Monday, January 28, 2008

with all the angst of a teenage poet

Oh, internet.

There's nothing like coming home from a long [and at times, trying] day, and minding your own business on the internet...

and finding a photograph of some ex-friends of yours, hanging on on the couch you were raped on.

Laughing, having a good time. They know of the event but denial has already pushed it from their brains. Clearly 'she was a slut and seduced him. He would never have done something like that.' They aren't thinking for once second about the filth they sit upon, and that they are unknowingly propagating.

And then there was the boy who I wasted forever and a day upon while he kept his cock firmly inside of me and my ass planted hard on the back burner, while he conducted his little meaningless life in secret behind my back. I thought it was a lesson in my own inability to open up; in reality it was just another male wanting the best of both worlds and finding half of it in me. Never the important half, and never two halves or even three fourths.

I found out today that he's back with his ex-- not the one he talked about constantly, either... the one he had only mentioned once.. some story about feeding ducks out near Albany and having them climb right up on the picnic blanket. And knowing who he's with doesn't make anything hurt any more or less, it's just a reminder of wasted time and misplaced affection... that I want nothing more then to someday forget about.

The internet brings up all sorts of bad memories today.

I've spent a great deal of my life messed up, and letting people further mess me up. One day I will look back on this fondly as I realize what it had all been for.

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