August 11, 2009
Purple, black, brown, light brown, golden blonde, platinum blonde, blue, turquoise, black and blonde, fire engine red, bright green, pink, burgandy, blue-black, red. Bitch bangs, side bangs, normal bangs. short-ish, medium and extra fucking long. Never a chelsea :( never a tri-hawk also sad face. The boufant stays. Once a mullet. Once a shag that made me look like nikki sixx. Once my parents let me cut my own bangs. Assholes. All in braids, should have opted out for dreads. Scratch that. I looked like Mia Wallace all through junior year minus the shot in my heart and bloody nose. That didn't come till two years later. Maybe extensions to my feet one day so I wrap myself in hair and be uber creepy like Nicole Kidman in Fur. Maybe not.
It's amazing how many eyes are being noticed these days. Even ugly eyes are getting attention. Well I decline this attention. I will only wear sunglasses so that instead people will notice the giant boils on my neck, the pit stains down to my ankles, the thick black hair that grows in between my index finger and my middle finger. I want them to notice that my shoes are all two sizes too small and that my toe cleavage as almost won awards. Fuck my eyes! I want you to see my knobby knees and bony elbows. I want them to notice my chicken scratch writing and how I drive with my feet when my hands are consumed with the 50 year old typewriter I welded to my car. Don't look at my eyes look at my black drawn on eyebrows that make me look angry all the time! Or notice how my hair looks like Raman when I use a whole bottle of gel! Fuck my eyes. Don't you dare notice my eyes.
Don't tell me I'm sweet. Don't tell me you think we'd be perfect together. Notice my faults. Notice my lack of strength behind closed doors. Tell me I'm an asshole. Tell me you hate me and you don't understand how anyone could be friends with me. Scream. Yell. Shout. Don't tell me my eyes are beautiful tell me my knuckles are beautiful. Get out your anger. Take it out on me. apologize Later. Forgiveness always comes and regret never leaves. Stick up for yourself, and stick up for me god dammit. Or don't. See if I care. See if I notice. I will, but will you notice? No because you'll be too busy not looking in my eyes.
Don't you dare look into my eyes. Don't you dare kiss my lips and tell me you're in love with me and then go home to Her.
Don't. Please, please don't do this to me.
If you're a lion's mane then I'm a bloody antelope playing dead and waiting for the final strike. If you're a spoiled carton of milk then I'm the the carbon monoxide that secretly kills you while you knit your weapons of mass destruction. If you're the dish can I be the spoon? And whatever happened to the fork and the knife? If you're baby ruth bar then I'll be a lollipop that tastes like booze and seawater with a switch blade slicing out of the stick, and a green swirl.
You said you were broke and stormed out with your sock full of change. It's not my fault baby, but you can blame my hands but you cannot blame my heart. You can blame my lips but you cannot blame my eyes. My fortune cookie said: move to a poorer state and you'll be richer. I ate it just in case.
It's time to snort a line of sleep and venture back to my subconscious therapy sessions, also known as dreams. Tomorrow I'll make up for my lack of livelyness and today I'll cross off sloth on my sins to do list. Until next time, see you later alligator.