand names and terms, and is always the same.

She has placed me in this world; she will also lead me out of it. I trust myself to her. She may do with me as she pleases. She will not hate her work. I did not speak of her. No! what is true and what is false, she has spoken it all. Everything is her fault, everything is her merit.

Young Love and Love in Later Life

Falling in love is an incredible feeling, a roller coaster ride of infatuation, lust, raging hormones, an explosion of desires to rip the clothes off their bodies and make sweet endless love. However, falling in love for the first time is the most captivating experience leaving a person spellbound by the universe magic. Days are filled with daydreaming, floating in space and romanticising how you are going to end up happily ever after. As every second passes you are completely enraptured to the point of being dizzy and wildly alive.

My first love was intense. He was tall, dark and handsome with a rasta gangsta surfy vibe. His smile was warm while his energy screamed sexy warrior god. When I was in his presence, he made my heart flutter, and I couldn’t barely speak. I was so in awe of this greatness. How heavens blessed him with so many divine qualities. Under his cool exterior laid a talented musician, a passionate artist with a wise spiritual soft soul. His outer persona was so very confidant, extremely charming and very naughty. I believed we were perfect for each other, and it was enteral. 

We were both very young, 15 or 16, and went to the same crazy alternative school for misfits and outlaws. Our school, Metro College, only had 30 odd students, a mixture of punks, musicians, artist and gangsta’s. It was a last resort school as no other school would have our rebellious asses. The students mostly sat around jamming, playing instruments, making art, doing photography or debating like little philosophical munchkins. When we weren’t in class, we could be found down at the local park smoking weed in the bushes or getting drunk under the old wooden church.

He and I would sneak off to old church was where we would climb underneath to kiss and grope one another while swigging down cheap booze. It was there we had our first sexual romp. Being both very young and inexperienced it was fast and quick but thrilling and electric. Somehow, we would encourage the most outrageous behaviour in one another, yet it still felt like youthful innocent rebellion. So much about him was intoxicating, our paths had a weird divine synchronicity. Similar misfortunes, similar beliefs, similar crazy family dynamics. From the moment I first saw him my heart and soul belonged to him. I was madly in love, and I truly wanted this homie to be mine forever.

The last time I saw him was when I was when I just turned 18 and we were on a beautiful white sandy beach. He was tenderly kissing me as he held me in his arms. I felt so safe when in his arms, his cuddles were always gentle but strong. During this particular weekend away at the beach we had mad crazy sex in a bunk on a cabin by the ocean. I wanted to drive him crazy and pound my pussy against his hard cock, be the best fuck he ever had. For hours we fucked like crazed tantra sex gurus with passion so heated it would make a street ho0ker blush. And then again, the next morning followed with more intense sex on the soft sand dunes of the beach. I vividly remember all my frothy cum dripping off his hard cock. That was the last time I saw him, late April 1993. But for years after I would dream of him and wonder what happened to him.

Love in Later Life

Where do I start with this one?

Well, midway through the first year of COVID I started to reach out to people via online communication after being so deprived of face to face, human contact. I began messaging old friends, ex boyfriends, married men on dating affair websites and even started to write to men who were in prison. COVID lockdown and a bad marriage had left me feeling vulnerable and lonely.

After reaching out to an old boyfriend and speaking everyday our connection grew intimately. The old feeling had flooded back, and I began to think that we were meant to be together. After 12 months I was all in and ready to plan a future with him. That was until I found out he started a new relationship. I was totally blindsided and had been played. The heartache didn’t last long as sensibility and logic ruled. The blatant fact spoke volumes, he was a narcissist the first time around and nothing much had changed. I was just emotionally fragile and ripe for his manipulation and dribble.

What followed next was an online dating with a married man for nine months. This was exhilarating, I felt desirable and alive again after decades of a marriage with no real intimacy. This man was kind, understanding and gave me the attention I had been seeking. But the reality was that this was just an online affair, and whist real, there is a factor of fantasy and escapism. Just lust and loneliness and not love.

Covid also had me connecting with prison pen pals via emails. The very first pen pal was dark, full of self-loathing and regret. Emails were rare and mostly talked about missing his partner and inner darkness. He was very withdrawn and didn’t really have too much to say. 

I eventually sent a letter via post with a picture of me in it and a question about who he was which he didn’t answer. He wanted to know what I looked like, so I sent him a photo of me smiling. This did not help the frequency of our communications, actually emails became less, I gathered he didn’t like the way I looked. However, being very determined I kept up my writing and just swamped him with my ramblings of daily life in the UK, my online affairs in detail and also about my marriage woes. Afterall, COVID had given me so much free time that writing was therapeutic. 

After about six months and his transfer to another prison we started to connect more, our desire to be loved. He began to open up to me as we had so much in common. I looked him up on Facebook and he was tall, dark and handsome. Emails became weekly and the flirtation grew. He asked for an orchid petal painting, a painted print of my pussy, and other titillating photos to aid self-pleasure. In return, for my birthday he drew me a picture that totally blew my mind away, it oozed with love. He is very creative and talented. Things began to heat up between us and feelings were overwhelming. My horny, sex starved inmate was seducing me, and I was getting swept away. Inside I was stirring, there was a certain serendipity to our connection. He now wanted to hear my voice, so I agreed to having my telephone number approved. The first two calls were fast as my number originally got declined so he asked to call me from the office. But once it was approved, we had our first proper conversation after 11 months of being pen pals.

I cried afterwards. For four days I was in agony, I had strange feeling grow inside of me. How could this happen. This is totally insane! What were these strange feelings that I have? So, I looked at his Facebook profile again. Huh, those eyes look a little familiar. So, I sent him an email and asked him the same question I asked him in my first postal letter “did you go to Metro College?”. Two night later he called and said “yes, it’s me”. Holy moly, it is my first young love.