Feb. 24th, 2011 02:36 pm
missrenie: (Default)
I have been for the past three years a woman haunted.
Haunted, followed, shadowed by this shade that refuse to let me go. This thing that screams look at me
see me
avenge me

I did not know this until yesterday
3 years ago I misdiagnosed myself as crazy, unhinged and simply bitter... needing for education in the fine art of processing
guidance in the rituals of letting go.

I prayed, sang feverish songs, made smoke offerings to my gods to make the anger fade
Sometimes a few months would go by peaceful and then it would come back
You would come back
I was frustrated with myself
Angry that I was letting you get to me
get in me
I wanted you out of me
Yesterday I realized that it was not you
it was me

Tyler Perry recently butchered a brilliant play by Ntozake Shange... seriously if the woman were dead she would be rolling in her grave over what Perry did to her amazing choreopoem. I winced my way through the horrible things that struck too close to home. I put up shields and focused on his flaws at directing. The way he made black women into broken empty shells.
I bitched and nagged instead of listening to the prolific prose but towards the end a phrase reached right through me and into me and shattered me thoroughly "Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff... Somebody almost walked off with all my stuff and didn't even know they had it"

The freshest of the scabs ripped back
and I poured out
That's me
That's me running behind you screaming: Hey give me my stuff back! You tread all through me and that thing you have dragging at the bottom of your shoe
that's mine
that's me
give it back

I became a new person to fill the space of the person that I no longer was
I made new stuff.
Instead of going back to salvage the tattered bits of me I left the person I no longer wanted to be behind

I demonized her. I told myself that she was weak for staying so long, that she was stupid for taking all that shit for so long that she deserved everything that she was dealt that she asked for it though an ill conceived notion of love and it was her punishment for not listening to her mother and the wise women who had gone before her, suffered and survived.
Stupid, silly, bitch.
Now had this woman not been me I would have been softer. I would have been kinder. I would have rallied to her, swept her into my arms, been harbor in the hurricane, nurtured and loved but it was not another woman. It was me. And I did not at that time in my life have the grace to forgive myself so I killed myself.
Buried myself in an unmarked grave.
“You’ve changed” a friend would say “You are not who you used to be” and I would always respond. Of course not. This is the new me I killed the waste of space that was here before.

I was proud
And haunted.
Unable to sleep, to dream, to slow down to be still because she was at my heels demanding that I see her, respect her, save her, reclaim her.
She was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.
I was still being drug across hot summer cement on the back of his fucking shoe.

I was not weak... I was strong enough to withstand with myself intact
I was not stupid... I was smart enough to leave.
I did not deserve what happened.
I did not deserve what happened.
What I do deserve is to give to myself to same compassion that I would give to someone else.
What I do deserve is to understand deep in my soul that I am not the solely to blame.
What I do deserve is to claim this broken piece of me and remake myself whole.
missrenie: (Default)
So my room is a mess
which is normally an indication that I am a mess

Its a pattern.
I make a mess in my room so that I have to clean it
through cleaning it I regain control
and that control makes me feel like I can take the other messy parts of my life and clean that as well.

Sometimes though I need help
and I wasn't expecting the help
but it came in a big way
and I wish I had the words to convey exactly how much it means to me
Not only did yall stop me from drowning, yall noticed I was drowning, yall decided to throw me a rope and more than the rope is the knowledge that you have enough faith in me to reach out to me to pull me to a place where I could once again stand on my own is humbling and makes me wanna cry in the happiest way.

My words are thank you... thank you for taking me in, for caring for me like family.
My actions will be a reflection of your kindness, your consideration, your encouragement
Because of yall
I can sort this out
Because of yall
I have a second chance
Because of yall
this future I had planned, this dream, this desire, this call, this passion, this life, my life
Because of yall
I can

I did not even realize that I had given up.
That I felt so lonely and so used up that I had given up
I was falling, kicking and screaming, grabbing at air but knowing that I was gonna hit the ground and shatter and break and face hard recovery.  And while I appeared to be putting up a good fight I had accepted that.... part of me had accepted that utter loss of hope but yall found my hands and gripped my arms and took the weight of me so that I could find my footing again and climb back and past the place I once was.

Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.

I'm gonna make you proud
I'm gonna make me proud
and then I'm gonna do for someone else what yall so lovingly and selflessly have done for me.
missrenie: (Default)
That wish list I wrote on here… yeah my first request came in. Clarity.

I have a clear realization that regardless of whether or not I join the Universal Ether or get reincarnated as comfy fat house cat whose owner is rich, childless , reasonably mentally balanced, doesn’t believe in declawing, does believe one pet is enough and is totally enthusiastic about kitty couture, bling and organic salmon dinners.

I have the memory of this one life.

This one only to hold onto in this now and if I am going to live it to the fullest then I have to let go of something.

Or rather some things, some ones and some false perceptions like this fake sense of security and the stifling fear of failure. For nearly three years this 60 to 70 hour working week thing has been the safety wheels on my life.

It’s kept me from falling down and going too fast.
It’s kept me balanced and gave me boundaries
But it also kept me from falling in love (with some exception)
in tale worthy trouble (sort of)
and down this rabbit hole that I’m constantly flirting around the edge of.

I am so so ready to free fall and fly with these wings that have been gifted to me though my own journey thus far, wings that have been pieced together from all this pain, pleasure and joy, pieced together with feathers of love plucked from friends with beautiful souls and mentors of magnificent quality.

It’s all come down to tea…

Which is my personal truth #2

Great Tea is not just tossed together. It is not just an accident. The seed has to be planted, the seed has to grow, the plant must be harvested, the harvest must be separated from the chaff, the leaves must be dried carefully, water must almost boil, then the leaves must regenerated themselves in seemingly opposing elements fire like heat and water, and just when they blossom and unfurl once again releasing like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon their life essence gets taken from them, infused changed into something new. For great tea there must be an even greater patience. I myself and my life itself are no different than the tea.

The things that happen in my life are not just accidents… well not everything :).
Life is like the tea. Sometimes we brew it for ourselves sometimes other people brew it for us. We brew with actions, and reactions and thoughts. We pick our ingredients (actively or passively) … sometimes some bastards sneak up behind you and toss something in the mix. Other times we see them put it in and just let it stay… too lazy to pick it out ourselves, or too afraid to displease them.

And when the tea is done we drink

It tastes like shit
We bitch
And pour another cup
Toast and bottoms up

If it ain't my cup of tea… why the fuck am I drinking it?! Why complain and then do nothing. Why did I fill myself with the same bitter drink over and over again. Because I was worried that if I spit it out I would look like a stuck up ungrateful bitch, I was worried that it was too late to start a new batch, grow new plants and wait for a new harvest, and no matter how appalling the taste was I knew what to expect… and in that there was comfort despite the discomfort.

My mom is taught me all about tea.

An eon ago she laughed at me when I told her I was hesitant about starting everything over. She said that she understood my fear but that I was a silly hussy for using that as an excuse. "If the shoe is fucking up your foot kick it off and if something in your life, whether it be a person, a thing, a job, a situation a habit is not your cup of tea i.e. .Something suitable, appropriate, or attractive to one stop accepting it in your life. Fill your cup with something else and stop being such a silly hussy."

I did it mama.

I made my own precious ever-changing and evolving brew.
I’m protecting it and not letting sneaky bastards toss things in it I did not choose.
I am not allowing fear to dictate the ingredients of my life.

It’s almost ready and when it’s done the first cup of victory will be raised to you.

oh and Juicy if you are reading this Rubenesque Burlesque is totally a main part of the brew ;)
missrenie: (Default)
I’ve decided to withdraw from this battle.
I lay down my shield and sword and I shake off all this armor.
And even though I’m no longer kicking and screaming I’m not as serene as I appear to be. I still feel you moving around in my body, stirring my blood, fevering my brain but it gets better. Since I’ve acknowledged it everyday gets easier. You’re more of a ghost than tangible touch now.

It surprises me that its harder getting over the dream than it was to get over the reality. And now that I have finally begun the process of letting go, since I stopped medicating myself with a hyper active social life and schedule I’m oh so sensitive to everything.
I feel pain, longing, loneliness, anger and grief.

I’m finally in mourning…
I was so arrogant that I believed that allowing myself to feel these things was a sign of weakness.

After all I was the one who left you right?

Who was I to miss you, miss us, miss what could have been or be angry at “what should have been”. But I can be this way. I can be pissed off at losing my best friend. I can mourn the death of this relationship. I can miss the way our bodies moved together and the way we had with words. I can grieve… it is well within my rights to grieve.

I spent 16 months running from this feeling that is washing over me right now because I was terrified of drowning in it. And guess what? Even though I am in over my head with it I can still breathe. And that is kinda pissing me off too. Knowing that I can in fact breath without you… I should have tried to far sooner.

Ten years ago I laughed when I asked you ”What did I think about before I thought of you?”

Now I remember. And I am upset about that too. I am enraged at how I allowed myself to be so dedicated and consumed by us that I let me wither away. That I allowed the value of my word to tarnish that I let my ambition lay furrow in a vast field of opportunity.

I’ve decided to withdraw from this battle of looking for that person to be “us” with.
I have decided to lay down my shield and sword and shake off all this armor so that I can relearn to breathe just for me.
I have decided to remember my own thoughts.
I have decided to reclaim my word and properly nourish my ambitions.
I have decided to let go of this hope for you and me
I have decided to surrender the dream of somesort of “us”
So that I can live the victorious reality

Of me.
missrenie: (Default)
Bitch please....
I'm not sure
where you got your information from
but you don't own me

I don't know what happened in your past
or what happened in this present
to lead to this miscommunication
but you don't own me

do not pay my bills
do not access my quality
do not have power over me

I realize that your high
comes from standing on someone's head
your ego is so short that you have to  straddle someone's shoulders
to kick someone else's side

I realize that you are fragile
behind those hard eyes
that while I can laugh and sing
you can only point at and point out
every negative thing

I don't fear you
because you are blind
you don't see me

I don't fear you
because you are uneducated
you don't know me

I don't fear  you
because you need me (or someone you mistake me to be)
more  than I need this so
you don't own me

and after I write this
after I place the period
you won't own my mind either
you will not hold space within the sacred temple of my thoughts

Bitch please
slave days is ova
own me
missrenie: (Default)

"I have high standards of those I associate with and I expect you to have the same.

Only SELECT people are worthy of your attn.

You are special, and those wishing you to grace their presence should be special too. Don't sell yourself short. XOXO"
~Daddy Dom's response when we spoke about me seriously playing with another Dom

Its crazy because You have told me this in some way shape or form for the better part of a year and it is just now starting to seep in.

It is such a simple concept. 
Such a simple idea. 
But at the same time it is so heavily loaded. 

Somewhere in the course of my life I was taught to believe that I was not worthy, or special, or priceless. 
Somewhere along the course of my life I was taught to take what I could get, to settle, to accept the bird in hand, the cards dealt.

I was taught to yield, kowtow, turn the other cheek, be meek,suffer silently, sing quieter, shine less, shut up and no matter how much I take my clothes off I can't seem to strip that out of me.

I should not be embarrassed at the sound of my own beautifully trained voice echoing back at me from auditorium walls.
I should not be surprised by an appreciative stare as I strut by on wild black stilettos

I should not be so hungry for validation
for a job well done
for an ascetic compliment
for an act of kindness

I know I did well.
I know I am beautiful.
I know I am a good person.
I know that I have earned this person I am today. 

So yeah childhood and church taught me one thing.  And You are teaching me another.

There is conflict between the opposing sides but I am here grabbing hold to Your point of view and trying desperately to pull my self free of this quick sanded trap I've been floating in so precariously for so long.

I feared that if I moved I would drown in arrogance, choke on my own vanity.  But I can see now with this Dawning notion that there is a middle path. 

I'm still frightened though.  Because as You pull me up, as I kick free I can see myself though Your eyes. 
What I see is wonderous vision that is burning itself into me,
what I see keeps me from turning back into the old me,
what I see keeps me moving forward and changing and becoming better.
What I see makes me submit, makes me strong, makes me weak, makes me open, makes me responsible.

Responsible for every action and accountable for every consequence...

What I see through Your eyes is me
As a brilliant shining amazing person of excellence
Who must do brilliant shining amazing things of excellence.

Anything less is unacceptable
Anything less is death

I always understood what Mairanne Williamson said in that famous quote... but because of my experiences with You I can now embody it.  Because of You I can see it for myself.

You will always have my gratitude, my love, my devotion...
Your young lady~~~

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." ~ Mairanne Williamson
missrenie: (Default)

A year ago I made a promise to myself

I promised to Untame , To Rename, To Reclaim me

Because amidst years of conflict
amidst years of conditioning
amidst years of conforming

I had forgotten
my worth
my beauty
my self


A year ago I made this proclamation of reclamation. 

~it has resulted in the metaphorsis of a nine year relationship to a wonderful life long friendship
~it has resulted in the loss of 30 pounds
~and the gaining of 15 ;)
~it has resulted in ardent change within myself which has rippled out to touch those closest to me
~it has brought to me a learning of  me

And some of these things that I learned  I love
And some of these things that I learned I absolutely despise

I have learned that I like the razor edge of things
That my sunshine is all the deep deep sensations from elated joy to tortuous pain
I’ve learned that I can shout and sing and strip in front of a crowded room
I’ve reclaimed my sashay, my sass, my sexuality, my spirit.

I’ve also learned that my halo can just as easily become Horns
That I possess as much callousness as I do compassion
That I can be as ugly as I can be beautiful, selfless and selfish
That I can be brilliantly confident and oh so needy of outside affirmation


I learned that I had miscalculated terribly

I assumed at the beginning of this that being “me” was a destination that I would arrive at.   I even had the nerve to assume on several occasions that I had “arrived”.   

Now I know that all this, all these things that I have embraced as part of me, all these robes of robes I have put on me is not me.  

I know this because I see it in others. 

In the mother who turns to temptress after her children as fast asleep.

In the tattooed burlesque dancer who has to run off after her performance to study for her exams

In the most feared sadist who cries cheerful tears when given the gentlest butterfly kiss upon his cheek.

In the eyes of the power lawyer who confesses that all he wants is to give in, submit, be told what to think and feel and do.


Burlesque Dancer, Debaucher, Red Pill, Submissive Switch, Poly, Pan Sexual, Pagan these are  planets  coming in and out orbit around the soul of who I am and more importantly who I can be.  It’s easy to get caught up in “planets”  I mean hell they are fucking planets.  Huge massive things with there own systems of doing things, rules and landscapes.  It is easy to get caught on one.

I’ve gotten caught on a few
I’ve been lazy again

I’ve come far from the quite girl with low self esteem, from that over emotional self hating mess that used to cut her wrists and cry herself asleep at night.  I’ve come far from the binge eater, the hater, the angry one who threw things and cursed(I still curse but I do it with a smile).  I’ve come far from the cowardess, the powerless.


But  I have not arrived
This is just a plateau
I can see a little bit clearly… at least I think I can. 

And what I see are other lines cast down.  From other men and women who have gone before me.  Ropes of knowledge, wisdom, challenge, growth all dangling in the breeze.  There are footholds too, uncharted paths to take as well all things leading to the next level and the next.


To continue on this everyday adventure that I’m making my life to be will take more than proclamations, more than believing and boasting.


It will take that discipline that Sensei told me I needed so badly ten years ago…  I’m looking forward to the new set of challenges before me, the creations and catharsis they will bring me…


I’m not so afraid anymore
and that either means that I am ready or that I am incredibly, inexcusably stupid.  Not that that matters… I’m committed.


Or certifiable.



Either way there is nothing like getting your hands a little dirty to cleanse your soul ;)
missrenie: (Default)

In a little more than 72 hours I will be standing in direct defiance of every negative thing about my body that I have been taught to believe

I will take the stage in front of total strangers and fond friends;) and if you are there you will see that it will take a total of three minutes for me to stylishly remove two black gloves, one silk nighty and a black and purple laced bra.

What you will not see is the decade it has taken me to remove the limitations of self hate
What you will not see is the years I have spent removing corrosive loathing in order find my worth and self love
What you will not see is the six months it has taken me to remove that defeating fear that has told me that my dreams will never be my reality

You'll see me
just me
all of me
exactly how I was made to be

Yours Truly,
Miss Magnoliah Black


Apr. 24th, 2009 09:43 am
missrenie: (Default)

You know it's like the song says.  “It’s gonna be a long way to happy”


~That’s because you’re carrying too much fucking baggage.


Fuck you.


~You don’t have the equipment sweetie but if you want we can take a day trip to the City so you can get some.


No fuck you.  You think you have it all together but look at yourself look at your life.


~I’m sorry did I hurt your feelings?




~I didn’t mean to.


I know… where are you going?.


She was  just sitting there  in her oversized sweater, the computer screen turning her skin this weird shade of bluish white.   She looks small and frail and I love her.  For a long time she has been a sister to me but I decline all invitations to all pity parties, not out of being a bitch, not out of lack of compassion but out of self protection.  Attendance at these functions does one of two things.

~ gives me that thank goddess that is not me feeling that poor sob

~encourages me to throw my own


Neither of these are accepted schools of thought for me.  I don’t like watching other people’s train wreck since I’ve started to pull myself from the rubble of my own.  And this particular train wreck has been happening for a long ass time. 


~Home… it’s late and I work in the morning.   I love Pink you know I do but fuck that song.  Maybe you shouldn’t be listening to it.   Indie Arie has a song called Hope another one called I Choose.


I need to process this you know.


~You’ve been processing for 13 years.


Fuck you


~Day trip


It doesn’t make any difference… life is shit, life is always gonna be shit.  You have moments when it’s good and then it all gets fucked.  Every time like clockwork.


~If you want to see it that way….


You’re not perfect you know.


I laugh because I am perfect…  and I am flawed, weird, obsessive, extreme and one strange little girl but I am perfect at being the me I am right now in this moment, today… as I walk away.


You’re a megalomaniac.


~I know.


You really have to leave?




Well goodnight hun.


~Goodbye dear.



It’s been five months since I walked out of that apartment that night.  Away from a woman that was a sister to me. 


Turns out she was then and is now is sister to a dead woman. A dead woman who in life had delighted in misery, who always said I can’t, who blamed others for her problems, who used everything from weather to weight as an excuse not live fully.    I know this woman is dead because I offed the pathetic punk ass bitch … I only keep her pictures around as a warning.


A warning to never ever be that woman again


That wasn’t how it started though.

I wanted to help this person see her own beauty, her own power.  But I wasn’t strong enough to lift myself let alone her.  So I sank down besides her… spent hours with her at the grave of our dreams in happy content mourning.


Occasionally I would tell her things like

You can do it

You deserve happy

You should stop giving away your power

You have to cut the toxic people out of your life


I tried to pound this message into her repeatedly and one day I got bitch slapped by the universe and realized that the unsolicited unheeded advice I was giving was really meant for me.  That this person I was so close to was a reflection of myself…. I didn’t like what I saw.  So I took my own advice. 



She’s calling now.

This sister to a dead woman.

She is sending out the usual feelers in all the usual directions


And I am at a loss

Wondering if I am strong enough now to take her on.

Wondering if my lesson is to let go.

missrenie: (Default)

Dre dropped the book infront of me while I sat twisting my unkempt locs back into some sort of reasonable neatness.  It’s been a long time since I have inquired as to just why she gives me something to read/do.  Everything she seems to point out to me has been relevant.  It is as if the universe sends me messages that I too busy fucking around to notice and she has the lovely inclination to grab my head and twist my neck so that I stop and take a look see. 

I was quite resistant the first few times.  But after a while I realized that this process is a lot less painful if I just accept it. 

This time  it is a book on birthdays and astrology.  I open it up to age 27 & 28 and I am blown away, caught up in a feeling a overwhelming relief and warmed by a deep sense of connection to the vast universe around me.

This wild trip through the rabbit hole, this turmoil between healer and hedonist, this casting off of my old self and creation of the new, this painful passing, isolation, insomnia, this fit of exhibitionism, excitement, acceptance, all the serendipity of the last few months, all this death and rebirth, every glorious bit of greatness and gore that has been astronomical is merely astrological.

Saturn Returns… with a fucking vengeance I might add and with it comes cleansing, purification, manifestation, actualization, maturity, responsibility and the confidence to live the life appropriate for me on my terms and no one else’s. 
It has meant the ending of old relationships,
180 to 359 high speed shifts in perception
So far it’s been humiliating and humbling,
exotic and empowering
and if I am correctly informed a completely normal part of the growing process.

As chaos of my 27th year winds up to the adventure of the 28th I am ever so excited to see what Life has in store because for a while there Life was giving it to me hard…
full on  bent over the barrel without the lube hard.  I’ve recently bitch slapped her, flipped the script and taken top and now...

now we are in madly, absolutely, positively in love
and pregnant with beautiful expectant possibility~~
missrenie: (Tree of Knowledge)
I am happy
this emptiness right here
this emptiness right now
is a temporary thing.

Happy people cry too
even if their tears are confused, missed and taken for laughter
Happy people scream too
even though their pain is mistaken for con and fused with fervor

I am a happy person
and this emptiness is a temporary thing

this Emptiness
where my Worth once stood
Worth I so carelessly gave away
Worth that with an equal carelessness was wasted away,
until my hallowed became hollow  there
once warm womb turned temporary torrid tomb…

Stand not at this grave a weep for me
Neither grieve for me
Nor hold wake with me
give me your noise
lend me your laughter
create chaotic celebration so that I can cry

Soak me in the sun of your warm smiles,
transmute this sea of tears into fertile spring rains rich with the beauty of our combined joy.
Lend me the rhythm of your stamping feet
turn bitter grapes of sorrow into sweet wines of sacred wisdom, a precious ambrosia garnered from life’s painful lessons
Pour it over this rotted earth
let me use your bright colors as inspiration to re-landscape my barren greedy glorious garden

Grieve not for me
nor hold wake with me

give me  noise
lend me  laughter
create chaotic celebration so that I can
and cry

for I am a happy person
and this
this is but a temporary thing.
missrenie: (Default)



It slipped let me push it back in she says


And for a moment I think that she is going to reach down and do it right there in the booth.


Ahhh can we wait until we are outside?


Why… are you afraid that you are going to cry like a baby inside the restaurant?


This is a question I don’t feel the need to reply to since we both know the answer.  Once outside she takes my ear pulls down on the lobe and without pause or panic proceeds to firmly push the metal through the tiny hole until it can’t go anymore.  All I can think is. this is the ear that isn’t sensitive.  All I can say is… scream is  Argggggggggggggggggh!!!!


Quit whining you’re fine, you’re fine. 

She starts in on the other ear (the sensitive one) with just as much kindness.  This time I’m able to speak somewhat normally.  At least this hurts less than the biopsy of my cervix.


I’m not sure if she heard me.

But what she said next struck me.   You wanted this, you’ll just have to suffer through, we suffer for the things that we want. 


And I know she said it light heartedly but it’s true.  The change that I have created in my life has been a painful process but well worth it.  My mind, my body, my limitations, my beliefs have all stretched a bit and it has been uncomfortable but well worth it.


There you’re done she says after a few seconds.

I turn around and hug her with a weak thank you and an even frailer but honest I love you.


She laughs as she walks to her car.  “See you’re fine…Don’t be such a pussy or I won’t do your tattoos.”



That’s Dre

She is friend and sister.  She’ll tell me congratulations just as easily as she’ll tell me that I’m screwing up.  She’ll let me cry and bitch and moan for a bit before she asks me what I’m gonna do about it and then check up to make sure that I am doing something about it.


She believes in being her sister’s keeper… she is creative and compassionate (when she’s not gauging your ear).  And she has been by my side.  During this last year and these last six months for the best of it and the worst of it.  Telling me that I am fine though all the stretching and the pussying out and encouraging me to move forward, move fearlessly, move beyond.


And I love her for it.


Thanks Dre
from the bottom of my heart to the holes in my ears... thank you.


missrenie: (Default)

Winter lingers

And for a long time I could not figure out why… why wouldn’t spring come.  I began to wonder if it felt this long for spring to come every year.  But when I thought back on it this impatience is a new thing.


I planted seeds in soil indoors and while I have had some measure of success with this in the past it completely failed this year. Withering away pathetically as I watered and adjusted for sun light, as I spent spiraling energy and played Mozart.


“Bloom!  Why the hell won’t you bloom? Live, it’s time isn’t it, live!”  But despite my want and will it died.  And now what I think on it this season’s early failure is a powerful lesson.


Winter lingers in my life because I have never accepted it.  I am all about transitions.  Constantly changing and moving and pushing lines and buttons I’m all fall and spring.  This year more than ever I denied winter.  I denied loss and death and endings of things.  I dressed my room and altar for fall and purposely did not change the season for winter.  Yesterday I began to take down my fall sprigs to replace them with my spring ones. 


Normally this is very life affirming for me but it felt hollow this time.  I was so disturbed that I did an oracle draw with the chakras for correspondence.  It was no surprise to me when I pulled my souls purpose as the Cave in Winter.  A call for solace, stillness, regeneration, darkness the fluid water turned to solid stillness.  Isa… that rune that word that concept that has haunted me for the past two years. 


For some reason the image of the cave struck me harder than Isa itself did.  I realized then that I can not move forward if I am exhausted.  I will not know where to go if I do not stop to listen.  I am so intent on getting where I think I need to be that I am missing the entire journey and as a direct consequence I am getting lost.


Bloom!  Why the hell won’t I bloom?

Live, it’s time isn’t it, live!

But despite my want and will many things that I touch now wither and die and it is a powerful lesson.

I can not force the seasons, and while I can deny them it is an injury to myself.


I realized that I am behaving like a petulant child in trying to deny that it is time for the death of old habits, self defeating patterns, ill-fated relationships.  I want connection, a beautiful soul, I want to grow but I can not grow if I do not go through winter first.


If I do not lay things to rest.


Winter is hard

But spring is even harder.

I agree with Ariadne when she said that spring is violent.

The seed splits itself in two as it pushed up through the soil it is a dark, lonely, solitary path.  It is all blood and screams and completely worth it… just ask any mother.


Winter’s rest, winter’s shedding of the unnecessary is vital if one is to successfully undertake the Spring.   And while I may be a little late in doing so I embrace Winter for what it is and what it will take from me.

missrenie: (Default)
started writing this months ago when I started challenging the lines in my own life
Yesterday it completed itself.  At least the first part.  I have a feeling that it will keep changing
as I change



All the lines in all the world
are merely sensible suggestions

Made to be pushed and challenged charged
by deviants with questions

Be wary those who break  through
to taste the other side

You'll find Infinities ocean
vast with unknown depth and wide

These uncharted liberated seas
create thrilling, frightening  rides

Not for faint of heart
nor common sense
or those beset with pride

Tis a place for fools and hedonists
activists, artists
unsung and unknown

They know that surviving the drown'd depths
Often means you swim alone

missrenie: (Default)
After bitching about how embarrassed I was over this Mr. V business I was asked why I don’t delete the blogs. Or why I don’t delete all of my embarrassing blogs for that matter. I told him that I would lose like 79.5% of everything I’ve ever written if I did that, but the real reason is this

I’ll forget.

It would be nice to erase my mistakes. The times when I was a complete idiot, totally selfish and self indulgent, way too easy, volunteered for chaos, abuse and abandonment under the assumption that I was a victim.

Instead I choose to keep them all logged and tagged for easy referencing. It’s my cheap therapy, my glaring light of truth, a lesson in how not to do things. It’s not a ledger of failures but a reminder of how far I have come.

I have learned a lot from reading about other people’s lives, the words and world they have shared. The bottles they cast fearlessly out into the sea with all the deep, and hidden and hilarious messages. They teach me and inspire me.

These are my stories, the mark of my memory that I am hammering into the world. The thing I will leave behind. Since my body is incapable of creating life I choose to create this instead. My glaring mistakes, my cringing embarrassments, my non-fatal flaws, my slightly serious shortcomings are very much a part of it and they are to be laughed at and learned from… if not by others then definitely myself.

I forgot a lot of things from my childhood, from my past because I forced myself to. Because of pain, because of embarrassment. There are whole patches, years gone from my memory. I don’t want to forget anymore I want to remember

I want to remember vividly
the faces and names of people who have touched me deeply.
and some of you reading this know you have.
I want to remember
every color, sight and scent
every emotion from sky high soaring joy to earth shattering sadness
the feeling of his hands against my skin
the press of her lips against my own
how the dawn looked as I headed west with a full tank of gas and a heart full of unquestioning, unwavering love
how the terms "heartbreak and heart wenching" are painfully accurate 
how the cold the warm rain felt against my skin as I carried the last box out of our home

I don’t want to forget because the ability to experience all of these things is a gift.
So when I am old and gray, when my body has given me up like some Judas in the night. I will have the memories of this life. And I'll laugh and cry and laugh some more.

And be at peace.
Just like I am now.

And this too is something I never ever want to forget.
missrenie: (Default)



I guess I never told you(all)  the deal.  I just assumed that since you peeped the profile and actually paid attention during our conversations that I would never have to break it down like this.  But I guess I was mistaken.

I’ll only say this once.



Dear Mr. Friday,

I am not:
Your mistress

Your heart may be polyamorus but your marriage is not.  Your wife agreed to certain things and I respect her and her wishes. We will continue to be just dungeon buddies but if you keep pressing me so help me goddess we won’t even be that.

 In addition to not being your mistress I am also not your celibate mistress. 


Ps. My heart is poly too.



Dear Mr. Vanilla,

I am not :

Sick and misguided and in need of your gentle handling to show me the error of my hedonistic ways. When I said that I liked my hair pulled and my ass slapped I meant it.  No amount of kind cuddling is going to get me wet.  And you should know that by now due to personal experience.

Ps. We both know you’re not as vanilla as you are pretending to be.
Pss.  I do love the after sex cuddle...you should totally keep that.


Dear Mr. All American Cowboy,

I am not:
A horse

You can not tame me, break me, change me.  Pagan, Poly, Bisexual, Kinky these things are not choices they are huge parts of who I am.

Ps.  you're gay or at the very least bisexual. 
Thats a big part of who you are stop fighting it and just accept it.

To Mr. Jehovah Witness

I am not:
In need of you to save me… you’re not Jesus.

And please stop  crying to me about how conflicted you feel about last month.  I’m not Jesus either.   I asked you if you had reconciled your desires with your god and you said yes.  I suggest you go see your priest/minister.


I said god
not your genitalia.



To Mr Player:

I am not :
Crying over you when you don’t give me a ring on the celly.

That male voice you heard in the background when you did manage to dial the digits... yeah that was your replacement Mr. Vanilla.


Don’t hate me hate the game.




For all the rest.  Please read position description before submitting your application.



Pagan/Pagan friendly, Polyamous/ Poly friendly, Kinky, Geek/ geek friendly Spiritual male or female
who enjoys open communication, reading, learning, drinking exotic teas and experiencing new things.  Must have own life, goals and tool box with basic knowledge on how to use said tools.  Should be reasonably neat, logical, less neurotic than I am.  Must be patient, kind, open minded and tolerant and appreciative.   Honest compassionate critiques regarding art work and life in general is mandatory...  good spelling is a plus since I suck at it.  Please be willing to be physically active and supportive of my life/life style and goals, able to take and give in equal measure.
Have a light grey to dark khol sense of humor
Love music
Tolerant of snorers or fall asleep quickly.


Must be seeking the same minus the logical.




Bonus points if you take it in the ass.


~xoxo Miss Renie

missrenie: (Default)

Last weekends sex-capades  left me all fucked up in the head.

After talking to a few level headed friends who suggested the following:


*Intimacy is a thing of perception.  What you interpreted as love making may have been his standard fair.  Remember hun you’re ass to elbow into some weird multi-favored shit… normal maybe starting to taste exotic to you.

 *There are guys who just want to please women you know (this was stated to me very defensly).  Doesn’t mean he’s in love with you just that he likes making love and until he asks you to formally be his girly then
A: just enjoy it with no emotional attachments
B: stop fucking/ making love to him

 *You’re not in love you’re in stupid.  I think you should come over so I can slap you.  Maybe give you that some sense you’re sorely lacking.

 *This guy is a stickler for rules.  And he is breaking his personal rules for you.  He may have real feelings for you but is freaking out about logistics.  Or he doesn’t and he’s using the logistics as an excuse. 

 *Maybe its your body’s way of telling you to slow the hell down you dirty whore.  Maybe you actually want one man and not three hundred. 

 *You… one guy, vanilla sex, no hair pulling or strap-ons?  Who the hell are you trying to kid.  You’re delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.  Take a nap, get thee to a dungeon and talk to me in the morning.



I decide to take him for another run just to be figure out if: 
A: that I am in deep deep like with him
B: that I was delirious from lack of sleep and a proper spanking.

So last night I’m clutching the edge of the stove top and leaning dangerously close to an almost whistling teapot as he grinds against me enthusiastically from the back.  It’s hard to pour tea when someone’s biting on your neck but we both really needed it.  The tea I mean. Turns out that I gave him a nasty viral throat infection last Sunday that I wasn’t aware I had at the time.

We cuddle, drink our tea.  And I wonder if sleeping with him again is the best course of action.  Laying in his arms with my head against his chest felt too good.  But  then I figure that any guy who likes my herbal tea, doesn’t flinch or look at me crazy when I tell him about the coven and still thinks I’m sexy after serving him up a slice of the special hell I’ve been in since Wednesday  is worth another roll in the hay. 

Besides it would be like kissing after we both ate garlic… “a negating effect since I’ve already infected him”... this is his theory.  I suggest giving him a massage.  I actually do give him a professional massage with no hanky panky.

 I inform him of his body issues.  Suggest a course of action and I can barely get the lotion away before it’s all “hacha and whoopee”. 

And this time I screamed louder when I came.
This time I went into with a sense humor instead of heartbreak and you know what, maybe my logic is skewed but it worked out in my favor anyway.  I figured out that what I've got is something far better than a fuck buddy.  I have a love buddy.  Which is kinda like a fuck buddy but better. 

See my love buddy cares about my day, my life and when he is going to see me again, he wants to know what I am thinking, and how he can please me. He teaches me to load and shoot winchester rifles and remembers the things that I say and sometimes peer pressures me into eating beef.
I care about my love buddies goals and pursuits, whether or not he made it home okay, I know the names of his siblings and that when he was 12 he had a blond patch of hair... just one patch admist all that brown  and how a specific shade of green turns his eyes really really blue... and I make him laugh.  Alot. 

I really like him
and I really enjoy my time with him. We both enjoy our time with each other, moaning and laughing, touching and tickling. Holding eachother and breathing.

There was no embarrassment as he massaged a horrendous cramp out of my left thigh while kissing my right knee.  And in the after glow as we cuddled under my blanket I told him about my mother and he told me about his.    

I saw the pain in his eyes when he spoke of the cancer that killed her.


He knows my secrets.
He’s seen me at my worst and best
He likes me just as wild and free as I am.
He hasn’t asked me to change in any way.

His secrets are silent but on the surface.
And at he worst he is harsh on himself at his best he is passionately focused
He is controled and displined, intelligent and giving
I wouldn't want him to change in any way

His hands were warm as he touched me and I told him so.

He replied with “warm hands cold heart” 
I cupped my hands around my mouth and breathed out hot air against his chest.   I was smiling with childish satisfaction as looked back up at him.   He was laughing, the lines around his eyes deepening and within them I saw that struggle that hesitation but he drew me closer and kissed me anyway and rubbed his nose against mine.

So I love him.

So I  make love to him.

But I'm not in love with him.  See I’ve learned the lesson of the tree.  How some people are roots and stay forever, how some people are branches and can fall away, how some people are leaves and are for a season only.  There is danger in trying to turn a leaf to root.


Intuition tells me  that he is a leaf. 


And that’s alright. 

I accept that. 

I’ll revel in this season. Because right now he’s a little island of sanity within all the insanity of this amazing and awkward adventure I call my life. If he ends up touching me like that for only a little while…If we end up touching each other like that only for a little while then so be it. 


Because he has touched me


In a positive way
that will remain with me
long after he himself  is gone~~~

missrenie: (Default)


Friday afternoon finds me huddled on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, fighting off a horrendous sore throat and I crying pathetically over some lame ass lifetime like movie (which shall remain nameless for my own protection).

I'm sick from overworking, emotionally exhausted and as I look back on it I blame the bookshelves for turning me into this hot mess. Well I blame me but it started with those damn shelves.

I should explain


Last Sunday at  2 in the morning I am  toiling away at these bookshelves because if I don’t get it done it won’t get done.  Now this is not a new thought for me.  In my last relationship I knew/felt that if I didn’t do it wouldn’t get did.  But there was still that glimmer of hope.

Now I’m completely alone and well without that slim optimistic sliver of “maybe he’ll…” so its all me on hands and knees at two am finishing up the last of the tool-less shelves in coffee brown from Target’s home décor  when it happens…

I flip the page and the instructions have this little triangle.  Inside of the triangle are two little sexless block people almost holding hands.   An indication that this part is a two person job. Suggesting strongly that I would need help. 

I start to cry

I decide that this is a dangerous thing to do when wielding a hammer (tool-less my ass) so after 4 or 5 tears I suck it up, brace the damn things against the wall, maneuver my body into the closest things to a split its been in since second grade ballet and get her done.

For a brief moment sanity seductively flitters past me and whispers in my ear telling me to stop.  I have been up since 6:45am the previous day, I’ve done 5 hour long massages, run a ton of errands all over town which include getting these heavy shelves, carrying them from the store to the car and the car to the house solo. 

But I’ve been working on this “Reorganize the Room” project since 6pm (the previous day),I have a UU service to attend in the morning, work in the afternoon and dinner plans in the evening so I have to finish.

It became a call to arms
It became a challenge
And as neurotic as it sounds it became a fucked up analogy for my life.

It has to be done. It has to be done now.

No one is going to help me.  I have to do it alone. 

I have to do it perfectly.    My performance is a direct reflection of me

I am not going to pussy out. 

I am strong enough.


I finish around 3am with everything.  My room, my closet all neat and ocdly in order.  It’s perfect and beautiful.  My shelves, my fucking shelves with the things I worked so hard for on them.

I’m exhausted and half insane and I laugh myself to sleep...since I refuse to cry.

In the morning I’m beyond fucked.
My eye’s burn, my wrist is swollen my palm is giving out sharp radiating pain, my right knee is swearing eloquently in french.
I call off service, I call off work but I still try to limp around the house and do chores with my left hand disadvantage.  Since I can’t manage to lift more than 5 lbs with my right.

I blame the shelves ( and not me) all the way…. It’s a long day.  And at this point I am working just because my body doesn’t know what to do with itself or how to stop.  It’s a relief when 6pm comes around because I have to call a truce with myself to get ready for dinner.

He shows up. 

This guy.  A friend I have known for almost two years now and he takes me to dinner.  No strings attached, no expectations, just friends and it’s really nice.  And when he pulls up to my house I ask him inside to look to see my shelves cause I am so proud of them.

And he looks at them
       And says they are nice
And he looks at my wrist
       And asks why I didn’t ask him for help

“But the place was a mess.  I didn’t want you to see it like that”
But I’m a mess and I didn’t want you to see me like that
“I would have helped you Irene”


I look at him as Muddy waters I Just Wanna Make Love to You sings out from
the cd player on the bottom of one of the shelves in front of us.

I really look at him
I do want to make love to him.

For some reason I believe that this guy would have helped me build my shelves stat and he would have done it correctly.  It’s crazy…is the passing thought I have as tears form in my eyes .   This is insane I think as he holds me tightly against him and tells me to let go.  To just let go.  I cry and sob and apologize and swear as he holds the world still around me.  And that song on my shelf is singing into my soul

I just want to make love to you.
I just want to make love to you.



Now I’m fucked. 

Because as I lay there listening only to his heart beat, feeling his hand moving across my hair I looked over at my perfect shelves that I worked so hard on.  Then deeper still  I looked at my life and everything in it. 

And in that moment, and breath, and beat, held tight within his arms I realize with shocking, startling and paralyzing clarity  just how fucking tired I am, how completely and  utterly exhausted I am




of building it alone~


Jan. 20th, 2009 02:20 pm
missrenie: (Default)
I'm so fucking neurotic that if it were a crime I should be locked away for life.
I just re-read my last few postings.
That was some shit straight outta Jane Austen. I should be slapped.
This is the exact reason why I  try not sleep with people I actually really really like.

He may have not felt the same way I did.
Or he may have and it freaking out too.
I am not in any way ready to commit to a relationship.
I enjoy my life the way it is now.
Not that I don't get lonely or really want someone to hold me and take out the trash, someone I can cook for, who actually likes that digusting sound I make in the back of my throat when I am sick...

But lets face it. I don't give a damn about my bad reputation and Donna Reid I am not! 
I am not for changing, quieting down, or locking myself into one saddle.
And if I have to play a game to date I would rather not do it at the same time I understand that my candor can be mistaken for more that what it is.

I'm over it now... well almost

my only regret:
that I didn't scream louder when I came.


I'm: feigning indiffrence for sanity's sake

On Flying

Nov. 11th, 2008 12:15 pm
missrenie: (Default)
You'll soar he said simply his hand in mine
How do you know that?  I whispered back choking on my tears
Because I know you... it's what you do.

I  now understand Icarus...

how he could forget the stern warnings of his father and try to touch the greatest star in the heavens.


I can feel heat and warmth,

deep pleasure and shattering pain


I am aware of touch and taste and sound and me

I can feel


and I want to feel it all

the sun against my face

the wind below my body


my heart a pounding warriors drum within my breast

so loud sometimes that it frightens me

and makes me fold my wings for a moment

free fall back into what the world considers a comfortable norm


I remember a promise I made to myself when I left.

To Untame
To Rename
To Reclaim me


I struggle I resist I push back against the glass ceiling

and there is a rain of sparkling glittering diamond shards around me

His accuracy is a bitter sweet taste in my mouth

As I break through

As I fly beyond

As my mind, my spirit, my body join as one




It's a good day to kiss the sun




missrenie: (Default)

November 2011

1314151617 1819
202122 23242526


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 24th, 2017 10:57 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios