Friday, November 26, 2010

Dontcha just love?

Never did I ever think I would feel such anger towards you, hold so much against you.
Don't call me sweet,
don't kiss my cheek,
don't take my hand.

Never have I ever felt that I could so easily feel such pure, intense, free of extraneous elements of any kind, unadulterated dislike. Needless to say, I don't hate you. By gum, I wish I did. Then I could say it. But I don't. I can't even write it. And I'll probably talk to you tomorrow.

Fuck you.
I hate that you're you.
And I would hate it if you weren't.

I fucking hate you.

(retract that last statement)

Thursday, November 25, 2010

stop eating my brain

I am so unbelievably frustrated.
Spencer's made me forget for a while.
And now I'm right back up on that horse.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

I hate no-bake cookies

Rejection doesn't teach a lesson,
or make every accepting person or experience better,
it just makes me angry.
And emotional and explosive.

No one is ever a fan of rejection,
but why now?
why YOU?
Like YOU'RE something special.
Like YOU deserve better than me?

God damnit.
Perhaps you do.
Maybe I just need to admit to myself that I am not all that desirable.
I mean, not that I wasn't fully aware of this, thanks.
But by YOU?

This is just humiliating.

And why, WHY is it humiliating?
Because I set my standards so low, so that I have no fear of getting rejected, because usually I assure my success before I delve into anything?

I'm getting desperate.
I know that sounds pathetic.
But you will never have any idea of how utterly true that statement has come to be.

I hate you, because I hate myself,
and I hate that I hate myself,
because I don't, really.
And I don't hate you.

And all of these emotions that I think I forge are real.
I'm feeling things against my better judgement,
and against my will.
And I don'ttry to fight it.
Why would I?
Up until now,
I've been just peachy,
skimming the surface of everything,
saying all the right-wrong things.

Just spouting intracacies,
and idiocracies.

And emitting an endless amount of blank space,
space for me,
space for my selfishness to flourish,
and my own body to stretch and be content.
I don't have room for anyone else, really.
But I've found you more than once lounging beside me,
in this lush false paradise I've created.

I hate that feeling.
That someone is sharing in my selfishness.

Fuck you.
Fuck you.
Fuck you.

I just don't get the feeling that I'll be able to shake this. Or you. For quite some time.

I hope you rot in hell.
But not really, you good christian you.

I just have harsh feelings toward you at the moment.
But if you break down and call me,
this will probably all go away.


Saturday, November 6, 2010

the very definition of contentiment

There is a prominent yearning for and of simplicity,
with a side of nostaligia
and it's not extremely strenuous to push aside all unsuccessful efforts,
and just engorge myself in conversation and love
when I'm in certain company.

In otherwords,
I love being at your house, Jordan.