Archive | Venting RSS for this section

broken office chair.

And now that we’re here, so far away.

I use.

And abuse.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.
So tell me.

You’re a complete stranger.
But whatever you tell me to do…
It’ll be better than the fake bullshit I’m doing now.
SO TELL ME WHAT TO DO!
can’t anybody tell me what to do?
fuck.

My thoughts are broken.
My voice, complete.
But my words are shallow.
My actions, planned.

I couldn’t tell you what I did yesterday.
I can’t remember a damn thing.

If this is me normally…
Will I be more put-together on drugs?

ecstasy sounds good.
yes.
a very good place to start.

I can’t take chances.
because there aren’t any to take here.
I can’t risk anything.
This is my own personal hell.

I want to break glass.
Burn houses.
Crash cars.

why can’t i just live on the edge?
Where is the fucking edge?

All I want to say is that I love you and that I’m not afraid.

The music says what I feel.
What I want, but cannot utter.

if only you knew that all of my thoughts.
my complex thinking.
it’s all because of you.

But they all think I’m crazy.
Because I call myself crazy.

It’s okay though. We’re all alright.

Safe.

Advertisements

Just shut up.

Don’t fucking tell me you know what I’m going through.
I don’t know anybody that does.

I’m all alone here. Nobody understands.
And I’m not just talking about being single.
I could care less about a relationship.
But where is my gay best friend?

Everyone I talk to just wants to flirt. Or fuck.
But the worst ones are those who want a relationship.
None of them get it.
They aren’t my type.

I lie to everybody. I say “I don’t have a type.”
But the truth is, I really do. I just don’t want to seem picky.
I am though. I’m stuck-up when it comes to this shit.

You dye your hair? That’s nice.
You like Gaga? Bye.
Flamboyant? Get the fuck out of here.

The only gay kids I like live in fucking Narnia.
All too often do I fall for the straight kid.
The latest would be one I work with.
Luckily, I’m not scheduled with him very often…

Hahahahaha. Ahhh, love is hopeless.
Fuck this, I’m going to play Skyrim.

I’m over this.

I’m sick of life.

I’ve been single for way too long. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to go out and have relationships with people, but I’m afraid that they’ll never be what I imagine them to be in my head. I was also just played recently… two-timing bastard. ┬áIt’s shitty because I had really liked the guy. This was our second time around talking, and I was becoming really comfortable with him, imagining that he was my ideal kind of guy for a relationship. Then reality hits and reminds me of why I’m going to be single forever. Ha. I think I’ll stick to my fantasy of marrying David Archuleta from now on. Surely he’s different from all the other guys I’ve liked. Oh, that’s right. He’s straight. Fml.

I’m sick of never wanting to go hang out with others, too. I always feel like the third wheel. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I don’t have a best friend anymore. Sure, I’ve grown close to a lot of people in the past few months, and I’ve confided quite a bit with these people- but I still don’t feel comfortable enough to show these people what I look like in sweatpants and my bedhead.

I’m not where I want to be. I feel like I’m living a life that isn’t mine anymore. It’s because I’m working two jobs now. I love Cold Stone; with a passion. I’m most likely going to cry when I have to leave. But my second job, at Bath & Body, isn’t what I want to be doing. They expect me to be so much more pushy in selling than I’m comfortable being. I’m the type of shopper that likes to be greeted and then left alone, but these guys… they want me to be all over the customers. Finding out what they like, suggesting other fragrances, leading them to different things across the store. I won’t be there much longer… the extra money is nice, but that’s a promise.

School is bullshit. I can’t help but wonder if this is even beneficial to me anymore. Especially now that I don’t have time outside of school because of work, I’m not getting a chance to sit down and study. Ha. That’s a joke anyway. I don’t have the motivation to study. I’m always so tired now. I don’t want to study when I finally have free time. I should have taken this semester off, but I know that I would probably never come back if that were the case. I could see myself enjoying my freedom too much.

Good, God. I want to leave. Not just this shit-hole town, or this shitty state. I want to get out of this fucking country. I’ve never had such a desire, or been more determined to go to Ireland than I feel right now. I don’t know what it is about moving to a different country that will cure my depressed-like state. The men there seem perfect, with their incredibly attractive accents and personalities. Curse the day I ever saw the movie P.S. I Love You. That shit made me believe that that country is where I’ll be finding the love of my life and escaping the troubles that I think I’m facing everyday.

I guess it’s kinda bullshit that the first thing I write when coming back is basically one giant rant. But I don’t give a fuck.

Bye.

missed.

I don’t sleep until the next day starts,
& I’m awake for all the wrong reasons.
It was better when I had you to talk to.
You were the perfect excuse to stay up
and use my time for sleeping to talk.

Then shit went wrong,
But it wasn’t something I expected.
Nor was it wrong at the time.
It was logical, right, and needed.
You agreed, but I knew you were disappointed.

And when my plan went downhill you weren’t there.
I didn’t blame you.
We went separate ways;
it had been forever since our late night conversations.
How could I have expected you to wait?

Talking after the fact was different.
I learned an important lesson,
You learned to forget.
I was hurt but I didn’t tell you.
It was nothing you should have been burdened with.

Looking back on everything, I wonder what would have happened.
What if we hadn’t severed communicating?
What if we had stayed best friends?
Would I have finally got my chance to sit under the stars with you?
Would we have had something more?

I would never change what I did.
I live without regrets, but I choose to learn from mistakes.
It won’t stop me from thinking about the possibilites, though.
I could never forget those.
I don’t think I’d want to.

I can remember certain parts of our conversations,
even the parts I would prefer to forget.
And after the hints, I finally let go.
Sometimes I wish I would have persisted,
but I knew you enough to understand that wouldn’t have been right.

I miss you & I miss the conversations. [BJM]

fear.

There’s too much stress. Too much for me to worry about.
Splitting my mind between my priorities and you is a daunting task.
I can’t find a way to set aside time for each.

It leads to fear and I can’t control it.
I never lose control, and when I do I feel vulnerable.
I don’t have a clue as to who you are,
but like a puppeteer you weild my strings and you don’t even know.

But there’s more than just the lack of control I fear.
It’s the possibility that I will revert back to my old ways that scares me.
More than the loss of control.
I’m battling with myself. I try and remain positive.

It’s now that I wish I’m perfect.
I pick out imperfections that I wish to change.
Some are possible, other’s not.
I realize I have to live with myself & I’m not excited about it.

I hope perfect isn’t what you’re looking for,
because I’m far from.
The thought of rejection.
That’s my biggest fear.

abandoned.

It was late and we were lying in bed.
Your arms were around me, your face buried in my neck.
We were breathing in unison and it was the only thing I heard.
I loved this moment. I wanted it to last forever.

“I love you.”
It was the first time I said it to you.
You didn’t respond. I thought you had already fallen asleep.
Comforted, I drifted off.

I had the best dream of my life that night.
You were in it, of course.
It showed us in the future. Happy and still in love.
I was excited to tell you when I woke up.

When I opened my eyes, your spot was empty.
I called out your name, thinking you were in the bathroom.
But there was only silence.
I was confused, scared, worried.
Then I noticed it.

The note was sitting on your pillow.
I didn’t want to open it, but my fingers reached for it.
“I’m sorry”
The only words that were on it.
Two words that while saying so much,
also said nothing at all.

pissed.

I’m getting sick of this plinky-not-sendin’-my-posts-bullshit