not yet punditik

image from putacupinit I have just gone through one period without using a disposable menstrual product, and I am excited and I have to tell it all. I had two oopsies, but that was because attention to detail was not paid – I ignored the bubble once, and was too lazy to check if the cup was open the second instance –yes, I’ve let it slip, I am now using a menstrual cup. Both instances had me hotfooting myself to the bathroom to clear up mabloods on maclothes. I’ve not used any backup, I was at home and safe enough Anywhooo, here is the story from the lips or rather the mouth of my vagina herself...... “ She has done things to me, that I really have not liked. She put in me a tampon in my youth. I was in my teens. I heard the conversation. Yes I have ears as well as lips. You won’t see them – they are invisible. But I hear things. There was a swimming gala, and the houses were very competitive. All good swimmers had to swim, said head of house. P’s or no P’s. There was

image from phallu.me I know there is my dress my choice, and it is for both males and females. Anyone can wear whatever they want, wherever they want, whenever they want. And who am I to tell you otherwise. But when butt cracks in low riding pants plus underwear bend over in front of my face, I think I need to speak – and your choice ends. In fact I have spoken up before and often . The latest time being yesterday. In a banking hall. I’m sitting down next to your pal. He is doing things on his phone, that you need to see. So first you wedge yourself in between your pal and my bag, since there is no empty seat next to your pal. I get hit with the rough hot edge of eau de sweat layered with strong undertones of suffocating hip, representing the pinnacle of un-hygiene-ness. I’m patient – no comment. You are uncomfortable, of course you are – you are perched on practically nothing. And you stand. In front of me. Leaning your torso sideways to your friend, the bac

But God.  Yes – but for God, it would all be different. And but for Him, I thought I’d come to the end of this series. Apparently I hadn’t! Something told me – the back end, the backend of me.   Not my neither regions, thank you – but my internal operations. The inner workings, internal operations, the core, the backend – things happened there too. Think about it.   You changed.   Changed over the Hurting, had to change really to get through the Hurting like you did.   Think about it. Raging I remember it. High level anger. Item destroying, clothes rending rage. Yes I did – ripped up my Victoria Secrets [what we girls call the evening wear boubou or dirax], and was left starkers, in the middle of my living room. Thankfully I was alone – or not – I was preggers. What a sight. What a fury. I was madzers [read that word recently, had to use it] with more than fury – I do not know if there is a word to describe that level of ferocious I would get to. But that is gone now. It

Dear Hurter https://www.pinterest.com/pin/14073817556190332/ I go on.   I serve.   I go serve. I will go on despite my past, despite all the hurting that has happened.   My past does not define me.   It is just a reference point, a starting point.   A point I will not forget.   A point from which I will take measure of my journey. The hurting was an extreme time.   But the hurting has given me a new life.   With a new understanding of myself – where I am coming from, where I am now, and where I am going.   Where I am coming from is clear.   Where I am now, I will only fully understand from the perspective of the future once I gets here.   Where I am going, only the Lord knows.   I am excited, about where I am going to.   And though I have some level of anxious still in me, but I have said yes Lord, I have answered His call, and do so every day.   My spirit knows His direction, my soul yearns for its reality. With an understanding of my past, an exploration of me,

image from  https://www.goalcast.com/2018/03/29/letting-go-someone-love/ Dear Hurter I let go. I let it go.  I let it all go. I know now that you are not what you say you are.   That you are not what I thought you were.   This knowledge has beat me down.   Tore me up.   It took a while for me to even acknowledge that there was something wrong.   Even longer to accept that that the wrong was here to stay.   And longer still to let go of the wrong. I know that for a while there I refused to believe who you showed me you were.   I tried to hang onto to the expectation of what I thought you were.   I could not, did not want to believe what you showed me was what you really were.   I held onto a hope of what I wanted.   Believing that you were like me, like others around me, that face value was real value.   Initially I suffered befuddlement.   I was confused and bewildered.   I saw the muck.   I saw the drama.   It made no sense to my rational mind.   And that con