in a sense, i'm already dead.
hello boy, i am girl.
i like to shop, and i twirl my hair when i'm nervous.
i think you're cute.
but, first things first.
i'd like to be honest with you about my situation.
it's a matter of insanity and infatuation
that's kind of complicated by fascination
of ideals and scores to be settled.
listen on to enter into my chosen type of
self-mutilation.
i started off normal. i swear.
work and school and parties on weekends.
never too many drugs. never too many weaknesses.
my only crime was being emotional.
(as is usually expected from those possessing vaginas.)
i never talked too much. my best friend was my confessional.
of the hair flip and the batting of eyes, i was definitely a professional.
never a problem finding plans. never a problem getting a man.
it's hard to pinpoint the beginning of the end.
i'm trying to explain this as quickly as possible.
i thought it was a crush.
(it's ending up to be as such.)
it grew into like, then lust, then love.
and soon those three little words were thrown around
and returned. i'd never felt so good.
i can still recall the butterflies.
the romance was one for the books.
full of butterflies and mischievous looks.
full of open affection. we were hooked.
the proverbial they preach that time can heal or time can kill. as an optimist hopeful, i chose to believe that, once things went bad, time could heal. time never killed. i'm invincible in my sleep. i swear.
i've brought you up to speed to get to this subject.
soon enough, you'll ask me what i like in a guy.
five years ago, i'd have answered something along the lines of:
i love a guy who can make me laugh.
he should bring me chicken noodle soup when i'm sick
and laugh with me, not at me, when i just so happen to trip.
my dream guy has blue eyes and dark hair and a gorgeous smile.
most importantly, he'll treat me with respect.
but he's got to be funny.
five years ago, that'd have been my answer.
however, time can change.
the present me loves to be fucked.
f.u.c.k.e.d.
don't make love to me. treat me like a bitch.
i want you to punish me because i'm bad.
i want you to punish me because i make you crazy.
the present me wants you to tell me you love me
by grabbing me by the throat
and pushing me out of your house
and telling me you never, ever want to see me again -
then, following me to my apartment where you proceed to yell obscenities at me and stalk me until 5.am.
that is what i love.
i swear.
the present me wants a man who will tell me the truth.
the truth:
"you're nothing without me. your friends know you because of me. they like you because of me. lose me and they'll ignore you. you've made me this way."
i want the truth.
the truth:
"i love you. i really do. but i can't love you like this. you're not good the way you are. i want you to change. everything about you drives me crazy. but i love you. you have to be the one to change. nothing is wrong with me. everything is wrong with you."
more that i like in a guy follows now.
i love being told that i'm not good enough. i love being told that i don't 'do it right.'
tell me i'm pathetic. tell me i'm never going to be anything without you.
tell me that, if i leave you, you'll kill yourself.
tell me that i deserve to watch.
this is what i like. i swear.
hello boy, i am girl.
i've been abused and manipulated
but never truly orgasmically stimulated.
i've been mishandled and misjudged.
i've been hurt and i've been malnurtured.
i come with baggage.
if you can give me a little while, i'll try to regain my composure
i'll try to regain the me i was five years ago.
i'll try to remember who i was before him
because i've come to hate who i am with him.
the things he tells me slowly become truer every day
because i've pushed everyone aside to help him
and there's no one left to help me.
there's no one left to tell me that he's wrong.
hello boy, i am girl.
i come with baggage.
i'll try to remember who i was before him
because i've come to hate who i am with him.
i swear.
mom says hate is such a strong word.
she's right.
i like to shop, and i twirl my hair when i'm nervous.
i think you're cute.
but, first things first.
i'd like to be honest with you about my situation.
it's a matter of insanity and infatuation
that's kind of complicated by fascination
of ideals and scores to be settled.
listen on to enter into my chosen type of
self-mutilation.
i started off normal. i swear.
work and school and parties on weekends.
never too many drugs. never too many weaknesses.
my only crime was being emotional.
(as is usually expected from those possessing vaginas.)
i never talked too much. my best friend was my confessional.
of the hair flip and the batting of eyes, i was definitely a professional.
never a problem finding plans. never a problem getting a man.
it's hard to pinpoint the beginning of the end.
i'm trying to explain this as quickly as possible.
i thought it was a crush.
(it's ending up to be as such.)
it grew into like, then lust, then love.
and soon those three little words were thrown around
and returned. i'd never felt so good.
i can still recall the butterflies.
the romance was one for the books.
full of butterflies and mischievous looks.
full of open affection. we were hooked.
the proverbial they preach that time can heal or time can kill. as an optimist hopeful, i chose to believe that, once things went bad, time could heal. time never killed. i'm invincible in my sleep. i swear.
i've brought you up to speed to get to this subject.
soon enough, you'll ask me what i like in a guy.
five years ago, i'd have answered something along the lines of:
i love a guy who can make me laugh.
he should bring me chicken noodle soup when i'm sick
and laugh with me, not at me, when i just so happen to trip.
my dream guy has blue eyes and dark hair and a gorgeous smile.
most importantly, he'll treat me with respect.
but he's got to be funny.
five years ago, that'd have been my answer.
however, time can change.
the present me loves to be fucked.
f.u.c.k.e.d.
don't make love to me. treat me like a bitch.
i want you to punish me because i'm bad.
i want you to punish me because i make you crazy.
the present me wants you to tell me you love me
by grabbing me by the throat
and pushing me out of your house
and telling me you never, ever want to see me again -
then, following me to my apartment where you proceed to yell obscenities at me and stalk me until 5.am.
that is what i love.
i swear.
the present me wants a man who will tell me the truth.
the truth:
"you're nothing without me. your friends know you because of me. they like you because of me. lose me and they'll ignore you. you've made me this way."
i want the truth.
the truth:
"i love you. i really do. but i can't love you like this. you're not good the way you are. i want you to change. everything about you drives me crazy. but i love you. you have to be the one to change. nothing is wrong with me. everything is wrong with you."
more that i like in a guy follows now.
i love being told that i'm not good enough. i love being told that i don't 'do it right.'
tell me i'm pathetic. tell me i'm never going to be anything without you.
tell me that, if i leave you, you'll kill yourself.
tell me that i deserve to watch.
this is what i like. i swear.
hello boy, i am girl.
i've been abused and manipulated
but never truly orgasmically stimulated.
i've been mishandled and misjudged.
i've been hurt and i've been malnurtured.
i come with baggage.
if you can give me a little while, i'll try to regain my composure
i'll try to regain the me i was five years ago.
i'll try to remember who i was before him
because i've come to hate who i am with him.
the things he tells me slowly become truer every day
because i've pushed everyone aside to help him
and there's no one left to help me.
there's no one left to tell me that he's wrong.
hello boy, i am girl.
i come with baggage.
i'll try to remember who i was before him
because i've come to hate who i am with him.
i swear.
mom says hate is such a strong word.
she's right.