Interiority

just get the fucking fucked away from me

I like you.

There you go. 

But you’re this pompous asshole at times and I don’t even know what do with that, because I know how sensitive you are. Like when you start spitting your macho game at me, I’m just like why is this even happening because I know you. 

I. Know. You.

I am your “best friend.” Ohhhhh kaaaayyyy,

I know you better than you will EVER know yourself. You know how I know this? Because you say things that make me think hard about how you are all the time. You enjoy knowing that I care where you are, or if you’re okay. You keep calling it friendship. Friendship doesn’t end up with you pulling me on top of you to kiss or as you put it “look at the big dipper.”

Look bitch, the truth is I DO like you. You’re fun and easy to talk to and you remind me of this person I loved once. But you ARE THE KING of mixed messages. I stay up late sometimes going like “no really what am I doing?”

(for the record I could see where the big dipper was in the stars before you dragged me on your lap and acted like it was my idea)

I mean every. single. bit. of that series of texts I sent you. I do have crazy fun with you. I do find you amazing. I don’t lie for fun. It’s not really my strong suit but apparently it’s yours. Whatever. I’ll get over it.

You have a real problem with women. This makes me sad since you have a tiny woman to raise yourself. And you told me she’s raging against the machine already. My darling, my “friend” I need you to respect yourself more if you’re going to even think about being a whole person. I watched you do something I explictly asked you for your own safety and health do not even five minutes before.

Here’s the thing, my pretty baby and I’ll just be straight up: When you are my friend, you are always my friend, period. Even if you’re an asshole of the degree you can sometimes be. Like even after tonight, when you were being a total bag, like AN ENTIRE BAG of dicks, I walked back over to where I stormed away from you to make sure you were in a cab or whatever, because even though you do NOT deserve me, I am your friend.

However the other shit you do? I just really don’t know how to store that, or how to sort it. You gotta give me a clue, and if you tell me oh we’re just friends and I’m this or that or the other thing, the next time you even lay a hand on me, much less your lips in a dark parking lot on the grass? Fuck you, we’re not friends any more after that. I entertained the notion, you were a jerk, so fuck it.