When I have a problem I go out, grab it by the throat, and choke the living shit out of it. This method isn’t for everyone. Some people have things to say that they keep bottled up for days, years, their entire lives.
Others have told me that they find my openness refreshing. It is what initially attracts most men to me. They call it, “down to earth.” But then I turn the truth hose on them and it’s a whole different story. Then they call it, “crazy.” Funny how all the qualities they find so charming before they fuck me eventually become the reasons they stop fucking me. Vulnerable becomes Insecure. Observant becomes Overanalytical. Hopelessly Romantic becomes just plain Hopeless.
I beg your pardon, but I never promised you a fucking rose garden. I never led anyone on about who I was. I’ve laid every single feeling and thought that ever popped into my overactive little head and heart right out here for the whole world to see. And didn’t you love it then? Didn’t you woo me and flatter me? Didn’t you spend weeks earning my trust?
Only until I was real. Only until you were inside. Only until it stopped being a silly game, and the stakes rose. Then you called off all the bets.
I’d like to apologize for my anger. I’d like to say I’m sorry for writing about you with my brutal, unkind pen. I’d like to, but I can’t. See, I can’t say things I don’t mean. And I can’t NOT say the ones I do. It’s just the way I am.