Cheyenne gavranovic
Bio
My name is Cheyenne Gavranovic. I am a self published author. I love to write. I may not write as good as others but I am learning to write better everyday. I hope you all enjoy the words I have to say. Thank you for the support.
Stories (9/0)
The break apart
It hurts. Sitting in a bed wondering why? What is wrong with me? I think I am a good wife but his actions say otherwise. He cheated on me 5 days prior by texting another woman and asking for nudes. He even agreed to meet with her. I found out and he promised he’d never do it again and that he loved me. 5 days later he’s at his co workers house having sex with her.
By Cheyenne gavranovic about a year ago in Poets
Rejected approval
I’m sat down on my couch at 28 weeks pregnant crying. You are all probably assuming my hormones are the accomplice of my tears, but that’s not it at all. My mind races as I think of all the things I need to get done at home, and it reminds me that I’ve never been appreciated for any of it. I’ve never had anyone say that they are proud of me, or that I’m doing a great job. This goes all the way back to my childhood. I’ve never had a parent that was proud of me. I never got hugs, and kisses like most kids do. I got ass whoopings and hateful words. My father loved me but worked 16 hours a day. I never saw him, but I seen my mother every day. My mother did not love me. She criticized every detail of the depressing life she gave me. I never got her approval as a child, and now I’m actively searching for it as an adult. I’m doing a million things for my mother just to try to make her happy. If I’m the reason for her happiness, maybe she will finally be proud of me, but no. She finds something wrong with everything I do for her. Nothing I do is good enough. Everything I do is a competition against myself to be better just to hear my mother say “I’m proud of you”. I will never get that approval from her, and that is something I have to live with for the rest of my life. I’ve begged myself to stop caring so much, but no matter what I do, I’ll always want to feel loved and appreciated by her. The human instinct to feel loved by you’re parent is normal, but having to search for that love is not. Maybe one day, she might finally be proud of me, and I can live my life knowing I wasn’t a waste of space on earth, and that I matter.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
Tired
People ask you, “what’s wrong”? And you respond that you’re “just tired”. You wonder are you really tired? Or is something else on you’re mind? Stress builds as we sink. The first place we sink is into our beds because “we’re tired”. We are tired. Everyone is. We may not know what particular thing is making somebody tired, but it’s not always physical tiredness. Sometimes it’s emotional and we’re too tired to explain why we’re tired. This is why we must show kindness to all people. We don’t know what they are tired from. We can relate as we are also tired. Call a friend and lay in bed and be tired together. It could be the thing that wakes you both up a little bit.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
When vintage was cool
Remember the days when you didn’t need a phone to get a date? Television didn’t matter because there were millions of books to read. A woman didn’t need her cleavage showing to get a man’s attention. All she needed to do was respect herself and be kind. There was no provocative dancing and disrespectful words spoken in every sentence. Men opened the car door and brought flowers just because he felt like it. Having a picnic at the park with you’re family and having fun wasn’t unusual. Long lasting marriages didn’t suprise people. These were the days of respect and good people. The older generations have experienced life so differently than we have. They didn’t have screens in they’re face at all times. Nobody was taking a million pictures at every event because they didn’t need to. A picture could never capture the emotions they felt in that moment. They lived for the moment itself and remembered it without needing to capture it on a phone. Kids could play outside and nobody batted an eye about it because it was normal. We fought with hands instead of weapons. People didn’t want to deliberately hurt others around them just for fun and games. I may not have been born when things were this way, but I wish I had a Time Machine. I wish I could go back and experience one day of that life. A life I could be proud of. A generation of human beings I could be proud of. These were the days that history was made because it will never be the same, and that breaks my heart. everything was so simple. Happiness didn’t come from pills and alcohol. It came from living a full life and having conversation with the people you love in person. Everybody today is so restricted to they’re cell phones. Do people remember when you had to read the news on a sheet of paper? everybody is so consumed with screens. Maybe one day everybody will just look up for once. Maybe then the world can start to look up as well.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
Body of a goddess
This generation and I don’t get along very well. When I look at somebody’s body, I don’t look for perfection like the rest of society does. I praise every scar, stretchmark, and story that somebody’s imperfections can tell. When people assume a bikini body is a skinny woman in a two piece, I assume it’s a body with a bikini on it. Everybody has a bikini body when you put the bikini on. The stretch marks on a persons body are beautiful. I don’t just see scars, I see battle scars. Imperfections are more beautiful than perfection. If you aim to look like everybody else, how can you ever look like yourself? Why can’t a woman ever say she’s fat without a man saying “no, you’re beautiful”. Why can’t I be fat and beautiful? Why do I have to choose? Weight does not define beauty. Is it necessary to tell a skinny woman to eat a cheeseburger? Why do people complain about weight and then try to convince someone to gain more? When does somebody’s weight become you’re business? These are questions I ask myself sometimes as I stare at the people around me. The people are all diverse in body type and color and I still only see beauty while the rest of the world looks for flaws to laugh at. You’re not the only one with these flaws you feel insecure about. Wear that outfit out in public that scares you and flaunt every imperfection you have. Just remember you’re not the only one with these imperfections and body positivity starts with you. Love yourself and you will begin to love every diverse body you see around you. Those small insecurities you have will fade when you learn to see them instead of hiding them. Be proud of you’re body. There isn’t another one like it.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
The eyes
When you look into somebody’s eyes, they tell a story that the mouth can’t. We can hide many of our emotions, but the eyes will tell all. No matter how happy you’re face seems, you’re eyes will show the truth. The truth being that we are all sad deep down. Whether it be childhood trauma or current events, sadness will slither into us all like a serpent. While the face says one thing, the eyes will show the truth. The bags that rest there are like a fish in a tank. They are stuck and can never leave. Every crows feet mark left behind shows years of stress, but it also shows happiness. The more you smile, the more crows feet marks you get. Sadness and happiness can live alongside each other. You have to choose which one takes over. As I stare into you’re eyes, I will know which emotion you’re feeling without you ever speaking. Sight is the gift the eyes give us. As we stare into each others eyes, we will know each others true emotions.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
Poverty
Poverty is a real issue. You don’t know poverty until you’re in you’re bed wondering if you can pay you’re rent tomorrow. You don’t know poverty until you look in you’re kitchen and realize there is nothing in the pantry or the refrigerator to feed yourself and you’re child. You don’t know poverty until you’re begging family members for money to help pay you’re bills. Although you’re daily living expenses are not their responsibility, you have no where to turn and you have zero options left. You don’t know poverty until you’re selling all of your belongings just to make ends meet. You don’t know poverty until you have to live in a hotel room, if you can afford it. You don’t know poverty until you grow up in poverty and try to do better as an adult. You don’t know poverty until you fail to be better and now you’re child is growing up in poverty just like you did. You don’t know poverty until you look into you’re innocent child’s eyes who has no idea what’s going on and realize you have to keep going for them. You don’t know poverty until you’re tired of trying but can’t stop. Poverty is a real issue. When you’re in it, it’s almost impossible to get out.
By Cheyenne gavranovic 2 years ago in Poets
