My weak spot
April 03, 2002 @ 7:47 p.m.
So do you like it? Do you like how you feel? Do you like how you've made me feel?
Do you like what it's become? Do you like to see me shiver? Do you like to see me cry?
I want to give up on everything that was you, and I find I'm having difficulty, somehow, even now. I never want to hear your name again. I'm surprised you can even still speak mine.
I finally granted myself a backbone, and look what's happened. You don't come back, you don't care, you don't change. It's just a little frightening, that you had to be smacked so hard to realize that I was waving in your face that entire time.
And I keep reminding myself that I've won, but it's a game I didn't want to win.
I think you've blocked me, but I don't know. I'm in the middle of reminding myself that I don't care. And I don't want to ask, because I don't want to know.
You bastard, you fucking bastard. I thought chocolate and time and laughter would waste you away. I'm lying to myself, 'cause you're not fading. You're becoming more clear.
Can't you leave? How am I supposed to face you at the door tonight? How am I supposed to hear your voice on the phone and know it's you, and still answer?
After all the nights I wanted you to call....now you do, in order to free me from something that I never wanted to make a mess in the first place. I'm still blaming it on myself, even now, even when it's your fault.
How is that fair to myself?
So how do you do it? How are you so able to make me feel guilty? How can I learn this secret from you, covet it as my own?
There's this fine line between okay and not, and I think I've crossed it long ago. And you don't seem to really care whether or not it's happened. Those roses I was never promised never appeared. But that seems about right.
You've invaded the very soul of me, my poetry. I've written more for you than I have written for anyone in a long time. The most horrible part is, you don't get it. You don't realize every breath that I took for those four months...those were all for you. Or you do get it, and it doesn't bother you that I'm your pawn.
I'm sick of being your bitch, the one you who pretend to be nice to because you feel a moral obligation. I never wished to be your obligation, I was never an obligation nor should I be treated as such.
I'm carrying so much anger, and for some reason, it's all manifesting itself in my desire and passion for you. I never wanted it to, I never wanted it to be this deep, especially since I knew you wouldn't be returning the favor. But as I fell deeper in, the more I realized that I couldn't escape. I'm still in, still meandering in the shallows.
And you still can't follow.
So is it you or is it me? Am I the one that said too much, thought perhaps you would understand something you had no knowledge of? I just thought perhaps you'd understand the girl, just a little. Not even the girl. A girl. Me. And you didn't, and I'm still bruised by it.
This has gone in all the wrong directions, all the ways that I never expected nor wanted it to go. And for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for lots that I did do, and didn't do, with you. Because I assumed too much and thought too little, figured maybe you had a head on your shoulders and it turns out that you didn't.
Holy shit, you write? You're kidding me. Why are you throwing this at me now? Do you think this will save you? Shit, it might. That's the frightening thing, you found my weak spot. That was not something I needed, I'm still trying to be mad at you.
Bastard. You found my weak spot.
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006
