It Just Happened

It’s funny how you meet so many people in life, experience so many different interactions; and these interactions help shape what you know about others, and yourself. You slowly learn what you do and don’t like, what you want in a partner, and what you don’t. You learn what qualities matter to you; and those qualities, more often than not, become more or less important with time.

I used to make excuses for people who were dismissive of my feelings or my wants and needs. I used to settle for people who weren’t loyal because they were funny, or who were self centered, but occasionally sweet, because I thought that was enough, and maybe what I wanted. I glazed over things that were unacceptable because it wasn’t quite as broken as the situations I grew up in and I rationalized behavior that warranted immediate excommunication. I settled for less, over and over and over again. I didn’t really know better. So I stayed in relationships I had no business being in just because the thought of going through another shit show of a break up, or having to start over again after attempting to build a life with someone, was exhausting. I was tired of it long before most people my age had even started to discover it. The cost of living a sped up life I guess…

I’ve thought I was in love before, and once before I actually was. But in retrospect, those people were never meant to last a lifetime, no matter how hard they tried to suck one out of me. They were meant to teach me lessons; oftentimes very painful, but necessary lessons. Those lessons included things like what I wouldn’t settle for, what I valued most, what made me build resentments, and how much resentment was too much to get past. I learned where the limits of my forgiveness lie, where my own defects in relationships come out, what makes me happy, and what makes me “hate the way your breathing sounds” miserable. I learned what it felt like when my soul knew it was not meant for the person I was lying next to. And finally, after too much bullshit, I learned how to walk away with my self respect and dignity intact. But more important than all of those things: I learned what Itruly wanted, and needed,all along.

I wanted someone to laugh with, someone who respected me even when they didn’t like my opinions or my actions, someone who truly listened to the things I said, instead of just hearing them. I needed someone who accepted me for the good, the bad, the damaged, and all the in between. I needed someone who could live with knowing my past, without seeing me as some woman to save or a broken bird to be fixed. I needed someone who could support me when I was weak, but could also be vulnerable enough to apologize when they mess up and ask for help when they need it. I wanted someone who didn’t just give up when the going got tough because that was never an option for me and I have a hard time understanding people like that. I wanted someone who felt like home, someone I didn’t have to make excuses for, someone whose actions I didn’t have to hide from my loved ones. Someone who stands up for what they believe in, even when I don’t agree with them. I wanted to be a part of someone’s life, not their entire life. I wanted a partner, a teammate, an “other half” who treated me as their equal. And I drug my way through the assholes to get him. But I have him…

He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. He makes mistakes, but he apologizes for them. I never saw him coming, but he’s exactly what I dreamt of. The timing wasn’t the best, the set up wasn’t great, but the reward has been beyond anything I believed existed anymore. It’s been my experience that when people, myself included, leave a relationship they always say “I’m never doing this again”. And then they go out, find someone who’s the exact opposite of the last one, and they put them on a pedestal that no one belongs on. They paint that person into a picture of what they want them to be, they call them perfect, ignore their flaws, and then act surprised when it all comes crashing down around them. I didn’t do that with him.

Something just happened. He popped up when I least expected it and I just watched. I sat back and let it unfold. I kept my hands out of the mix, I didn’t try to control or force anything, I didn’t try to accelerate the timeline or make him into something he wasn’t. I’m not one for doing that anyway, but I also didn’t make excuses for him. I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to apologize to myself for him because when it was necessary, he handled his shit himself. He carried himself like a man, and so I treat him like one. I respect him, immensely. And when I told him what I needed or couldn’t live with, he respected that and me. And when the time came, I just loved him. It was that simple, I found home in him and I’ve loved him everyday since.

It hasn’t always been a picture perfect fairytale, but I’m pretty sure everything that seems that way is a lie anyway. Love is messy and sometimes, uncomfortable. It shines a light on all the places we’re still broken and damaged. It brings out the best, and the worst, in us. It makes me fucking crazy sometimes because I haven’t exactly lived a life that’s taught me how to have a healthy relationship. But there’s no one on this planet I’d rather give it a shot with. I am so excited to continue to learn how to do this the right way; and for once in my life, I’m with someone who wants the same things as me. And it’s such a beautiful thing. Being with the wrong person will always inevitably lead to suffering. But being with the right person? That changes everything. And I’m so grateful for it, I’m so grateful for him… It’s that simple.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017

Undercover Romantic

I’m an undercover romantic,

A safe keeper of memories,

It’s always the little things,

The little things that get the best of me.

I’ll never forget the night of the fire,

The true beginning of everything,

You simply opened your mouth,

And we talked well into the morning.

Every part of me was warming,

And every part of me felt home,

I distinctly remember wondering,

Where that comfort was coming from.

I watched you form your thoughts,

As the color of fire licked your lips,

You gave me your honesty,

And in return earned my respect.

There was something in your words,

That I just found so attractive,

It’s a rare day you find the truth,

Offered in the same way you give it.

A meeting of such like minds,

An offer of experience,

You carried yourself so humbly,

I thought you were fucking brilliant.

I didn’t want that night to end,

I would’ve stayed till the sky turned red,

But when I finally hugged you goodbye,

I somehow knew I’d remember it.

I woke up that next morning,

With your words echoing in my head,

I couldn’t shake the sound of your voice,

And this thing right behind it.

This strange sense of belonging but,

You were the last thing I was looking for,

And the timing of it couldn’t be worse,

I tried to tell myself it was nothing

but there was something I couldn’t ignore.

Just a feeling, a hint of longing,

As I found myself craving your presence,

And even when the days got busy,

I still made time for our conversations.

I fell in love with your mind first,

How you weaved your words together,

And I don’t think I had laughed that hard,

In what felt like a thousand forevers.

You asked me to get together,

And I was all about it,

We met at a park in the middle of summer,

And I knew that this was something special.

The way you smiled stopped me dead in my tracks,

And baking in that sun I was still so relaxed,

We went to get milkshakes because I didn’t want it to end,

And when we finally went home,

Your smile stayed in my head.

You’ve smiled at me so many times since,

And it still feels as warm as the first time I saw it.

I’ll never be more grateful for offered experience,

Because out of a talk came a forever I believe in.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017

Every Moment

I stand above this little girl, so peaceful and innocent, with skin that glows in a way that says nothing’s ever touched it. I watch her breathe in and out, hear the noises she makes in her sleep, and I think of a time when she was nothing but a dream. She was never supposed to exist, at least not without lots of medication, months of tracking schedules, years and years of waiting. Yet here she is, in the flesh, so full of love and happiness. She’s my little miracle, life’s greatest gift.

I’ll never forget the day that little plus sign turned blue, the disbelief in my veins, the look of shock on my face. I’ll never forget the first time I heard her heart beat, fast like a hummingbird, strong like a hoofbeat. I’ll never forget the night I first felt her kick, so subtle I almost missed it, but so monumental. I was so in tune with every little change. I embraced every moment, loved every single day. Even now, as I watch her dream in her sleep, I still miss when we were one, her growing in my belly.

But not a thing in this world, matches the love and peace I feel, when I watch my baby sleep like the world is standing still. I catalogue every second, snapshots in my head. I’ll memorize every moment, from her birth until my death. I don’t want to forget a thing, any step on this journey. Because the best thing I’ve been, is this little girl’s mommy.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017

Speechless

He says he loves it when I write and he asks me to write for him. And really, he’s my favorite material… and there’s no shortage of inspiration. Everything about him is inspiring. He’s the real fucking deal. Here’s the problem: I’ve mistaken empty hands for wanting hearts before. I’ve mistaken infatuation for love, used words for others that I should’ve saved up. Because every line I ever wrote about anyone else now feels like a lie. To the core of my being I want to rip it up, erase it from existence so that I can use the beauty of each phrase, the perfection of every line, the words that I wasted on others, to write about him, and this time. I want to say a million things but some of them have been said before and the very fact that they have left my lips, my fingertips, somehow makes them not good enough for him…. because he’s something new… something different… something actual and tangible and real, totally authentic.

Words never fail me. But when I fell for him I spent so many nights looking in his eyes with a million things I wanted to say to him… and I said none of them. I expressed the smallest pieces of what I was feeling. Because my words didn’t seem good enough to explain this volcano of flames that was erupting in my chest. They simply, just did not fucking cut it. I’ve thought I loved before; and once or twice I have. So I have said many things to a person that I thought was my forever at the time. And to use those same words now, with someone so special, feels nothing short of wrong. They just aren’t good enough. So I’m a writer with no words like a bird without a song…

So how? How do I explain the way that the warmth of his hand on my shoulder radiates through my body straight to my soul and makes me feel like I’ve just come home? How do I explain the amazement I feel when I watch him think his way through something and come to the exact same conclusion that I have, that I swore no one else could see? How do I put into words, that after years of being bad at love, at fucking it up and finding it in all the wrong places, that I know I’ve finally got it right this time? Have you ever done that? Tried for something, given it a chance, time and time again all to discover that what you’d found is just another fuck up, another bad choice, another tragic ending? I have. And because of this past, all the words I have just don’t measure up in the face of this man. So I stare into the eyes of this person that I love to pieces and I know for the first time… that I’m completely speechless.

by Ashley King

© All Rights Reserved 2017

July Eighth

He makes me laugh. He makes me feel loved. He makes me think not every man's hands were made to be guns. He makes me think. He challenges me. He asks me how my day was. Regularly.

He thinks I am beautiful. He sees me as whole. My past is just a past, something that's old. He doesn't use it to label me, color me damaged. He sees a rainbow, not a woman made of bandages.

He loves me the way I thought only I was built to love. Not in that way that makes me think I'll never be enough. It is equal. It is good. It. Is. So. Much.

He speaks my language. He's never bigger than me. Smarter than me. "Be quiet so I can ignore you loudly". He wants to hear me. And that's why he chose me. And I accepted. Because I know a good man…when I see one closely.

by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017

Substandard Love

I’ll love you when it’s easy,
I’ll kiss you when you’re sweet,
I’m careless and convenient,
I’ll support you when it suits me.

I’ll kick you while you’re down,
I’ll never lift you up,
I’m fucking fantastic,
And you’re never enough.

I’m all the ways you settle,
And nothing that you wished for,
But now my hooks are in you,
And I’ve pinned you to the floor.

Are you feeling trapped?
Baby that’s my speciality.
I’ll knock you down, wear you out,
Suffocate you, breathlessly.

Don’t you know? I’m everything,
And you are just my hostage.
You used to have self respect?
Well baby, you just lost it.

Come taste my love,
It’s nothing but substandard.
You swam onto my island,
Now you’re fucking stranded.

You’re welcome.

by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017

Dedicated to all the egotistical, narcissistic, one foot out the door, “I’m better than you”, demeaning, condescending, douchebags of the world. We see you. And you suck 🙂

Possible Again

I sat back today and watched him play with his kids, just wild and free, so full of love and life. It was like one of those perfect pictures that bullshit romance novels paint: Dad playing with the older kids in the yard, dogs running around enjoying the freedom, mom a few paces away holding the baby, feeling blessed, laughing wholeheartedly at the people she loves playing without a care in the world. It was perfect. And foreign.

It reminded me of a time when I still believed in white picket fences and happy endings. When families weren’t the people you were trying to become the exact opposite of. He reminds me of when I still believed in true love. When “forever” meant forever and wasn’t just a false promise used as a bandaid over another bullet hole. He makes me feel special again, like maybe people really can love each other for all that they are. He makes me think that fall evenings spent sitting on the front porch watching the kids play in the yard are possible. Like nights spent cuddled up on the couch actually talking to each other, not just existing in the same room, are real.

I’ve always had a habit of ignoring the warning signs. I’m not one of those women who can’t see them, I can always see them. But I would convince myself that I could work around them; when in my heart of hearts, I always knew when and how a relationship would fail.

I don’t have that here.

Everything is still so new and yet, I can’t see anyone else after him. I feel like I’ve finally come home after years of living in some alternate reality nightmare and all the sudden the world is an endless sea of possibility and happiness again. Everything makes sense again. It’s like I finally woke up and everything I once dreamed was possible actually is. Ask anyone who knows me well enough and they’ll tell you they’ve heard me say “Forever is a fucking lie we tell each other to hide from the pain that we know will always be inevitable.” And I said it because I believed it. I don’t know what that says about me… or the people who’ve supposedly “loved me” before, but I know that I believed it. That forever only meant “until this ends in a three ring shit show circus”, or “until I get bored and you get sick of who I am”, or at best, “until we fall apart because people can’t survive all the ups and downs of life together”.

But I don’t believe that now…

I actually believe I could sit back and watch the kids play and grow and evolve for the rest of time with him. I can see fitting into the crook of his body for every night of the rest of our lives. And that’s insane, isn’t it? Shouldn’t it be? It doesn’t feel like it is, or should be. I have always trusted my gut above anything and anyone else and everything I say now is coming from my gut, not some lust drunk, fantasy induced place in my head. I don’t see anyone else after him. I don’t have any “I wonder how long this will last” thoughts. I never wanted to believe in someone this much, ever again. I was completely unwilling to give one more person what I saw as being “too much power over me” ever again. I loudly refused to ever start over or try again.

Then he happened…

And now loving families, and crisp fall evenings, and white picket fences, and even happy endings, are all possible again. And I tell myself that I should be terrified…

But, I’m not.

by Ashley King
© All Rights Reserved 2017

I’m Just A Painting…

Incomplete. Unfinished. A rough draft. Work in progress. Far from done. Needs finishing touches. What do all these things have in common?

They’re all me. I have yet to become complete. I’m just a painting in it’s infancy. Still blobs of pigment, not ready to be seen. The brushes of life have formed my body, and the fingers of many painters have marred my surface. I have become a work of art, but I’m not yet ready to lift the curtain.

I have chunks of time slapped on me with a palette brush, that have built up my height, although sometimes too much. I have deep grooves in my body that almost ripped me in half, because someone dug the brush in, imprinted in my past. And I have memories forged by tortured painters, that have jabbed at my surface, riddled with anger. They set me on fire, left me to smolder. These things left their scars as my canvas grew older. Within my beauty lies many charred ashes, from all these artist’s who burned my canvas. I have lived a mix of a million life stories, transformed into color that hides all the gory. Details, details, the devil’s in the details. So many secrets, carved in with fingernails. I’m not a pretty painting, I’m violent, damned, damaged in red, the blue marks the times where people painted my depression. The grooves and scratches mark all my imperfections, that were forged on my surface, creating my reflection. But the yellow and pink tell a different story. They show the people who truly cared for me. They took their time, tender in their touches, and were ever so careful in choosing their brushes. The black shows the culmination of all of these things, some work isn’t as simple as the parts you can see. This work of art borders on vulgar, too crude for some, but perfect for the vultures.

Vultures yearn to feed off my painted pain; one artists’ trash, is the twisted man’s gain. The sick see the flaws, and want to add more. The loving see paws, that clawed at my core. The judging see a mess, that still needs some work; and ones like me see a soldier, that lived through it’s wars. Everyone has advice and criticisms to offer, but no one gets being the product of many sick authors. I tried to mold my insides, reform the bad paint, until I made it mine, but some damage withstands even the test of time. So I am a mix of sick fucks and loving artists, forever I’ll remain a work still in progress. Many people will gaze upon my incomplete surface, see an unfinished product, not knowing it’s purpose. They think they can judge how I’ve lived, score my existence. But never can they see, what painted this picture. So they sit in the gallery, critiquing a work in progress, but I refuse to be judged before I’ve finished the process. This painting still waits, for the rest of it’s artists. But from now on I’ll be the judge who gets to paint on it.

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

 

Featured Image is a painting by Mary Barnes. Found at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dd/Mary_Barnes_painting_(detail).jpg

 

She Divorced Me Because I Left Dishes by the Sink

It seems so unreasonable when you put it that way: My wife left me because sometimes I leave dishes by the sink. It makes her seem ridiculous; and makes me seem like a victim of unfair expectations. We like to point fingers at other things to explain why something went wrong, like when Biff Tannen […]

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