Not waving but shrugging

There’s the girl that left me bitter. Want to pay some other girl to just walk up to her and hit her.

Sad is worse than angry. Sad makes me want to slap you.

Robbing me of dreams makes me sadder than robbing me of all my cash. Robbing me of hope leaves me poorer than taking all my money, and leaving me with a wallet bare of anything but threads (which is something I’m used to, at least).

But there is nowhere left to go with you. I’ve given what I could and you don’t want to know me any more because you don’t feel there’s any more to take. Well, sister, you weren’t giving anything back so I am not missing it.

But I am still sad about it.

Sad about the dream though, not the reality of you. Because you believe you are too good to give, there is nothing to be sad about. I am losing nothing at all, but the dream.

It is not true what they say about you. You are not a brilliant manipulator. Only a fool would let you pull their strings. You are like a child though: always demanding, twisting, wanting your way. Like a child, you will break others’ toys to get your way. I suppose that is manipulation of a sort, but it is tiring to have to manoeuvre round a child. Do you realise that you wear people out? That they become weary of your thinking your moods are more important than the whole of their lives?

And you know, I won’t miss your being full of shit, a liar, not just in the things you say, but in the way you represent yourself to yourself. You are not a helpless little girl. Do you think you look like one to the world? You don’t. You look like a clever woman who is willing to use and abuse others’ good natures. No one wants to hurt the fragile. You know that and you take advantage of it, or at least I assume you do. The best spin I can put on you is that you are a fuckwit. Do you know that? The best I can think about you is that you are as dumb and selfish as you make out. The worst is almost unthinkable. But I didn’t choose Girl inform me for you by mistake:

girl inform me all my senses warn me
your clever eyes could easily disguise
some backwards purpose
it's enough to make me nervous.
do you harbor sighs, or spit in my eye

Although of course I knew you wouldn’t even listen to it, let alone think about the words. That’s because I’m smarter than you, not easily fooled or strung along. I guess that’s the heart of your problem with me: you only loved me when I was willing to pretend I was not smarter, quicker.

Yet it’s one of the best things about me. Only someone entirely consumed with amour-propre could truly want me to be less than I am in that way.

The next best thing about me is that I’m sensitive. You hated that too. Well, you would. To allow it would be to admit that I can have feelings, that it is not all about you. Well, this is all about you, sweetheart, and it’s the last time I’m going to be.

Here’s the thing though. I like to try to understand my world. I mostly fail to but it’s a need in me that I have to keep trying to feed. I know that sometimes you can’t though, and I accept that, shrug and say, whatever.

I was just guessing,
At numbers and figures,
Pulling the puzzles apart,
Questions of science,
Science and progress,
Did not speak as loud as my heart,
Tell me you love me,
Come back and haunt me,
I want to rush to the start,
Running in circles,
Chasing tails,
Coming back as we are.

posted by Dr Zen @ 9:40 pm