If Bio's Were Really Real
If I had a list of all the things I've done right in life I'm damn sure it would be a hell of a lot shorter than all my wrong doings.
I'm a habitual mistake maker and the queen of, "Fucking shit up."
There is no book, no guide to life or how to live it correctly. Even if there was I'm pretty sure I would not have bothered to read it. I'm an oppositional, button-pusher, asshole, extraordinaire!
I don't understand ignorance nor do I want to be ignorant but I envy those who can stare off blankly, ignorantly blissful and without a single thought in their empty, little heads.
They are happy because they simply don't think about life or question it the way I do.
Am I brilliant or am I insane? Are they right and I'm wrong? Who's wires are crossed? Mine or theirs?
Is a false sense of happiness better than the painful truth of it all?
If this was all an illusion would you even want to know?
If we are just droids in a humanoid game of "SIMS" I demand to know which asshole is playing my life!!! Who would chose this?
Being an over-thinker is exhausting and lonely. Most of the time I'm trapped within my own jumbled thoughts and ideas, that then pile up fast and topple over like stacks of old papers and block my means of egress.
I'm a fucking fire hazard;
A cigarette in the hand of a woman who has fallen asleep on her highly flammable, hand-me-down, love seat.
Here I sit listening to sad music like a teenage girl. Nothing like salting my own wounds and baby I do it well. Sometimes I add tequila for good measure.
Self-injurious behaviorist, masochistic, jerk that I am.
Failed in love, failed in marriage, failed in helping myself as I endlessly help others.
A clinical HAWT MESS.
My anthem should be "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys.
Nobody ruins shit quite like me.
I burn bridges like no other and then set fire to my life raft as I toss my lifejacket off the side of my sinking ship only to put weights on my own ankles and jump off. I go down hard bitches!
I lack the ability to let anything go and in the end I go nowhere.
Indian name: "Holds Grudges"
Here is sit 34 and more confused than ever.
I have gained no clarity as to what it is I'm supposed to be doing with this life of mine.
Aren't we supposed to gain wisdom with age? I certainly feel as if I have regressed.
I feel so angry, hurt, lonely, lost, and confused.
The phone calls have stopped, the text messages no longer come. There's only so many times you can push people away before they pack up and leave for good.
I don't just force people off the reservation, I send them limping away in a trail of tears and shower them with fiery arrows.
I'm mean.
I'm angry.
I'm furious.
I hurt everyone.
I hurt myself.
Nobody likes a sad girl who grew up to become a sad woman.
EMO is kinda cool at 16 not so much when you're pushing 40.
Addictions: I've got those too.
Vices: CHECK!!!
I spend too much money and when the thrill of the purchase dies a little bit of myself dies too.
Nothing seems to fill the void that is inside.
It's been growing steady and strong since they c-sectioned my 8 1/2 pound ass out of my mother's womb, back in 81.
All the shine is gone and the tarnish has started to rust.
Where the fuck is the rust remover????
How does a mind so beautiful, so intense, so full of intelligence make so many stupid decisions?
I am mayhem on Adderall and Red Bull, smothered in gasoline with a lighter in my shaking hands.
I'm a nurse I help people, fix them, make them better; so why for the love of GOD can I not do it for myself?
This my friends is why I am single. Un-datable. Unlovable.
I'm not even a crazy cat lady because cats don't typically like me all that much.
If I were a substance I'd be that cornstarch and water shit that we made in science lab back in 7th grade.
Not quite liquid, not quite solid, Just weird, shapeless, mysterious but fun to play with for a while.
I'm a habitual mistake maker and the queen of, "Fucking shit up."
There is no book, no guide to life or how to live it correctly. Even if there was I'm pretty sure I would not have bothered to read it. I'm an oppositional, button-pusher, asshole, extraordinaire!
I don't understand ignorance nor do I want to be ignorant but I envy those who can stare off blankly, ignorantly blissful and without a single thought in their empty, little heads.
They are happy because they simply don't think about life or question it the way I do.
Am I brilliant or am I insane? Are they right and I'm wrong? Who's wires are crossed? Mine or theirs?
Is a false sense of happiness better than the painful truth of it all?
If this was all an illusion would you even want to know?
If we are just droids in a humanoid game of "SIMS" I demand to know which asshole is playing my life!!! Who would chose this?
Being an over-thinker is exhausting and lonely. Most of the time I'm trapped within my own jumbled thoughts and ideas, that then pile up fast and topple over like stacks of old papers and block my means of egress.
I'm a fucking fire hazard;
A cigarette in the hand of a woman who has fallen asleep on her highly flammable, hand-me-down, love seat.
Here I sit listening to sad music like a teenage girl. Nothing like salting my own wounds and baby I do it well. Sometimes I add tequila for good measure.
Self-injurious behaviorist, masochistic, jerk that I am.
Failed in love, failed in marriage, failed in helping myself as I endlessly help others.
A clinical HAWT MESS.
My anthem should be "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys.
Nobody ruins shit quite like me.
I burn bridges like no other and then set fire to my life raft as I toss my lifejacket off the side of my sinking ship only to put weights on my own ankles and jump off. I go down hard bitches!
I lack the ability to let anything go and in the end I go nowhere.
Indian name: "Holds Grudges"
Here is sit 34 and more confused than ever.
I have gained no clarity as to what it is I'm supposed to be doing with this life of mine.
Aren't we supposed to gain wisdom with age? I certainly feel as if I have regressed.
I feel so angry, hurt, lonely, lost, and confused.
The phone calls have stopped, the text messages no longer come. There's only so many times you can push people away before they pack up and leave for good.
I don't just force people off the reservation, I send them limping away in a trail of tears and shower them with fiery arrows.
I'm mean.
I'm angry.
I'm furious.
I hurt everyone.
I hurt myself.
Nobody likes a sad girl who grew up to become a sad woman.
EMO is kinda cool at 16 not so much when you're pushing 40.
Addictions: I've got those too.
Vices: CHECK!!!
I spend too much money and when the thrill of the purchase dies a little bit of myself dies too.
Nothing seems to fill the void that is inside.
It's been growing steady and strong since they c-sectioned my 8 1/2 pound ass out of my mother's womb, back in 81.
All the shine is gone and the tarnish has started to rust.
Where the fuck is the rust remover????
How does a mind so beautiful, so intense, so full of intelligence make so many stupid decisions?
I am mayhem on Adderall and Red Bull, smothered in gasoline with a lighter in my shaking hands.
I'm a nurse I help people, fix them, make them better; so why for the love of GOD can I not do it for myself?
This my friends is why I am single. Un-datable. Unlovable.
I'm not even a crazy cat lady because cats don't typically like me all that much.
If I were a substance I'd be that cornstarch and water shit that we made in science lab back in 7th grade.
Not quite liquid, not quite solid, Just weird, shapeless, mysterious but fun to play with for a while.
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