Tanya O'Debra

...a haven for tender artistic feelings... ...a refuge for tears to be shead... ...poetry... ...suicide...

Monday, April 18, 2005

...i wasn't child molested...

Are you surprised?

If I were still a teen and my boyfriend was not into using condoms, this is what I would say to him if we were in an after-school special.

"Relationships at 4PM in your Mom's Livingroom"

Baby. Baby. B- No- Baby! Look at me. Look at me. Baby, look at me. Baby, it's me. It's me. Not someone else. It's me! Baby? Baby? Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. I've got something very important to say. No, baby, I'm over here. Okay? Okay, so we've been having sexual intercourse for six months now, and it has come to my attention that we have not been practising "safe sex". We have got to start using condoms. Yeah, that's right. Condoms. No balloons, no party. Listen, sailor, you're gonna have to wear a life jacket if you're going to board this ship. No more riding bareback for you, cowboy. If you don't want that book to get dusty, you'd better get a dust jacket. No one eats a hot dog without a bun in this backyard. If you want to knock boots, you'd better keep them on your feet. If you want the snake to find the hole, you'd better trim the hedges. Anyway, they're called condoms. Use them. Oh, yeah. And about that other thing we've been talking about. I looked it up in the bible, and it said that anal sex is for queers, and God hates faggots. Amen.

Monday, April 11, 2005

...i might start cutting myself soon...

Really. I might.

I have always been a tender and unique soul. I'm crying tears of blood from my vagina right now. To prove that my mind has never known comfort, I will post a poem that I wrote in 1995. I was a mere 15 years of age, yet still I was acquainted with the pain that life can bring.

Little Bo Peep

I lost my blanket last year.
Now, I'm very cold.
It never dawned on me to fear
what I thought was permanent.
I tied to find it again,
but what do you kow,
it now belongs to two and ten.
Maybe I'll find it in the spring.
But what if it's too late?
What if nothing has a familiar ring?
Make a new blanket, some have said.
They obviously don't know
that I'd rather be shot in the head.
I've lost my blanket, it bears my name.
Without my precious blanket,
I'll never be the same.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

...an introduction to me and my sexuality...

I am a very sensitive and tender artist. There are layers to my lonliness that no other living being could ever fathom. My consciousness swims in a deep, deep realm of darkness and decay. My heart is a pool of sorrow. You're hurting my feeling right now.

Today I painted a likeness of Jesus with my menstrual blood. I'll probably never show it to anyone, because some things are just for me.

I know what happens when people die.