| Current mood: |  bitchy |
| Current music: | silence...scary |
i fucking hate my friends. period.
this is my latest poem...some what angry.
Finally I'm just going to say,
"fuck it, I'm tired of twisting
my words to sound beautiful."
I've been writing about other peoples experiences
for TOO fucking long.
I almost cried today when I was double teamed.
By two of my FRIENDS.
that hasn't happened to me since
I moved from Cary.
I thought I'd been called fat for so long,
that I'd be used to it by now.
But those words stung, even as a joke.
I wouldn't wish it on anyone
because brinking, blinking back tears
in front of the people who tell me I can't FEEL...
Isn't a desirable situation.
WHY do I have to feel so fucked up
when it's really the last thing I want?
I just WANT to go out on the feild,
and throw myself at the ball on the hard ass ground.
I want more scrapes, I don't know why.
Is it like cutting? I don't want that.
How the hell do psychologists interpret those
kind of feelings?
Maybe I should just stop thinking...
It'll work out
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