107. Brother

"You would walk all over a dude like that." My brother said, slurping his Dunkin Donuts coffee.

Milk only, just like how mom used to drink it.

"I wouldn't mean to!" I argue.

"I know, Sweetheart." he said, "But look at the men that brought you up."

James had a point. I was raised by a long line of alpha dogs with calloused hands. I am of men with a firm stature, broad shoulders, white color minds but blue collar attitude. Because of them I appreciate stoicism, but am a vessel for sensitivity.

I'm over how weird it is that I need to be with a man like that, but I do regardless. Like anything good in this world, they are hard to come by. I'm not too sure a man like that would be into a woman like me.

Regardless, I am too content with my singularity to sacrifice my freedom for someone that is just "okay." I want it to be of a mutual, "No one else will do."

It makes me feel like I'm lacking, in a variety of different ways. Yet in the moments it gets to be too much, that's what my big brother is for.

"You're a diamond, Jess. Never forget that."

106. She Is

She doesn't need to spend $20 on cream at Walgreens just retain radiant skin.
She is well traveled, least in body. She was supported by her parents.
She has this femininity thing down like she never had to search for it. She has this sweetness thing down like life never tried to take it away.

She moves quietly. She doesn't drink down her bad choices. She doesn't talk about sex like her body retains virginity after each encounter if she has them.

She is the exact opposite of me.

I am like the lovely frock that is prone to wrinkles.

I am like the cigarettes I never smoked sometimes.

But I can still look in the mirror and see pretty,

thriving, jostled but focused-

I can see her and know that sometimes she can be too much, especially to herself but at the end of the day

She is

enough.

105. Nerd Dude at Filter

My 27 year old mental version of "Call Me Maybe" is

"Hey, I'm creeping on you at a coffee shop or bar, but you're cute and I think we should have started making out like 10 minutes ago."

104. Whining Toddler

Dear Whining Toddler,

You combined with my cat puking this morning reminded me and my ovaries that parenthood is a firmer "NO" than I had been thinking lately.

When I consulted my biological clock, it laughed.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Late 20's Female Who is Not Sorry for the Bitchface She Gave You

103. Short Haired Girls

I walked into my go-to writing spot and saw two girls right away with pixie cuts similar to mine. We exchanged a smile and a nod.

Tattoo culture used to be like that. Alternative culture used to be like that. Maybe it seems like it no longer is because I live in a trendy area of my city. Anyway, I feel like a woman having short hair is still taboo enough where it warrants recognition when I see another. I hope it doesn't someday.

102. Goth Poet

My friends are incredible. The way they share information, music, writing and art with me is amazing. The older I get the more I feel like my personhood is a scrapbook of all the people, experiences, and things suggested to me. I am living Pinterest really.

That being said, my friend Kate introduced me to a poet today. She was curious about what I'd think given that she's getting into poetry and I've been into it as long as I can remember.

"A lot of people I know are obsessed with her." Kate said. So I checked this poet out.

At risk of shaming the poet, I won't link to her site. I will say this-

Writing poetry fluctuates between being the same thing as slitting your wrists and masturbating. This girl's poetry is her getting herself off to her own peril.

There is feeling, and expressing so someone gets it, and expressing your feelings so beautifully and articulate that it becomes art. Then there is feeling as though that your feelings are somehow unique, or that you are more broken yet better than everyone else because of them.

Your feelings are not unique-your means of acquiring them are, and how you express them are. Sadness is sadness. Joy is joy. You are not some special snowflake because a lover melts the ice in your heart that froze because your dad beat you as a child.

It is the same thing as loving a band because you love them, and telling people you love a band to make yourself look more cultured.

This poet is not a larger vessel for human emotion or understanding because of her way with words. In this regards, she is a skiff while she is trying to be tanker. She narrows herself by being full of her own heart.

101. Tinder Guy

A guy on Tinder messaged me saying he wants to lick my butthole. He asked if I would be interested. I declined, but said I hope he finds a girl who is.

Modern love is perfect.