Does he know that place below your neck is your favourite to be touched?

[thatpinkribbon]

I'm ready to fight dirty. I'm ready for the phone call that won't come. I'm ready to pick the fight, knowing I'll lose. Because when you fight dirty, the dirtiest always loses, in the end. I can throw this and that back in his face, but I know, with every bit of certainty, that he's got worse to throw in my face. To make me blush. To make me wish I could take showers and showers until I had no skin left. It's hard to get me to avoid eye contact. But he could do it. In one sentence. Because I'm stupid. Because I'm desperate. Because I lack self respect and have too much drive for attention. Because I want, more than anything, to be indisposable. Maybe this, maybe that, maybe both of those....maybe something will make somebody incapable of living without me. Maybe it's my maternal instincts to feel needed. Whatever it is, damn it to hell. It makes me feel inadequate. And stupid. And pointless and disposable and dirty and stupid and insecure and all those bad things that teenage girls feel when they've been "taken advantage of". When is it really taking advantage of? You always know. Unless you're unconscious. But the only good excuse when you're unconscious is that you were knocked unconscious, or drugged by an unalcoholic drink. Because any other situation, and you had it coming, bitch. I had it coming. We all did. When we set ourselves up like that...we can always kick, scream, hit, BITE--do something. But we usually don't. And it's not until after it all happens, and we feel sick and squirmy in our own forever-skin, that we pull the "taken advantage of" card. Then it's not our fault. Then he didn't listen. He's an asshole. We did what we could. It's not our fault. It's not our fault. Listen to them, it's not our fault! But we know, we know it is. Those are the instances when we don't call the cops. When we know something could've been done...when we know we might've even caused a little bit more than we thought. With comments, glances, the slightest brushing of shoulders...we felt it.

I changed tenses three times in that shpeel.
Fucking enjoy my eloquence, fuckers.