i always think that i get into things with my eyes wide open, and there is always the voice that warns me of what i might be getting into.
and i ignore it. or assume that it won't happen this time. because this time i know what the hell is going on.
and so this time, i'm left feeling a little bit used, like you're with me and seeing her. like you're using me to get to her. and i hate that.
i give of myself freely for reasons of my own and i expect the same in return. but it never happens. maybe i ask too much.
fuck you. that's all i'm going to say. i'm not some other girl, but i fucking lowered myself down to that level. all these boys, they touch me just right and say the right things and GOD.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
be my valentine?
I am a romantic. I wish you'd understand that. Sometimes I think you really should make the effort to figure out what makes me tick and sweep me off of my feet. God, I'm so practical and feet-on-the-ground all of the goddamned time and I just want you to realize that I need you to take of me sometimes. I want you to make me nervous because you've been so sweet and I want to get butterflies and . . .
Fuck.
I would really love for you to take me to dinner and then out to the flight line to let me watch the touch-and-gos. Maybe we'll talk about serious stuff, or maybe we'll laugh a little bit and have some fun. Maybe we'll mess around a little bit. Maybe then we'll come home, sans children and you'll carry me to bed and lay me down and strip me naked and kiss me til I can't breathe and then you'll listen to what I'm not fucking saying and you'll do all of it.
It's mostly because I do so much around this house and I don't really feel appreciated. I've told you this and I feel like still, you don't get it. Just like the tiff about dinner tonight. I don't feel like cooking dinner and I don't want to go out, but God forbid you step up. God forbid you say, "Hey, you've been doing a lot lately," or, "let me make dinner for you." Ugh. Why don't you see it?
Just . . . think about me, for once. All about me. Is that so much?
Fuck.
I would really love for you to take me to dinner and then out to the flight line to let me watch the touch-and-gos. Maybe we'll talk about serious stuff, or maybe we'll laugh a little bit and have some fun. Maybe we'll mess around a little bit. Maybe then we'll come home, sans children and you'll carry me to bed and lay me down and strip me naked and kiss me til I can't breathe and then you'll listen to what I'm not fucking saying and you'll do all of it.
It's mostly because I do so much around this house and I don't really feel appreciated. I've told you this and I feel like still, you don't get it. Just like the tiff about dinner tonight. I don't feel like cooking dinner and I don't want to go out, but God forbid you step up. God forbid you say, "Hey, you've been doing a lot lately," or, "let me make dinner for you." Ugh. Why don't you see it?
Just . . . think about me, for once. All about me. Is that so much?
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