so i realize i epicfail at updating this thing. but i'm ready to start again. mainly i've been too angry to even think about writing. angry for no reason, angry with reckless abandon, ruthlessly angry despite myself. you'll be glad to know, however, that i have remained the same pathetic excuse for a human being though many months have passed since my last post. i have concluded that i am one of those people who is just meant to be alone because i can't bring myself to care about anything. honestly, i think about all of the qualities that a person looks for when looking for a mate and realize that i possess none of them and predict that i never will. everyone i have ever fallen for doesn't quite consider me worthy of their attention, and everyone that has ever fallen for me is not worthy of mine. so i'm a hypocrite, but at least i respect the right of others to reject me completely. i am satisfied to have friends that know me and at least try to understand.
i'm still holding out for your rapture. maybe one day you will appreciate or at least realize how much i care about you.
jaw surgery= 11 days away. what a way to spend spring break...
hey, i can get sexual too.
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a poem my friend wrote...about realizing she's supposed to be alone forever. didn't know if alex had made you read it...i miss you broseph.
Song for a Trespassing
Not knowing what he wants,
he comes to me. His eyes are slumped
as a rainy day in winter,
and the wind is blowing behind him.
He’s never looked more like he knows
where he’s going.
Touch me, I think to myself,
just touch me, over and over again
touch me, and I promise to crumble
at your feet, kneel at your feet,
just touch me, and it resonates
in my mind like a prayer.
“Poetry today is trying too hard
to be in love,” he tells me once,
and I try not to love him. I don’t
want to be that girl who falls
helplessly over long night talks
on the plastic, hollow phone,
dark drives through back roads
and abandoned parking lots,
over cigarettes and beer,
the light skim of his perfect lips
across my neck when he stays with me
past midnight, my house crippling
at the thought of his departure.
But that’s how he is:
even my house cripples at the thought
of his going. He is some sort of God,
some trippy love-spell that crept into me
without paying its way in, not bothering
to mind the locked gate, the warning signs.
You’re not supposed to open
closed doors without permission.
His timing was perfect, too,
because I remember stopping time one night
to convince myself I was meant to be alone.
“This is how life should be and there’s nothing
to do about it. You’ll simply have to stay like this,”
I said out loud in the bathtub.
My skin was just beginning to wrinkle,
and I finally knew loneliness was the answer.
And I didn’t bother to rinse the bubbles off
that night. I just let them melt away,
a surrender waiting to happen.
thank you
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