You adore the worst parts of me

So right; you’ve got all this knowledge and

you think you’re special and

then there are no jobs for you to work in

because you look like a homeless man and

you can’t sit at a desk all day and repeat 

the same things over and over again.

Emotionally

I think I’d be really affected by the development of dementia. 

So I am raped by a gang of boisterous morons, oh well; everyone in this city needs a story to go along with their apparent ‘tragedy’.

So - in my head sex with men is equal to; the worlds end, disease (like mould and yellow puss swirling around in a cup) and pregnancy.

I don’t want a family and so why would I have sex - logically - why would I fuck people? Especially when most of these people are ignorant and boring and unable to feel a certain amount of passion.

Okay, I’m aware that I sound stuck up; but the fact of the matter is that I knew these people as they were children and, although they’ve grown up, most of them still have the same personality traits.

I also noticed that many GAY children who will NEVER admit to hitting on me (in primary school) are not STRAIGHT or at least pretending to be straight.

Sorry guys, but I’ve decided to act smugly today. I’m smug because, at this time in my life, I am in a good place; health wise, knowledge wise and I am also satisfied.

Moving on….theres this girl but, because she wasn’t exposed to the literature (about love) that I was, she doesn’t know how to love women that well; she sees sex just as casually as guys do.

I’m gaining weight somehow, even though my skin has tightened from all of the exercise that I’ve been doing and I keep imagining that my hands are going to get thin because of all of the typing that they do.

I’m a try and move my whole body as much as I do my finger tips lol.

Who knows; maybe life will really be this boring and easy for the next forty years or so (if some disastrous thing doesn’t happen until then)

My mother is proud of me but I also think that she resents me a little because I chose a different type of life to the one she did; she was the tom boy who hung around with lads and ate too much, while I was the quiet (silently bitchy) child who attended an all girls school.

Anyway…I don’t really have the meaning of life worked out yet, or an idea of what I want my future to look like. I know what I dont want; children, a boyfriend or/and to get fatter than I currently am.

Moving on; does it really matter that I know why I exist? No - it doesn’t. 

But it would be nice to read some of the ideas put forward by people; I think I’m going to teach myself philosophy next.

People seem happy around me; they have the right idea - to accept people with their flaws and give them only half of their attention ( to avoid getting hurt)

I’m not a sadist or a lover; I’m just a closet dyke who wants her privacy back.

I can feel the bobbles of moisturiser on my skin and the fat clinging off my ribs. I had something to say but I’ve forgotten it now.

I’m the fat, ugly middle-aged teen who no one wants to stalk.

It’s alright though, I’ve accepted it and am trying to deal with it (or develop anorexia somehow)

Too many cigarettes, too much binge drinking and too much stress.

I don’t like casual sex; I WANT LOVE. I hope it finds me.                     

I saw a feather while I was in the park. It was falling down from the sky.

It was white, grey and black. It was thinner than most feathers and

it reminded me of your wrists and the way you pull your dress over your bottom before you sit down.

It was a feather and it was simple and everyone else missed it; it reminded me of the white, lacy dress that you wear in my daydreams of you. 

It twirled like a ballerina in the wind and slowly glided to a halt a meter in front of my exhausted feet. It wasn’t sunny that day but the color of the feather seemed to penetrate my iris and create something blinding.

Theres a girl named Maddie. She’s about three foot tall and she has blue lips.

Her lips haven’t been painted blue, she was born this way; with blue lips. They matched her eyes and sometimes people fell in love with her because she was so different.

She would walk through her village and buy household items; like wholemeal bread and nail varnish for her dogs nails. She didn’t speak much but she would always smell good. 

She often bought cheap perfumes from charity shops and mixed them together with rose petals and snails shot.

She was independent but not lonely; she would often play until the sun fell down into the ground and back up again. She had beautiful skin; it would shine in the light and people used on comment on its flawlessness.

Maddie. This is a story about Maddie; a girl with blue lips and a language of perfume. She ended up marrying a guy with no nostrils. 

I have become concerned with the rest of the world and it’s frustrating. 

She has smooth black skin and fake hair glue to its roots. She wears shirts that are too short and shakes her hips when she walks. She does not understand beauty beyond the physical body, she looks in the mirror and paints herself in the colours that others desire.

Intelligent, beautiful and confident?

Quick - call the worthless, small dicked gang to force her into the social scene. 

Everything I do is monitored, predicted. They have forced me into the arms of bullies and kept me silent there - insecure and large like a painted bean bag. That’s the aim of men isn’t it, to make you so insecure that you have no choice but to put up with their inferiority? 

  ” ‘Now we wait,’ you said.
     ‘For what?’
     ‘The sun.’
     You pulled me down onto a bed of sand and leaves right in the middle of all the paint and color. The sun was shining through the window so brightly it was difficult to keep my eyes even half-open against it. And the smell was stronger there, too, leafy and herbal, earthy and fresh.
     ‘Face this way,’ you said.
     You turned to the wall at the back, and I did the same. With the sun behind us, I could see the way the rays picked out the lighter swirls and dots in the painting, making them look three dimensional.”