birdy.

I know exactly how this is going to sound, and its not good.
But honestly, you’re lying if you disagree: there is satisfaction in the idea that you touched someones life, and fucked them up so bad, that you changed them.

Yes its so terrible selfish and somewhat cruel. Although sometimes its nice to think that someone, somewhere did, or even still does give a fuck about you. Enough even, that they’re reduced to asking about you, asking others if you still love them. Becoming almost as pathetic as yourself.

Actually I was mistaken, its not satisfaction, more comfort. Knowing that yes, they do remember you every once in a while and yes sometimes they even miss you. That yes, maybe you’re not fighting a losing battle here.

transformer.

He changed her.
Morphed her.

Turned her into the person she once hated.

The clingy, needy, sad, regretful, depressing, never-shutting-the-fuck-up-about-him, remorse filled, one minded, bitchy, bitter, annoying bitch she is today.
The one who when you, mistakenly, mention his name, tries to milk you for all the poor information you have on him.
The one who hangs onto any last dregs she has of him.
The one who’s souly dependent on another to the point where nothing else matters any more.
The one who looks for him everywhere, knowing already she’s never going to see him the same again.

That one. One of them.

She now has no choice but to hate herself too.

skinny love.

She’s smiling.

Looking out over the sand coloured counter top, almost as tall as her, she’s happy.
Out of the house. Earning money. Moderately social. Keeping distracted.
The busy street a usual rush, cars stopping and going at the lights, people hurrying to quickly get to their destination and back home again. Buses doing their business every 10 minutes or so. It’s natural.
Everyone so wrapped in their own world, own issues, own selfish problems. All of which are exactly the same:
‘I wish I had more money…’
‘I wonder if she loves me…’
And of course ‘Sex, sex, sex, sex…’
Each with a subtle alteration, yet each mirroring another.

Then out he strides.

Breaking her detachment from the world outside the shop.
Skateboard under one arm, head to toe in a black uniform, brown hair a mess forever in need of a cut, but the strangest thing: he’s smiling too. No, he’s laughing. Laughing to himself.
Recognition hits her in a second like a punch in the gut. Instantaneous, for he is the solitary thought on her mind. Yet it confuses her, why is he laughing? He’s walking by himself… Maybe some private joke?

But no, no today it’s her. He’s laughing at her.

After 10 days of contact being reduced to sitting less than a meter from each other without a single word shared, and walking straight past, knowing full well the other is there, yet not so much as a nod of acknowledgement. Could this be a break through?

Is he ready to stop being a child? Playing victim… Geez, is he actually being, even just a little… Mature?!

She’s smiling.

It’s one of those realisations that just punches you in the gut, introduces you to a new form of hysterical crying and frankly just scares you shitless;

This is your life.

You are the girl who’s problems you try to treat with a cool detachment, who you try to hide from somewhere in the back of your mind. The girl you tell to be optimistic, but know it’s a wasted effort. You are the person you control. The person you control is you.
You know that she isn’t happy, and so does she.

And that scares you shitless.

You Wear Me Out.

So, I don’t even like you. I’ve known for a while I’ve just stayed because your easy to be around (now anyway), and I think I would rather have you around than have no one, and go back to my random guys phase.
Also, I think I though I’ve had so many guys already, its easier to just go back to an old one than to endure the torture of getting to know someone new, and then getting payed out about it. Have some new inside joke, or bad nickname created to piss me off.
Also you were easy as fuck. I knew I’d never put myself out there unless there was an almost certain chance of getting results, which of course, I did.

But the thing that kinda gets me, is that: I don’t even really find you very attractive, your not ugly as such, just not terribly hot. And I did stuff with you? What was going through my head? Well, I’ll tell you. I thought well because I’m 15, everyone’s doing stuff now, sex, drugs and alcohol, the whole shazam. I should probably start, Oh, hello there, you’ll do.

Time for me to stop being weak, and start to realise I’m fine on my own.

Wow, the truth for once…

but now its that boy filling your every thought

he’s ripping apart your heart that he caught

taking advantage, the reason behind your every move

you hate him, but you can’t, hes too fucking smooth

She had a pretty face;

But her head’s up in space,

She needs to come back down to earth.

well i haven’t felt this way, about anyone, in ages.

i fucking miss you, you stupid annoying funny dickhead.

everything.

I’m, well, not lost, just not all together here at the moment.

i’m doing a hell of alot better than i was last year, i’m doing all my homework, and eating healthily and exercising and actually trying at dancing, and to be honest, i can actually say, i don’t entirely mind the way my body looks at the moment, i’m not 100% happy with it, but i’m finally on the way to getting there.

i do have a boyfriend, as per always. hes sweet. and nice. and quite cute. i can get on with him, really easily, and things are pretty good at the moment. but of course its not the perfect relationship, none of mine ever are. i’m thinking after this one blows over then i’m going to take a bigg break from relationships and just boys in general. just stay friends, for at least 3 months, and i am going to stick to that religiously.

i think i’ve decided what i want to do when im older, i think i want to be a ballerina.

so things are looking up.

and i dont miss you quite so much anymore.