"Well,you're wasting your time if your trying to impress me, I waste my time thinking of you ..."
"
Oh boy. Remember that song "Wifey" by Next? My ex-boyfriend left me that entire song on my voicemail. What the hell?! Is it nessicary for him to bring back feelings that I tried so hard to get rid of? I can't talk to any of my friends about this because they completely hate him for everything he did to me and don't want to hear it. I feel so confused. He keeps telling me that he wants to see me, and offers to pick me up and all that and I keep making excuses and saying no. What happens when I see him?? I'm suppose to pretend that everything is okay and that all the hurt he inflicted in me is forgiven? The way things were between me and him are very memorable. I never felt so comfortable, complete, and angry and miserable from someone all at once. He had this power over me. For almost two years he was the only thing that could completely fill my world and leave it empty and hopeless at the same time. I guess that's love. It just does that to you. Yes, love can be great, but what am I suppose to do, just pretend that all the bad never happened and pick up where we left off? That seems quite impossible to me now.
Onto other subjects, Sunday is moving day. I feel so unprepared. I hate packing, it has to be one of the most annoying things to have to do ever. This is like the 18th time I have moved in my life with no exaggeration. Grr.
This is kind of funny...I had a bad dream last night and went and slept in my Mom's bed. Ha, talk about being a little girl. I don't remember exactly what the dream was but I was levitating, and when I woke up I felt like I hit the bed. Though it sounds completely crazy there was someone in my room. I do believe in ghosts, because after my Grandmother past away alot of wierd shit happened. But it felt different, like evil. Whatever, I need to get therapy.
Here is a poem I wrote...I think I am really bitter no?
You say I'm evil, and Oh so crude, you say I am the reason why other girls hate you, that I runed your world and your heart, and no one will date you...Oh just put the blame on me, it makes life move so easily, still it looks like it isn't easy for you to see its you, not me. I put up a fight for you, I turned on the light for you, when I was tired and didn't want to move from bed, I'd let you steal the pillow from under my head. Maybe that wasn't love to you, I did the dishes, I cooked you food, maybe that wasn't quite enough for you, but really I did anything you asked me to do. You say I am evil because I won't come back, you say I am evil, why should I come back? This is something you and I can relate to, that is why I wrote it, and if I am so evil then how come I was the one who was so fucking devoted? Watch the words that fall from your mouth, your going to trip on them sooner then you think, watch the way you look at me, because drama is all that it brings. You want to fight with me because it delights you, you are such an asshole, and I wrote this just to spite you...guess what, your game is old, I fold.
And a song....by Brand New
"Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades"
Keep the noise low.
She doesn't wanna blow it.
Shaking head to toe
while your left hand does "the show me around."
Quickens your heartbeat.
It beats me straight into the ground.
You don't recover from a night like this.
A victim, still lying in bed, completely motionless.
A hand moves in the dark to a zipper.
Hear a boy bracing tight against sheets
barely whisper, "This is so messed up."
Upon arrival the guests had all stared.
Dripping wet and clearly depressed,
he'd headed straight for the stairs.
No longer cool, but a boy in a stitch,
unprepared for a life full of lies and failing relationships.
(Up the stairs: the station where
the act becomes the art of growing up.)
He keeps his hands low.
He doesn't wanna blow it.
He's wet from head to toe and
his eyes give her the up and the down.
His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up.
But the body on the bed beckons forward
and he starts growing up.
The fever, the focus.
The reasons that I had to believe
you weren't too hard to sell.
Die young and save yourself.
The tickle, the taste of...
It used to be the reason I breathed
but now it's choking me up.
Die young and save yourself.
She hits the lights.
This doesn't seem quite fair.
Despite everything he learned from his friends,
he doesn't feel so prepared.
She's breathing quiet and smooth.
He's gasping for air.
"This is the first and last time," he says.
She fakes a smile and presses her hips into his.
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
He's holding back from telling her
exactly what it really feels like.
He is the lamb, she is the slaughter.
She's moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her.
Nothing that he tells her is really having an effect.
He whispers that he loves her,
but she's probably only looking for...
(Up the stairs: the station where
the act becomes the art of growing up.)
So much more than she could ever give.
A life free of lies and a meaningful relationship.
He keeps his hands pinned down at his sides.
He waits for it to end
and for the aching in his guts to subside.
The fever, the focus.
The reasons that I had to believe
you weren't too hard to sell.
Die young and save yourself.
The tickle, the taste of...
It used to be the reason I breathed
but now it's choking me up.
Die young and save yourself.
Up the stairs: the station where
the act becomes the art of growing up.
The fever, the focus.
The reasons that I had to believe
you weren't too hard to sell.
Die young and save yourself.
The tickle, the taste of...
It used to be the reason I breathed
but now it's choking me up.
Die young and save yourself.