original format: ?userwhatyouswore&tabweblogs&uid266251027

please, review at fictionpress though.

Quit looking at me.

I don’t know what you’re getting at,

But it’s exactly what you did a year ago

(call me exacting, grudge-holding, nit-

picky—I remember it all anyway.)

You can forget about me, I’m not your

Doormat (but you make me fall to pieces—

If you asked, I’d want to be so bad)

And maybe I hate the fact that you’re so

Charismatic, that everyone talks to you

And I’m the wallflower (I leave late

So that I can look less awkward and more like

The lone wolf—untouchable—I don’t want to

Be there before I have to anyway).

But I get so angry that they should like you so much

That everyone should think that you’re so wonderful—

There’s too much to say on the contrary

(it fucking hurts so much—you shouldn’t fucking hurt this much)

I hate the way I catch you staring at me when you think I’m not

Looking (I always see, stupid) and I have no idea what’s behind

Your s h i n y, s o f t, b r o w n e y e s.

I hate the way I smile after you glance away, I hate the way I smile

And try to reach out to you with all this pain you nailed into my chest,

Stomach, throat

(how I want to make you feel everything that you

put. here.)

I hate you and don’t want to—I hate that I do and I hate that I don’t want to,

And that makes me hate you even more.

(I’m running away from you anyway, into a different place with different

patterns and different people, and you’re gonna be gone from me forever—

my stomach churns and I feel like puking again, fucking dizzy—so long Psycho,

huh? Yeah. That’s it—what I’m looking for.)

I’ve got plans and you’ve got dreams, right?

I’ve got ambition and you’ve got vampire fantasies.

(I accentuate your flaws and forget about everything that’s good about you

because I can’t have it and don’t want to remember you—I want to hate you

so much it hurts more than it already does—I want to hate you so much it crawls

out of me and eats you up too—I want you to burn too)

There’s always too much to say—you’ll never say you’re sorry, and I’ll never

Come back anyway. There’s always too much more to say too much more to say

there are not enough words to communicate everything. It all rings hollow hollow

hollow. (I don’t want to hear anymore echoes)

All of my letters to you start off like this:

“To some chick I can’t get over:

... ”

But I can never come up with anything else—there are no perfect words.