Adulting
Today was a day. Kinda felt like everything was out to fuck my brain.
I wish people like me could be graceful and elegant and put together. .. by people like me I mean me, just me. I want to use eloquent words and speak in rhyme and have witty comebacks and make it all seem so effortless.
But I'm messy. Like a Jackson pollock paint technique. Never consistent in size or shape, never where exactly you need them to be or how you need them to be. I'm messy.
I'm an adult , I should be put together . I should be less annoying to myself. If I can't even like myself, howhich does anyone else even tolerate me.
There's this man, let's call him the oros man (this is a legit name), this man who has some sort of witchcraft hold on me. This man who can get me ridiculously aroused with just words. This man who cares nought for the likes of a messy, lonley, crazy girl. I hate it of course, and I cannot bring myself to wish him ill.
What is this feeling that keeps me enamoured with his dumb face. This man who claws at me with his carelessness toward my weaknesses ... of course pride will prevent me from speaking to him... I don't go where Im not wanted. But I'm grown to miss his dumb banter again. I think I miss him again. And he just wants my body. Breasts and thigh and ass. Maybe my messiness makes that the only enticing thing about me..
I wish people like me could be graceful and elegant and put together. .. by people like me I mean me, just me. I want to use eloquent words and speak in rhyme and have witty comebacks and make it all seem so effortless.
But I'm messy. Like a Jackson pollock paint technique. Never consistent in size or shape, never where exactly you need them to be or how you need them to be. I'm messy.
I'm an adult , I should be put together . I should be less annoying to myself. If I can't even like myself, howhich does anyone else even tolerate me.
There's this man, let's call him the oros man (this is a legit name), this man who has some sort of witchcraft hold on me. This man who can get me ridiculously aroused with just words. This man who cares nought for the likes of a messy, lonley, crazy girl. I hate it of course, and I cannot bring myself to wish him ill.
What is this feeling that keeps me enamoured with his dumb face. This man who claws at me with his carelessness toward my weaknesses ... of course pride will prevent me from speaking to him... I don't go where Im not wanted. But I'm grown to miss his dumb banter again. I think I miss him again. And he just wants my body. Breasts and thigh and ass. Maybe my messiness makes that the only enticing thing about me..
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