Have a look at http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.fi/p/troiku-new-form-of-haiku.html for a new kind of haiku.
Make me gorgeous, make me into a star. Make me into someone that everyone wants to love, and everyone else loves to hate. Make me the kind of woman who can make people fall in love with me the moment they see me. Let me wink and suddenly have complete control over an entire room. Let me be mysterious and exciting and a legend. Let me live on in everyone’s hearts and minds and let them never forget my name. Let me be somebody that everyone knows, make everyone want to know me. Make me a magnet. Make me charismatic and charming and funny and lovable. Don’t make me perfect. Make me flawed, make me significantly flawed. Let me win them all over, then let me die young and leave a beautiful corpse, and let me live on in everyone’s memories as the gorgeous person you made me into. Let me be both famous, and infamous.
That’s my dream. That’s what I want to be.
I don’t know what to do. You ask me what’s wrong, and I want to tell you, but I know that if I do, you’ll tell me to stop being dramatic. You’re my dad, aren’t you supposed to care? Aren’t I supposed to be your princess? Or at least something to you?
You say that you “worry” about me, but somehow that “worry” doesn’t kick in until 1045 at night when I haven’t called or texted you or seen you since 8 that morning. How does that work, dad? Do you really care, at all? Or do you want to seem to care so that I can pass it on to mom so she thinks your more responsible and might stop suing you?
Why do you all have these underlying agendas? Is that a normal thing? Do most people have those? Should I just expect that everyone wants something from me? Or that everything they do, they do for their own benefit? I don’t want to think like that. I don’t want to be a cynical teenage girl. I want to believe in fairy tales and godmothers and true love and all that stuff. I don’t want them to be real, I don’t care. I just want to be able to believe in them. I want that shred of hope. Is that too much to ask?
I guess it is. I should’ve known by now that no one will ever really care about me. At least not enough to care about all of me. They love me when I’m laughing with them, they love me when I give them things, they love me when I feel bad for them, or listen to their problems, or make them feel like they might be helping me with mine. But they don’t want to know all of me.
They don’t want to know the terrible, terrible ugly things I do and think and say under my breath. They want to make jokes about me and about the things I say and laugh with me, or even at me, because for some reason, everyone assumes that I’m the kind of person who can take those jokes. Why? I don’t understand.
I’m just like all of you. I don’t like it when people joke about me being stupid or ugly or young or immature or anything. I’ll take it, and I’ll laugh with you for a while, but it gets to a point where I can’t do it anymore. And then I’ll go home and I’ll cry for a bit, and the next day I’ll laugh at myself for crying, because why would I ever have a reason for crying? It’s not like my feelings are significant enough for me to need to cry about them, or express them, or even feel them.
All I’m here for is entertainment. I’m here to make you laugh, to be laughed at, and to laugh with. I’m here to get you heart felt birthday presents and smile at the right times and cry at the right times.
Because it’s okay for me to cry if someone is leaving, and it’s okay for me to cry for someone else, or for something sad that I see, but as soon as I cry for myself, I’m being selfish, or stupid, or dramatic. And even worse? I believe that.
I believe every single terrible thing my step mom has ever told me. I believe that I’m too fat, I believe that I have curves in the wrong places, that I’m a jealous bitch, that I envy other people and that I’ll do anything to sabotage them and get what I want. I believe that I love causing problems for others and I believe that I’m truly a terrible person, deep, deep down, because what else could be true?
I don’t feel envious, and I don’t feel jealous, and I try to be good, I really do, but I’m not, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve been told that as long as I’m pleased with myself, that’s all that matters, but that’s not all that matters.
How am I supposed to be a fair judge of my own character and my own appearance? I’m biased towards myself, I have to be. Isn’t everyone? I need to hear from someone else what I’m doing wrong, so that I can fix it. And don’t tell me that I’m not doing anything wrong, because I know that’s a lie.
I guess that’s why I get so upset sometimes, and why I was so upset today. I love that my friends think that I’m secure enough in myself to joke about me the way they do, but each time they say one of those jokes a teeny tiny bit that hits…[Read more]
Why is it when we have someone all we can see are the negatives, the things we don’t like and wish were different, but the second we lose someone we are blinded by the positives, the things we took for granted, the love we will always have for them.
much love homies
I see you, and I feel happy.
You smile at me, and I’m at home.
We live together now. It has been great so far, except for those moments when you make me feel it’d be best to eradicate myself from existence.
You know, I always, ALWAYS, am ecstatic to take you out and show you off. I state to the world: ”Here ye, here ye, see my love!” and I feel content that you are mine and no one else’s- even when you are inebriated and make a spectacle out of yourself. Even then, without qualms or dismays, I still love you and continue to build up the shrine I’ve put you on.
However, it’s times like these when I wonder if you actually value that or if you even actually feel the same as I do.
You see, I can’t make a spectacle out of myself for even one night without having to face repercussions the next morning.
It’s outrageous! It’s not equal, it’s not fair.
I’m not allowed to intoxicate and release but you are? I’m not allowed to get away with it the following morning and wake up to your tenderness, but you are?
What makes you and I so different? As far as I’m concerned, we are both in our 20’s, we both like to be young and free and careless and that is actually what brought us together.
Why the change now?
I hope you figure it out and map it out for me when you figure it out- I’ve had it with trying to understand your erratic train of thought.
No one has ever made me feel the way you do and I don’t mean that in the sappy, corny form of the expression…I mean you sincerely are the one person I have ever been this confused about. I really should hate you, or at least not want to see you ever again, but I find myself hopelessly attracted to you…and why? You really aren’t anything special. You’re incredibly awkward around girls, you are tall and lanky, and you don’t know what you want…yet when I saw you the other day I got all seventh grade tounge-tied, butterflies beating in my stomach so hard I could barely breathe. And then you hugged me and you held me so tightly and so long that when I pulled away it was only because I was afraid if I stayed in that moment any longer I’d never want to leave. Any longer and all my intentions, my distrust, nullified by the incredible strength of your need for me in that moment. I know now that I will probably never get that moment, that feeling from you ever again. You don’t need me anymore and I am trying so hard to not need you either…
Hopelessly (in) love,
I wish I could hold onto that look in your eyes when you said goodbye today.
I wish I could never forget how long you took to turn around.
I wish I could burn a picture of your smile into my mind and never forget it.
I wish we weren’t so hopeless.
I’m glad we are as close as we are.
I love the way the corners of your mouth rise when you look at me. Not a conscious smile, but, an inevitable one.
I love that we can talk about everything and anything. You are a good listener and an interesting speaker. Your point of view is so refreshingly different from mine.
Time spent with you is a breath of fresh air.
But, dear, dear you. Although you seem presently unable to admit it, our journey is about to change.
I’m sure you felt it was kind, saying you love me like a brother. But, my feelings toward you do not reflect those of a sibling.
We are in interesting territory now.
Our relationship has crossed over the border of ’friendship’, and yet, you seem unwilling to enter the territory of ’couple’. I simply can not remain in No Man’s Land at length.
I say we continue onward and march bravely into new territory.
Yet you hesitate, allowing uncertainty and fear to hold you back. You have been, as yet, unable to acknowledge that we are at a crossroads at all. You are happy with the way things are and are afraid of change. I am also happy, although your uncertainty saddens.
What I want is you. I want you all to myself. It’s probably selfish, but, it’s already unfair.
I am already yours.
There are two things I do not want. I do not want to lose you, but, worse still, I do not want to coerce you. I don’t want to carry on without you and I do not want to carry you.
If you want me, choose me.
I will take the next step alone. I will be waiting one step into the new territory. I will beckon. I will wait patiently and woo you into my arms once more.
I will not force you to join me. I will not beg. I will simply do my utmost to win you over.
I will not force this issue ever again. If you retreat away from me, I’ll acquiesce and do the same. If you advance, I’ll advance with you.
The choice is yours.
Thank you. That was the first time I ever really let myself cry in front of someone that wasn’t family. You made me feel safe, and you didn’t judge me, or laugh at me, or mention it the next day. You just hugged me, asked me if I was all right, and brought me a birthday cappuccino the next day. I can’t begin to tell you how much that means to me. I love you, I honestly do. Not in a sexual way, not in a ”I wanna date you” way. I just love you. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Thank you for that.
I look upon my memories of the day and wonder, could I have done something to change it? Could I have made a difference?
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