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This girl has me trippin’

Over my own two feet.

No, not really (read: yes, really) because she is right up my “power alley” as one friend would say, ready for a “conversion special” as another would add to that. 

I have a gift, a lousy-power really, of tapping right into other people’s vulnerabilities (I see through too many folks’ Emperor’s clothing) and causing them (helping them, allowing them the safe space) to open up to me. I know the origin stories, the secret ones, of too many folks.

I know too much and too many of the little girls and boys that have been hidden underneath the “big girl” and “big boy” masks we wear.

And I weary of it.

I always had a way with words and a way with people; I am not called a gracious charmer without due. And the gift of empathy, well that one, I earned it the hard way. I hurt too many people carelessly, hurt myself, too, in the process, and now — when I can avoid it, which is often — I don’t repeat the same mistake. I do not revisit the scenes of those crimes.

But, this? This I can’t turn it off.

And so, I meet new people and I listen. I talk, we laugh, I treat with real kindness, I observe, and I let too many people love me because I make it too easy to be loved. I should be harder (but I can’t). I should be less giving of:

  • My time (but if I’m not using it, why not share)
  • My money (once I’ve paid my bills and laid something up, might as well have fun, can’t take it with me)
  • My energy (because I replenish rather quick and can always dig deep)
  • My attention (because everyone deserves full attention, everyone)

But all of that is what gets me in trouble. Leaves me stepping back or pushing someone away (to the heterosexual pastures they would rather frolic in, the pool parties full of young people with uncracked souls and unlined skin); leaves me with empty hands (once again) because you cannot hold onto something that isn’t real.

And it isn’t real. I know that. They’re tapping my empathy, but they never give anything back.

So, this girl does have me trippin’. Over my own two feet. But I’m not going to (fall) for it (her).

Because she won’t (can’t) pick me up. Because she (we) aren’t even real.


About Quinn

In it but not of it. A reformed player, now watcher. Speaker of raw truths.



  1. Pingback: A dilemma | "Raw" She Said - 20 September 2016

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Raison d’etre

"Raw," she said. "I want something primal. I want something bare and naked. I want you to give me this life raw, unbidden, unhidden, free, fair, and true. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?"

One may only try.

August 2015
« Jul   Sep »


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