You’re fucking beautiful - you know that?

Your thighs touch, your hair is uncut, your belly is soft, you’re an odd sort of duck, but damnit, you’re beautiful.

How many times does someone, anyone, strangers, lovers, children, adults, online people who don’t know you but see your beauty on their computer screens? Regardless of their intent or sincerity, can so many people be wrong?

Accepting it, accepting anything is that “hardest thing” one must do. So, let’s start here… I love you, you crazy beautiful girl. Despite, because of, accepting of your self-deemed faults. I love you in every mood, in every weakness, in moments of strength, when you deserve it, when you think you don’t. I will love you better each day. Because you deserve love, especially loving yourself. 

I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. All those fucking promises, all those signs, and I hate myself because I didn’t see those fucking signs! When you said you were going to go back to school, then came up with the excuse you wanted to work more to support me while going to school, then came up with the next excuse because your boss “didn’t like you working those hours” so now you work less and do less and fuck less and FUCK OFF! I spend all my money on you and me and you do NOTHING to help and yet say you are my spiritual guide, so obviously you don’t know me because I don’t need a guide, I need an equal, a FUCKING PARTNER, as I told you from the beginning and you dare tell me you are trying? Not one thing done in the name of that partnership, not one fucking thing, and you say you are trying? And then you threaten ME with your suicide? You are fucking sick. And then you try to come off like you are still a friend days later? That’s a fucking joke and you and I and everyone knows it but they take sides because some misplaced loyalty or familial denial of the fact that YOU ARE A STUPID FUCKING ASSHOLE. *

And I miss you, you stupid fucking asshole. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I’m smoking too much and crying too much. But I can’t stand the idea of ever reconciling because you were supposed to be different and you weren’t. Not a bit, but a culmination in one fight of all that I’ve outgrown. 

Because I am unable to say this to you, I’ll say it for me.

Goodbye.

*As you may be able to deduce, I am now single. Yay… 

What can I say? I’m just a stupid girl sometimes. I’m a fucking adult woman at others, so maybe that’s why I feel so ashamed for my fears and worries. But I have them. And I guess the beauty of the mild anonymity gives me the right to whine and rant here.

And damnitall if I just go blank when I finally have the moment to confront my feelings on all this… Gimme a minute…

I love the boy, and I’m afraid that love is going to destroy me again. I doubt his love because… I don’t know? I don’t love myself enough? And we should love ourselves before we even consider loving someone else, shouldn’t we? 

Sometimes the shit that comes to my head is so fucking cliche and I think I only think those things and write those things because I’m supposed to. I think that a lot of what I do, even now, is because I am supposed to. Fuck supposed to’s… 

I doubt his love because his exgirlfriend hasn’t given him an answer as to why they broke up and he’s still stuck on that. I doubt his love because I don’t understand how he could love a fat chick like me. I doubt  myself in this because I’m going to fuck this up. I’ll get comfortable enough to let my guard down and allow him to see me when I’m vulnerable, only it’ll be too late because he’ll have gotten used to me being strong. I doubt his love because no one else ever lasted. And those that did or even have an inkling of holding on do so because I’m such an ace in the sack. 

I think often that I’m just good at that one thing, the sex thing. I’m a fucking chameleon - I can be what you need me to be for a time. And I have the sexual appetite of a healthy teenage boy (I’m a 27 year old female) and that intimidates these boys and I’m tired of having my needs second placed out and…

When I was younger, I wanted to fix them. As I grew up and tried to fix me, I was tired of getting fixer-uppers. But we are all broken, aren’t we? We are all broken and patched and looking for someone with the spare parts or the know-how of how to fix this and that in our souls. Or we are the repairmen and there is no way to change our roles, carrying the tools while our own souls fall into dis(re)pair.

Please please please do not think me the emotionally unbalanced person you see before you. I am this way today and tomorrow it’ll be different - something will come and the spark will reignite my flame and I won’t feel so smoked. And it will for anyone who reads this and nods their head as they scroll down. Just for today, just letting it out so it quits eating me. I kinda like keeping my parts undigested.