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Something about that emo kid

Dear make-up-wearing-emo-kid,

I hope you're having fun. I hope your life is good.
I wish you well, but I'm curious, do you wish the
same for me? I mean, you don't even talk to me
anymore. When you do talk to me, it's to question
me about my sexuality, what clothing I'm wearing
at the moment, basically anything relating to sex.
So, it's hard to tell you apart from those perverted
old creeps you might see on TV, looking up the
skirts of MILF's as they stroll on by.

Dear skinny-confused-emo-kid,
It's not about looks. It's about what's inside.
It's not about sex, it's about the love in a relationship.
It's not about having to lie to me and make me feel
like you love me, because there are millions of girls out there.
I'm not the only one to chase. I'm sure there are lots of other
girls who would just love to let you chase their skirts and
hear you lie to them repeatedly. I'm just sick of it all.
I don't need you, and you sure as hell don't need me.

Dear traitor,
You built me up,
you broke me down.
You got what you wanted.
I hope you're happy.
Wipe the smirk off your face,
I don't care that you've succeeded in making me fall for you
I don't care that you're freaking gorgeous.
I don't care.
I am not your toy.
I am not your slave.
And I am most definitely not your 'baby girl'.
Just because you have my heart doesn't mean that you can control me.
I'm not yours.
I'm my own person.
I'm me.

And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

But never mind that now, I must go. Mother is calling me to come to supper. Until next
time, you traitor.

Sincerely,
A-broken-hearten-clown.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




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