I was a child

Four years old

A boy kissed me on the bus

I ran home to my mother crying

‘I am pregnant’

because kissing meant sex.

 

I met my first best friend

I met my first boyfriend

 

 

Five years old

 

I was sitting in a bath tub

with my best friend

she opened her legs up

in front of me and started

playing with herself

 

She got up from the tub and stood over the toilet

like a boy

and pissed all over the place

 

I was disgusted and confused

did my ‘privates’ look like hers?

Was she really a boy? She ‘went’ like one.

Why can’t I do it?

 

Why can’t I be a boy?

 

One night…

 

I stayed at her house

her stepfather came in her room

at the middle of the night

and molested her

I’m not sure what exactly happened

I was laying on the floor confused

in a dreamlike state

It was pitch black, all I could hear was crying

 

I wasn’t sure if he got me too or if I was dreaming

he rubbed something on my crotch

and told me not to tell anyone

I ran out of her house to mine

and that was that

(I blurted it the next day to my mother)

(he eventually got caught by the mother — and arrested)

 

Why I don’t want to get married or have kids.

Philosophy: You’re in a prison sentence once you decide to get married. You made a lifetime commitment. Once you have kids, you’re no longer in prison. Your life is completely over.

 

Marriage

For me to get married, I need to find someone that fits me. I mean, really fits me. I can’t be with someone if I know I’m not going to be happy or annoyed 24/7. That’s not a healthy relationship.

At the point I am at in my life right now I can’t think about marriage. I haven’t exactly came to my full, to accept another person’s full. I can love all I want, I just can’t make that big of a commitment.

 

Children

Kids generally annoy me. It’s not that I hate them or am a bad person, it’s just I have no patience. Yelling and crying sets me off. I can’t imagine having to take care of one.

If I were to get pregnant right now, I would get an abortion. It sounds bad but hey, I have to be honest with myself. I am no position to have a kid right now nor do I want one. I don’t think bringing a child in my chaos, unhappiness, instability, and confusion is best for the child either. I would be automatically setting the child up for a difficult life. Maybe a child ten years from now, who knows — and if I even want one. I don’t know.

Valentines Day.

I don’t want…

Flowers, a card, chocolate, or jewelry.

Flowers die.

The words on the card aren’t written by you.

Chocolate makes me fat.

A necklace or ring is pretty.

I will wear it once and forget about it.

 

I want…

 

Something from YOU.

Make me a card, write me a poem, paint me a picture, make me dinner

— I don’t care.

It comes from YOU.

Not something from the store.

It means nothing.

 

Spend TIME with me.

Away from all responsibilities.

You don’t have to spend money, we can go for a walk.

We can even give each other massages all day — I don’t care.

 

All I want.

All I need.

Is YOU.

 

Remind me why we fell in love in the first place.

It wasn’t influenced by anything commercial or generic.

It was two people, us…

Who let our walls down.

 

What do you want to know?

Meeting people for the first time and/or having to pick something to write or talk about in front of an audience.

I hardly doubt you want to hear about all the ugly things I did to get here. I hardly doubt you want to know what I do now. Why would you? It’s either not your thing, similar experience, or something you can stomach.

I’m going to have to tell you anyways. I’m not the best liar in the world.

You know I been kicked out, fired, ill popping prescription pills, and living off other people?

Or how about the time I would starve myself, hide away in my room and not talk to someone, met someone guy from Argentina I met online when I was a teenager, didn’t go to my prom — instead went to some party at a strangers house with my sister, lost my virginity in a hotel room with a guy I met online from Connecticut, posted nude pictures and videos on the internet, posed for playboy, and cheated on my boyfriend with my ex.

Or all these times that I still have some blind belief I actually did love my ex, cry myself to sleep, get drunk and cry myself to sleep, get drunk and text people I shouldn’t, and sit around bored as fuck on my computer with little ambition to do anything — yet try anyways.

And the times I still get rejected by someone or something. People still act like they know me, yet don’t know the first thing about me. They paint me out to be some creep, weirdo, enemy, or freak. Which I am not. It is funny because I never would judge them they way they judge me. So that’s fine. That’s great. I don’t care.

What else you want to know? Nevermind, I am DONE.

Useless, disappointing.

I try every day to talk

you got nothing to say

If I express anything

I think or feel

you don’t listen

 

Try to kiss your face

you grab your hand

and push me away

 

I can’t hug you

I can’t kiss you

I can’t tell you this bothers me

you never listen

you never care

 

Week by week

I cry laying in the bed

next to you

you move my body

towards yours to see

if I’m crying

yet you never ask me why

 

You continue to ignore me

 

That isn’t the worse thing

being around you

 

It is the fact

I can’t talk to anyone

about this

I have to put on a face

and pretend everything

is alright

 

I know they don’t like you

I know they don’t understand

why I’m with you

I’m nothing like you

I am just trying to fix

something I can’t fix

 

I’m not happy

so here comes

the breaking point

Yet again

I’ll pretend

I’m not drowning

 

It’s ashame I don’t care

enough about myself

to say this is useless

and disappointing

 

I am sure there

will come

a day

 

That Girl

Looks nothing like me.

She’s a more attractive and less annoying version of me.

Probably because she’s an image. 

 

We never met, probably because she would tell me to go fuck myself.

Scratch that, she wouldn’t say that because she knows I just might.

Then, look at me like I am fucking stupid.

 

Sounds nothing like me.

How I speak in public and how I speak and real life aren’t the same.

Public I’m more awkward and quiet.

In reality, my voice is more annoying.

 

Short conversations and inappropriate conversations only.

Guess that is how the person behind the image rolls.

 

Who knows.

I don’t know.

That girl.

Behind the photo.

 

 

 

For Real

I didn’t want to be a writer or artist…

 

I was taught…

Writers are losers.

Artists are nutcases.

 

In primary/secondary school…

It was not cool to be one of them.

 

 

Dare I read something on the bus or at the library I had… “Nerd,” on my forehead.

Dare I write a story about devils or my crushes name in my notebook, I was a “Freak.”

And then some million other things. Jist of it was — be athletic. You’ll fit right in or maybe they will be scared of you and leave you alone.

So I did that. I joined a team and took up hardcore fitness. Then all of a sudden my new names were, “Weirdo, Freak, Nerd, Pathetic, Fat, Skinny, Anorexic, Bulimic, Ugly, Disgusting, Lame, Loser, and Stupid.”

 

There goes my real dreams of being a Musician or Dancer.

Not to mention, I couldn’t exactly sing or play an instrument. I could dance though. I didn’t attend dance classes as a child. My mother couldn’t afford it. My loser father would always take her paycheck and gamble it all away in a heartbeat.

 

So what about the Writer and Artist?

Everyone now just thinks it’s a dream and I enjoy doing this because that is pretty much all I am doing. But lets be honest, I am doing this because this is now all I an do. Sure I can dance but I live in a small town in the middle of no where. I have zero connections and money to go try to pursue a career in it. I can, however, if I am lucky — teach at a local gym somewhere.

It’s not like I can add, multiple, subtract, and divide numbers — without a calculator. I was never good at Math. In fact, I did Math backwards since Elementary school — I had a teacher that specialized in that help me.

 

For Real…

My dream is, I don’t have a dream. I just want to be happy… isn’t that everyone, normal person wants?  To be happy, love, and get love in return.

 

So why is it so difficult?

Not everyone sees and feels… they think they do.

 

Facebook and Twitter Etiquette For Dummies

Facebook

 

Who to add…

People you actually know or met. There’s no problem adding ‘fans’ or ‘strangers’ if you know they aren’t some psychopath, criminal, or pervert — and you actually talked to them somewhere.

 

Try not to add…

Colleagues, professors, bosses, or co-workers. It is weird for them, and it is weird for you. If you do, do both of you a favor and don’t complain about work, life, or relationships. You have to be ‘professional’.

 

Avoid comments turning into a…

Private message or forum. Then everyone gets to know your business, thoughts, and feelings. That’s not something you want…

 

Status overload…

Selfies, rants, videos, or articles. Although some people like it, not everyone is going to. And yeah, yeah… there’s that whole ‘I don’t care if they like it or not’ — and right you shouldn’t!

…You’re entitled to your thoughts, feelings, and what you put out there. You don’t need to constantly share it with people who may be shallow or just not care.

 

 

Twitter

 

Follow…

Whoever you want.

 

Post…

Whatever you want. But if you’re posting twenty tweets every hour maybe you need to rethink…

 

Don’t post…

Whatever you want. You know you’re reaching more people then Facebook, right? If you start hate talking people, spreading conspiracies, and terror — the government will find you.

 

Telling people to follow you…

They will follow you. It’s okay, it’s fine for business — a lot of people have done it. However, there’s people that become OBSESSED with how many followers they get. It becomes a drug. It can turn a good person into a narcissistic, just like Facebook.

 

 

Facebook and Twitter…

 

This is just words from a persons experience. Everyone is different.

…How obsessed are you with getting likes, comments, tweets, and re-tweets?

What. Why.
Who cares? You shouldn’t care.
They don’t really care.
You know who cares…

You’re Partially Deaf? I’m not.

Mother — it is a blessing you can’t hear everything, trust me. …And I should be the one almost deaf. I have my IPhone up full of blast over an hour straight when I workout…

You want to hear the things I do? No you don’t. I have to pretend I am deaf. Here’s why, I pick up things like…

 

“Stupid bitch. Why don’t you ever do anything right?”

“Nobody likes you.”

“He’s a faggot.”

“She is a lesbian.”

“She has a boyfriend and girlfriend. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“Yeah, he was with his other girlfriend last night.”

“I’m going to go home and smoke some weed. I hate my life.”

“I just wanna get high.”

“I love you bitch.”

“Suck my dick.”

“Why don’t you ever do anything right?”

“Yeah, I was so drunk last night.”

“He looks gay. Have you seen him?”

“Nigger.”

“Dumbass.”

“Fag.”

“I don’t know. I was stoned. Leave me alone.”

“Fucking jackass.”

“Fatass. She’s going to eat more twinkies.”

“Her ass is the size of Mexico.”

“Don’t tell my girlfriend.”

“I love you. Please don’t tell her.”

“She is like that because she likes girls. She has a dick in her pants.”

“Have you seen her dick?”

“Okay fine whatever. Stupid bitch. Suck my dick later.”

“Suck pussy then if you don’t like me. I know you got a girlfriend, don’t kid me.”

“She’s fucking ugly and disgusting.”

“Her boyfriend probably has a fake cock. Who the hell knows.”