| i sometimes write notes to myself to tell myself how i should feel. sometimes they work. but sometimes they don't. |
| |
| So i know i'm not as smart as you. In the book smart sense. But i understand how people feel. i get them. i feel their insecurities lurking around every corner even when they don't or don't dare to look at them. i fucking hate that i'm deemed stupid and loud and uncouth. fuck you all. obviously you've never read a book by SARK in your life. FUCK YOU. you don't know the first thing about life. you haven't the slightest fucking clue. if we aren't here for each other than what for? fucking tell me that. you fucking assholes. you fucking pricks who pride yourself on outdoing another. where does that get you besides further into the bed with your very own ego? i don't fucking get you. i don't fucking understand. do you know what compassion is? do you get where i'm coming from? of course not because you fucking suck and i'm not saying that the focus should be on me but when you refuse to focus on yourself then maybe yeah, it should be on me since you apparently can't come to terms with who the fuck you are. atleast give me the time of day when i want to talk about me if you're refusing to talk about you. fuck you. grow up. fucking learn how to express your feelings. FUCK YOU.
it's subtle and it sucks and i want out of here. that's all i have to fucking say. you fucking dumbasses. you are not my friends. you are people i bide my time with till something better comes along. people who actually care. and this saddens me more than you know because you are all amazing people too terrified to fucking face themselves. hiding in sarcasm doesn't make you better it makes you bitter. |
| |
| that shit-eating grin
makes a cameo on your face
words creep out my mouth
that i did not put there
simple as that
looking me in the eye
would be too dangerous
if we were not drunk
it stands to reason
we drink to see
and be heard
each by the other
all contact ceases
in a sober state
even words i put in place
do not come out
all ceases all
but that cameo
dancing across
your face.
i think i need to flesh it out. but it works for now. it's the first poem i've written in a while. |
| |
| you know it's bad when i return to ani. i'm lost. of course (right?). i don't know who i am or what i want. i mean long term, yes. i do know. but my body doesn't always listen to my mind when it comes to short term. sometimes i take things that aren't mine to begin with or mine to even have and i feel awful about it. i use people. and i don't think i really know how to love. i think i try to make people love me just to have that power over them. is that evil? or just insecurity? and why does it consume my life when i can't make someone fall for me? it's pathetic really but i spend a good chunk of time trying to make you fall in love with me. anyone: my boss. my long lost high school friends. new friends. prospective flings. anyone in my life. i want you to adore me.
'the difference between you and me, baby, is that i get fucked up when i'm alone.' |
| |
| I am no longer allowed to fall for boys who are in love with Hunter S. Thompson.
....it always ends up hurting more than it really should.
...or maybe i should just read a Hunter S. Thompson book and see why i'm so ridiculously attracted to dumbfucks who love him.... |
| |
