Tag: cold

Light Me Up

This was written for Writing 101

I’m not very good at expressing my emotions. For one, I’m just not capable of comprehending them. I am every stereotype of an overly emotional teenage girl. On top of that, I’m not big on the whole “sharing” thing. If I tell someone something, I’m going to OVERshare, and this is one of my least favorite things about myself.

Hence my chosen word for today’s writing prompt: regret.

I’ve had about a million problems with my relationships with other people, be they friends or family or romantic entanglements. As a girl who relies heavily on having people I can trust with every little thing, this sucks a big one.

It’s actually ironic, really. I put on this show of being untouchable, being this hard creature with no emotional needs, when in actuality I need so much. I think this surprises people, because when we get close I just dump a whole shitload on them and they get overwhelmed.

So I’ve just stopped getting close to people.

Which also sucks a big one.

Seriously, I can’t express how much it hurts to need someone to just be with, then push everybody away because I don’t think they want that with me. It’s messed up my relationship with my boyfriend a few times, which is frustrating. I always regret pushing him away (it’s one of those things that keeps me up at night), but I can’t help myself. It’s almost as though I care so damned much, I have to stop myself caring or I’m going to shatter.

Maybe that doesn’t make sense. Maybe it doesn’t follow the prompt. Oh well. I needed to say it.

Four In the Morning

Four in the morning

Can’t sleep for the thoughts

And regrets and emotions

And possibilities that swim

Through the deepest corners

Of my drowsy mind

Four in the morning

Haven’t closed my eyes

Haven’t turning off the light

For darkness breeds

The blackest things

Monsters with fangs

Made of broken dreams

Four in the morning

Tried humming but the lyrics

Fall short of combating silence

That blankets my lungs

In cloth made of quiet

Four in the morning

Counting the minutes

Drawing nearer to when

My alarm will ring

Waking those who find

Sleep comes like an old lover

I’m always the last awake

Sleepily roaming halls

Four in the morning

Oppressive worries keep me up

Way past delirium

And almost until

Five in the morning

Gives You Hell

If there’s one thing I despise, it’s when people slut-shame others, be they male or female- though I’ll admit it’s more likely for the shamed to be female and the shamer to be male, at least in my experience.

I’m speaking specifically of one boy at my school, who will go unnamed for my own sake (just thinking about his stupid name makes me want to punch something inanimate; actually typing it might cause my computer to burst into flames). This boy, this child, calls me a slut and a whore every time he sees me. He makes snide, sexual comments, and if he isn’t alluding to sex than he’s insulting me, whether it’s physically (i.e. “ugly hoe”), mentally (“dumb blonde”), or socially (“friendless whore”).

I’m sick of it.

Yes, in the very beginning of this shit (about a year ago?) I was fairly calm about everything; I tried to just joke around, roll my eyes, etc. I’m not a ridiculously kind person, and I just figured I’d said something that made him angry and he was slowly getting revenge. I felt I deserved it either way. (I was in a darker place than I am today.) Besides, we occasionally hung out during class, and I trade petty insults with some of my friends so I thought perhaps he’d picked up on that.

Now it’s pissing me off.

This boy and I do not associate with each other aside from a few chance meetings in the hallways, and our shared lunch period. We do not move in the same social circles (though I despise cliques, I’ll admit that there are certain groups I do not want to hang out with), and we do not have any shared classes.

Yet every damned day it’s “hey, whore” or “*cough* slut” or any one of the million ways he manages to work in an insult as we pass each other. I’m not one to stand down when somebody talks shit about me, but I’m at the point where I can’t even muster up a good “fuck off, asshole.” any longer. Hell, I don’t even bother flicking him off. What’s the point? Nothing I say or do will make him stop.

I am not a slut.

I am not a whore.

I am, however, a bitch. Keep fucking with me, and I’ll make sure it’s anatomically impossible for you to procreate.