about archives affiliates

I want to tell you that I’m sorry. I don’t know you but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t even know it was a possibility. I don’t want to talk to you cause that means I have to acknowledge you. I don’t want to admit to what happened. I didn’t want it to. I’ve been denying this for awhile and I can’t do that anymore. I hope you forgive me and I hope you understand why I denied it. I hope you know why I didn’t tell the truth. I got the exact reaction I was expecting and didn’t want to get. That made it so much worse. I’m sorry.

I wish you didn’t come back. I had gathered up my emotions that laid on the floor and put them back into my suitcase to carry as more luggage. I had packed away what you gave me because I knew it was a lie. I knew what you said was a lie, your feelings were faked and your real, cruel self started to show. I realised you were no good and I had fooled myself. But you came back. It took all the courage I had to tell you to stay away, but I didn’t have the strength to back up my words. I let you back in and I thought you were different but you couldn’t even face me to tell me the truth. I didn’t ask you to come back, I asked you to stay away until you changed. And now I’m back to the beginning, picking up more pieces that I already packed away.

I’m a little crazy. In a good way, so I think. I’m very open and upfront. I’m sometimes I get sick of things and avoid issues like everyone else, but not for long. I come back. I thought this was a good quality of mine. Maybe I make people uncomfortable or feel awkward but at least they know what comes from my mouth is the truth. I’m too crazy to keep a lie going. I couldn’t even follow through with minor theft as a child. But someone is making me crazier than I am. And now I’m the target. At least I know I’m telling the truth if no one else does.

I thought you were worth it but it won’t be the first time I was wrong. You turned out to be a let down. Another disappointment. You were a child in an adults body and I thought more of you than you deserved. I should have trusted my gut, but when things got bad you ran. Your lies got out of hand and you hid. I’m here, standing in front of you waiting for an answer and the truth but you’re trying to hide behind a phone. You would.

I’m not the best. I try to be but I suck sometimes too. I’ve been hurt before and because of this I’m hesitant to trust people. I try not to be jaded or miserable but I find I’m always waiting for the next shoe to drop. So when it finally falls I can say “ah-ha” instead of hurting. But usually that second shoe drops because I knocked it off their foot. I prepare myself for war and my army out front likes to pick battles. I don’t mean to cause these issues but I’m so use to them they feel like home. Eventually I call my army down but every time I do and I get hurt, I keep them up a little longer. No one is going to want to wait around that long. People get frustrated and leave. Then I reassure myself I did the right thing but maybe I’m not.

You say you can’t stand how she talks about other people, but you sound just like her when you talk about others. The apple does not fall far from the tree.

I just want to ask you why you constantly put me down, but you don’t see it. When did you get so mean? You use to laugh at the stupid stuff I did before but now you bring it up out of cruelty. The names you call me hurt so much but you say you don’t mean them, but you do. You think so low of me. You’re no better than me, so why do you act that way now? I don’t understand why you feel the need to put me down. You don’t say the nice things you use to, you’re cruel. I’ve tried to make sense of it all, to understand you and justify this behaviour from someone who loves me. Are you unhappy with yourself? Maybe this is your way of making me stay. I’ve have started to question myself and my confidence is diminishing. I constantly think about the things you’ve said and I’m starting to believe them. Maybe you say these things so I won’t leave, so I need you. I’ve always thought I was level headed and could see people’s ulterior motives, but I’m starting to worry I’m being manipulated like a puppet but I’m too afraid to cut these strings loose. I still miss my jacket.

I hate every sentence that comes from your mouth beginning with those two words. They are so judgmental and harsh. You would do that, you would think that, you would say that, you would like that. What you’re saying is that I’m such a loser, a low life, so below you that I would do something you’d never be caught doing. It implies so much judgment and disgust. So maybe I do know someone you don’t like, like someone you dislike, listen to a band, enjoy doing something or whatever it is “I would.” So what? That doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me. I’m not below you.

One of my best qualities is also my biggest flaw. Sometimes I don't give up.
I don't give up on people when it's probably the best thing to do. I believe everyone needs someone who won't give up on them no matter what. I want you to see that because I feel like that resonates with people. They remember you were there for them. I'm still hoping someone will give me that honour but it seems unlikely. I surround myself with quitters. I believe when you truly love someone you don't give up and if you do, you didn't really love them. Well I really loved you, but you have finally proven me wrong. All those times you wanted me to say I was wrong? Here it is. I was wrong, not a little wrong, but very wrong. Horribly fucking wrong. I will give up. Because you aren't deserving of my love.

I’ll show you the door when you’ve decided to hold on to all that you’ve lost. You see, all this is nothing when she comes and tears you apart. Of course, all this is nothing if you hold the key to her heart. I told you I am your saviour and your truth. When you get down on the floor, I will steal the soul from you if there is no truth.
Let’s end this lie tonight.
When the thirteenth apostle is knocking at my door, a new sun is rising in the east. Did I tell you that? It’s true. So sing throughout the streets and sing throughout the night. Go and tell the people my soul is a flight. Although you might save me from all these emotions that are filling my mind, all of your healers are still hurting my kind. I will watch what the rain blows in, and I will continue to tell people that a climb to the holy land is a slide to the devil’s hand.
Something is going to change these times and I’ll watch them fade away. So if they want to keep me hung on their crosses they’ll have to find some bigger nails. I will continue to walk these streets like a doubting Thomas and I’ll swear at saints when they pass me by. Nothing is pure when everything is tainted. Where am I going to go when I die. So you see, I’ll try to let you go and I’ll try very hard to forget. I don’t think my thought will subside, I guess I’m just losing my mind. I’m walking alone, I’m standing in the sun. I’m thinking about my life and how it’s barely just begun. I want to run.

“I don’t know what to say to you. You mean the world to me. And you know it’s true, one day you make me feel like a million dollars and the next like dog shit on the bottom of your shoe. You make me smile, laugh and sing, at the same time you make me cry and scream. I don’t know why you do this to me, and I really don’t know why I let you do this to me. I guess it’s because every time I start to lose hope you give it back to me, you make me think there is a chance again. If you asked me today what is tomorrow going to be like, I would tell you that there would be no more you and me, that I was not going to take your crap and let you walk all over me. Then tomorrow comes, and you give me one look, you know that look, the one that makes me melt right there and I have hope again. This happens again, and again. At first I thought it was all your fault, but now I know it’s mine. The only thing you’re doing to me is being my friend, I should take it as that, friends are better than nothing. Then you hug me, or tell me a joke and I know we are meant to be. So I don’t care how many times this happens, I really don’t care cause I love you, and all that is important to me is us being together. And I know that right now you don’t see it. But someday you will, and it’ll be great! But for now, if I’m your lover, or just your friend I’ll be here for you no matter what. You can count on me.”

It's just another letdown, I'm surprised I'm still holding up. I'm out in troubled waters and it's getting worse. My boat is just a shady raft and someone's prying the boards from it quickly. These termites have started feasting and I can't stop the havoc below me.
Times change and tide rolls in. I had an army of friends but they were nothing more than a seasick mirage. Maybe I was stupid for falling for it but I don't want to be the lone and crazy sailor. No trust and no hopes, just a desire to be swallowed up by the sea painlessly.
But that's not me. I wave between the line of reserved and trusting. I love to pull my heart out and place it in another person's chest. But too often the rib cage is just a cold cage, and I made another mistake. I don't want to float alone but I can't stay dry on a paper boat.
The boards have rotted or broken off. I swam to shore and I'm burning the salvaged wood. I'll rebuild a stronger raft while praying for calmer waters. I won't drown. I won't letdown into this cold water.

My head knows people are no good but my heart can't get with the program. It seems to occasionally put faith in people. Now this would be fine if it my two vital organs got their act together. My brain tries to convince my heart certain people are better but I suppose my brain isn't the most persuasive as my heart never jives.
Whenever my heart takes a liking to a person, my brain gives a shallow protest and I end up following my heart. When shit goes south my heart's in pieces and my brain is left cleaning up the remains. It appears my brain lacks any kind of balls as it usually sides with my heart. For once I would rather my brain stand up and say "no, this person is a mistake" beforehand instead of whispering "I told you so" after the fact.

We all have questions people frequently ask us. Usually they’re really stupid or corny, like if you’re tall but your parents are short and people ask how tall the milkman is. Ha ha. Who gets milk delivered anymore anyway?

These questions often define us in a way, usually an unpleasant one. We constantly reiterate these stories or answers, and eventually these words lose their meaning. More like spewing noises. These questions become the bane of our existence.

These questions are usually rude and prying. People don’t consider the potentially cruel and upsetting implications they may have, nor are they prepared for the awkward responses.

I have three questions. Three common questions random people get the balls to ask me. Three questions that I hear so often I really wish someone gave me a dime for every time I heard them. Even a goddamn penny would be appreciated.

Do you have an accent?
No, I don’t have an accent and don’t try to argue that with me cause I think I would know. Listing places you think I’m from won’t make me spill the beans either. I don’t talk like a pirate and I don’t care if you think I talk funny.

I have a speech impediment. Yes, I hope you feel bad cause you brought up one of those “ooh-ahh” touchy painful subjects. No, I cannot say Rs, don’t try to teach me how; I can still say screw off.

Do you have an eating disorder?
I would never consider myself to be abnormally thin. I would fall into the average category. However I will admit I do have an especially bone-y body, and were I to gain 20 pounds you could probably still count my vertebrate. But this in no way makes it okay to ask that. I don’t ask about your acne or double chins. If I did have an eating disorder, would I really tell you anyway?

Do you draw on your eyebrows?
Yes. I barely have eyebrows, and they’re blonde to boot. I’m sure it’s obvious I seriously fill my brows in, and you have no idea if I lost them from cancer or in land battle with savage village people. There were fireworks involved. When someone says your eyebrows will never grow back, believe them.

I’m really a poor British orphan (even if that’s politically incorrect), who has no money to buy food so I’m starving, and I lost my eyebrows to malnutrition but they never grew back.

June 26th, 2009
I haven’t been feeling myself lately. Although I am still myself as far as I’ve known. I would have noticed a drastic change in selves I’m sure. And for a minute there I lost myself.

July 9th, 2009
But I’m not happy. I’m not happy with anything anymore. And that’s not my fault. But it’s not as sad as it sounds. Too much has changed for me to be alright right now. I’m more than open to change when it is for the better, as I’m sure most are. But I’m not okay with this right now. I’m not open to these changes. I didn’t want them, nor did I ask for them but I can’t return or undo them. I want what I had back and I want what I have to stay.
Usually when I’m unhappy I come home. And I occupy my time with happy things. But right now home isn’t home and the things I occupy my time with are packed into brown boxes of various sizes. I don’t like knowing the few things capable of calming me down can be taped up.

Happy half person, May 2010
I’m a half person. Not a whole person. Not less than a person, but just a half person.
I’m a loner by heart and choice, but I don’t like being a forced loner. I prefer to do basic things alone, such as shopping or errands, and so on. I’m confident in my choices, and I feel like a lot of things I like to do bore people anyways. I like my space.
But I like knowing that if I so choose, someone would do those things with me, whether it’s a boyfriend or a best friend.
When I don’t have that sense of a second person, another half, I feel uncomfortable. Another half who isn’t always there but would always be there if needed.
Maybe it’s insecurity and a false sense of confidence that is shattered by fear of being lonely. Or maybe I just like a fall back.

I’m not dust.

Dust settles into every crevice but remains largely unnoticed. It’s comprised of debris; dead skin, dirt and so on. Nothing significant or distinctive.
When the light of dusk shines in through windows, dust looks so beautiful dancing in the glow. But when that light is gone, the dancing fades and the dust just settles. It’s no longer a miniature spectacle, and you begin to feel appalled when you think of its components.
I don’t want to settle into the seams between the boards of your life, only to be swept up and shook out the door. I don’t want to scatter aimlessly on objects but when I build up enough you think I’m filthy and brush me off.
I’m comprised of more than just skin and dirt. I am significant and distinctive, I won’t only be noticed in the catches of twilight. You can’t brush away what I have worked so hard to create. I’m not dust, I won’t settle.

Last week I laughed. And smiled. I felt whole and blessed. I held your hand and laughed. You held my soul and I smiled. It was whole. But you didn’t care.
Yesterday I thought. And recalled. They were deep thoughts. I thought about you and recalled moments about you. I disbelieved and smiled. It was provoking. But you didn’t care.
Last night I realised. Came to my senses. It was a cruel realisation. What I realised about you and convinced myself of you. I hated it and cried. It was painful. But you didn’t care.
Earlier I questioned. Attempted to reconcile. I felt small and weak. I held your hand and you laughed. You held my soul and I cried. It was broke. But you didn’t care.
But today I continued. And denied. I denied weak. I held your soul and let go. I walked away and you cried. It was finished. And you did care.

As I type this, I am waiting for my nail polish to dry. A multi-step process that men deem feminine and pointless, while women are divided.
This is time consuming, this is also costly. One manicure alone requires a minimum of 7 products and countless steps. It seems so baffling for many. What is this point? The typical image of a female who takes care of her nails is an air-headed nitwit who cries when they break a nail.
Breaking a nail really is an upsetting moment; I’ll have you know. And results in a difficult decision. Do I file him down and cut my losses, with one maimed nail or do I file all my nails down as to not look lop-sided? It takes time and care to grow these nails, so filing them down is a really difficult decision. But I don’t want a ridiculous looking hand.
So many people cannot understand the desire of having long nails. The care seems so difficult. It is not a passion reserved for only cheerleaders.
I’m a hand talker. It’s a well-known fact amongst my friend, which they all find a riot. My hands are distracting to most, and people spend a great deal of time staring at them. Why would I not want them to look their best? Whenever I come into contact with another hand talker I find myself looking at their hands. When they have dried, gnarled nails and cuticles I’m horrified. It’s a self-induced torture I must gawk at. I feel the need to cringe and turn away, it’s a pain I can’t bear. I would never want to put others through the same painful moment. So I keep them nice.
They’re clean, they’re well manicured, and they’re respected. They are not weapons unless need be. I have brothers, and when the unfair physical fights begin, I am sometimes forced to protect myself by any means necessary. Biting can be difficult and can result in a bloody nose. Hands however, can flail free and attack in tricky situations. Little gnarled nubs have no help here.
Nails are a part of the body, a show of pride. Nasty nails are the equivalent to nasty hair. I will judge you but your frayed tips. I will smug at you laziness when you have chipped polish on for several weeks. Chipped fingernails are a rusty bumper with peeling paint. They are miniature canvases that add to an outfit. They show care, respect and dignity.
I don’t sit there for hours waiting for my polish to dry. I do other things, such as type or workout. I am not above getting my nails dirty. But these vicious weapons demand respect, as does the inner turmoil of a broken nail. So scoff if you will, but do it to my face and prepare to have your eyes gouged out by some perfectly shaped sugar almonds.

A friend is always a friend. They're there for you in your worst moments, and standing beside you at your best. But what if they're gone at your worst moments but don't care at your best? Are they still your friend?The obvious answer would be no. They're not your friend, they are what society had dubbed a fair-weather friend. Some are even so foul that they are named poison friends. They are to be thrown to the curb, crumpled like a piece of paper with the rotten memories they embodied. But you don't. You keep them close to you, attached to your body like thin sweater. You wouldn't do that however. Throw them away I mean. They are all you have. Sometimes you have fun with them, and you share a few laughs. It's worth it to keep them around. They don't care when your pet dies, or when you just can't seem to succeed at anything. They listen for a moment, share a sound a pity and continue on with their drama pangs, hoping for some sort of cheer-up effort. They're all you have? You must have more than that in your life.But why is it that when you scroll through your msn list, the 400 friends on your facebook and the over 100 contacts on your cellphone, you realise you have no one to talk to? At a loss for friends. Your social networking tells a different story. It tells a tale of a happy, excitable person with a vivid life to live. But these Saturday nights emasculate you. 400 people have left you to drown.So start anew, find others who will love you. Others who don't think of you as entertainment. Others who care what you say, what you have to say, and will be there as fall. There are people out there. People who care. Wouldn't the world be destroyed if there wasn't some?But you wouldn't do that however. Throw them away I mean. They're all you have. Maybe all you deserve. You would be naked and lost without them, more than you already are. That's just too much of a chance.

I stood before it, and it before me. Two french doors concealed a world of failure. To open the doors would be to remove what is right, pure and what I have spent so much time to achieve.
To open the doors would be fulfilling desires, hungers and quelling pain.
I would not open the doors.
But doors are trickier than given credit for. These polished planks of wood hang on hinges while taunting minds. We have a conversation, the cupboard makes small talk. I'm polite and converse back, while remaining tense. One slip could tumble into weakness and failure. Words are ever so cunning.
I would turn away you see, were my feet not glued to the ground with turmoil. It would be so easy to just take one, two steps to the left and be in a whole new room. A room without cupboards. In the aftermath I see how easy turning away would be, but in the anguish moments of now it's damn near impossible.
"No" I say to the cupboards. But they ignore because they know there was little soul behind that shout. I weigh my options. Walk away in these concrete shoes? Full Fantasia, and take an axe to the damned cupboards? Open the doors? All the options seem ridiculous but possible.
As I ponder the cupboards grow bored with me. Unimpressed by my resistance, they lose their lustre. I would not say this is a battle won, but a battle just growing.

I am a look-giver. A great one at that. If you say something stupid I won't text or msn my friends mocking you. I won't even turn and discreetly give my friend a "wtf?" look. I will look straight at you and give my best "you really did say that didn't you? That just verified I am significantly better than you" look. And I am damn good at that.I don't only give bitchy looks, even though they are my forte. I give sympathizing ones too. This is rare, but if you and I happen to share an obscure opinion or feeling, and you try to express it but fail, I will lend you my eyes. Usually a semi-smile with a pity face attached. You would know it if you seen it.And I do smile. These are reserved for the especially rare occasions when someone says something magnificent, and even more gusto when it crushes a stupid person's stupid comment. A smile of brotherhood and understanding.But why give looks? Why not msn, text or discreetly snicker. Because I like to be upfront and forthcoming. I want you to know I think little of you. I want you to know I appreciate your attempts. I want you to know I think you did a great job of destroying someone's uneducated comment. I do not talk behind people's backs, I say nasty things to their face. I would rather it be this way. I am not overtly or unnecessarily cruel, but when you say a ridiculous statement or opinion, I would rather you know how low I think of you. I guess I am a tad malicious. But hey, if it gets the job done.

Dear Life,
we need to talk. This is getting out of hand. Where is our relationship going? There's all these ups and downs. There's lull but sometimes you get out of hand. I don't know what you want from me. I would appreciate some consistency.
I want some commitment. When is this going to end, do you know? Is this just going to be a blip, insignificant, or a long and fulfilling experience? What happens after we finish, you won't even tell. I have so many unanswered questions about you, but no matter what others say I still feel like I know nothing. No books, expert, psychiatrist or philosopher could totally explain everything about you to me, opinions aside.
I'm starting to wonder if we have the same ideas for how this should turn out. I feel like you're leading me in a different direction then where I want to go. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. Why didn't you tell me this is how it was going to be? Why don't we talk anymore? I used to share my ideas and dreams, things were so much more simple. Now I'm confused. I wish talked the way we did.
I wish it hadn't come to this. I tried and tried to make things work but it seems like it's becoming worthless. I'm starting to see no light at the end of this tunnel. So life, we have an ultimatum, there needs to be an improvement. We need to have a common understanding, we need to work together. This is just not going how I want. It needs to get better, or it's ending.

Group suicide?
Probably the two most dreaded words that can fill a classroom (except maybe POP QUIZ, but the earlier is significantly more stressful).
I hate group work. A lot of people do. Who likes group work? Lazy people. Everything about group work is stressful; do you choose your group or assigned (is there anyone worth choosing, are you assigned to an automatic fail?), do you have a group leader (do I trust someone enough to relinquish control, do I step up and scorn hate, or are we capable of managing ourselves?), the topic you choose (to compromise or not to compromise), who does what and every other equally cringe worthy question that you must face, tackle and destroy. There is no peace to be found in these projects for the likes of me. Admit, it makes your eyes bleed too.
Whenever I'm assigned a group or forced to choose a group from a gaggle of useless turkeys, I breathe a little heavier. Whenever a member of said group produces a piece of work that is subpar and falls far below my standards, my heart skips a few beats. If any member of my group ever, EVER displays are slight handicap or error that could by any way harm my marks i feel like scaling their face. You don't know your to, too, twos? We might as well chalk your death up to freak accident.
I pay for my schooling. Not my parents, no aid from family members. Just me and my good friend OSAP. Ergo, I take those marks that come back seriously, everyone of them. Especially when these marks are the difference between that coveted internship at a magazine, or one at Maple Leaf Farms.
I want to claw my face when I'm forced into one of these sick projects. Every dumb ass teacher or clueless adult will say "well you be forced to work with all different kinds of people in the workplace, so you should adapt here."
No. Because, in my workplace I will be at a fashion magazine. I will not be doing a project with a guy who wants to work for a video game website, or one who wants to be a sportscaster. And above that, when someone does nadda, they get fired. When someone does nadda in most school projects, people tug them along for the ride, or the most is they get some lower marks. Suck a cock.
I find myself in the personal predicament of whether I unleash my inner control freak, do the work myself and get the 90, or do I accept the doled out tasks and hope for the best. I'm a creature of worry, the latter never works. I frequently ask to see what other people have done and anytime any member says they have yet to start when most of the group is midway through, I vision myself embedding a pencil through their esophagus. If I do the work, do I tug the losers along or cut them and watch them suffer? I usually would enjoy watching them suffer, but in certain extenuating circumstances I cannot.
Maybe you feel a sort of sympathy for me. Maybe you understand the feeling. Maybe you're that loafer who does diddlysquat and I'm perfectly describing that irritating person in your group you loathe. I feel so remorse for my feelings or actions. I am not ashamed of being controlling. Imagine pulling several grand out of your pocket, with student loans anyways, and trusting the kid who thinks the Jesus and Galileo were biffles.

You do what you want good dancer
because you are invincible
your actions are invisible
you make no ripples with your actions

so you eat eat eat
all the bounty from the earth
until one sad day your nothingness
is a very apparent nothingness

and so you hurt hurt hurt
because they should love you unconditionally
until one day you speak
and there's no ears to hear it

and so you thrash, cry, bruise
because you forgot how to deal with others actions
that crush your ribcage so

and so good dancer you hurt
because you're not invincible
because you're actions aren't invisible
but you are so visibly alone

From other sites etc. So that's why there's a flood on one day.

The more I work the more I am subjected to commercialism. I have respect for all religions, and for whatever one chooses to(/not) believe, and ideally I would like the same. So if you're going to throw an argument about why Jesus is a ball-licker or how I'm wasting my time, honestly, tell it to someone who cares. But on top of that, why the hell do so many people who either mock christianity, don't believe or know nothing about it celebrate the holiday? I don't celebrate Kwanzaa because I don't follow it and know nothing about it, and I have the goddamn decency to not attempt to squeeze some selfish ass reason for gifts out of their religious holiday. My faith is mine, and I don't shove it down people's throats. I just don't think it's that too much to ask that the holiday I choose to celebrate for reasons other than greed should be respected.
I'm not saying this to offend people, but my God, if you're going to participate in the holiday for other reasons, at least be pleasant or make believe you just really like giving. If you're miserable too, go die.

And for every person who feels the need to tell me to fuck myself or I'm so worthless because you left your "xmas" shopping til the last minute and you're looking for the most popular toy of the season, fuck you too!

I like to lurk. It’s a known fact. Give me a name and the fucking continent and I can tell you where they were born and who they dated back in grade 8. I’m epic.
But while I lurk I read, and while I read I observe. And while I observe and criticize, and finally, once I criticize, I write notes.
Consistently through tween and teen age facebook profiles alike I see a simple statement appear in many different forms. It is usually the second or third line in that beautiful container known as “About Me”. It says “I am unlike anyone you have ever met”, “I am different or weird”, “I’m unique” or perhaps when I come across a particularly unfriendly person it says “you won’t like me because I am so different.”
I am here to discuss this lame, immature and downright pathetic attempt at differentiating ourselves from one another.
You and I are unlike anyone else we have ever met. Why? Because there’s only one of us! There isn’t a second one of me wandering aimlessly around, albeit if there was the population would be that bit more attractive. But because I’m a carbon based “snowflake”, unlike any others you haven’t met someone exactly like me, nor have I met someone exactly like you. So why state this? Do you think I’m not aware? Thank you for informing me, I’ll make a note.
You’re different, unique or, -giggle- weird? That’s fantastic. It blows my mind. Forever have I sought to find someone who is unique from the general human population! I mean, I am assuming when you say weird, different or unique you’re surely not implying the same as stating “[you’re] unlike anyone [I] have ever met”. We’ve been over this, it’s moronic and a pathetic attempt to differentiate yourself from the general population (what’s so bad about us anyway?). I have always wanted to meet someone who doesn’t bleed, doesn’t need to breathe or eat or sleep. I have always wanted to meet someone who possessed traits that are unique from that of a normal human. What’s that? Oh right, you shit too. So unique.
And no, I won’t like you, you told me not to.
I am so sick of reading lines that people have put thought into just to differentiate themselves from everyone else. Yes you’re different, we get that, but we don’t care. Do you have to cut yourself away from the proverbial paper lane of men, conjoined by hands? You have no reason to; you’re traced from the same copy. Before you feel the desire to slice our happy bonds, just ask yourself, what the fuck makes you so special?