Exclamationquestion’s Weblog

“I don’t care that I’m being immature I don’t care that I’m over dramatic I don’t care that I’m not making sense Sense can’t tell me how I feel”

Staring at a picture of us, I remember how I was when I met you. I was young, and quiet and I had forgotten what it felt like to meet someone. I had everything I needed then, I was fine, I was happy. But you had some things I didn’t have, you had scars, you had mystery, you had stories, you had experience, you had a beautiful name. I can’t remember what you were wearing, I only remember your eyes. You barely looked at me, your eyes ran away from me, I thought they were searching, I thought you could see something else, and that you would show me too. I thought that we could find whatever it was together. Now I know why those eyes couldn’t bare to look at mine, they couldn’t bare to see my brown eyes and simple face because they knew what would happen. You knew all along. You knew from the moment you met me that you could intrigue me. You knew you could wrap me up in a sheet blanket and I would never want to come out. It was all too easy for you. I was young, and quiet, and I had forgotten what it was like to meet someone. I had everything I needed then, I was fine, I was happy. Then you showed up, with your music, your books, your experience, your mind, and you knew you intrigued me. I stopped thinking, I didn’t think, I only trusted you. I fucked myself over. I lost myself in you, I let you lead me under the blankets, you were gentle with me, you were always gentle. I stopped caring, I had you- and you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. You cared, you were gentle- Then it all changed. I can’t remember why, or when, or how. Now I realize you got bored. I was boring. Kate with the curly hair and the simple face, not georgia with freckles, or alison with the blonde locks. And I thought all of your names for me were adorable, I thought that all of your jokes were only for me, I thought you were only gentle for me. Everyone told me to stop. Everyone told me to stop. Kate, with the brown curly hair, stop. Don’t listen to him, the boy with the wandering eyes. I didn’t stop. and when it happened, it didn’t even crush me. It didn’t crush me like the first boy had, I didn’t care. Because I was becoming bored too, I was becoming bored with your fake music, and your fake books, and your fake names. You weren’t real to me. I had stopped believing you long before it happened. You gave me scars, and experience, and mysteries and stories and music–I won’t ever forget the music. And I like those scars sometimes, because they are real, they remind me, they teach me. I like knowing, because when you know you won’t fuck yourself over again and again.  

“and You said You were playing basketball, You said the orange ball flew down out of the air with so much force that it broke Your hand. then You said You tried to fix it and fucked it up. Now You have screws and a plate underneath your skin. You have fake metal paired with Your fake blood and Your fake stories about a fake orange basketball when really all You want is a valium prescription” 

I am an unfinished sentence

And you,

You are a complete twelve page, single-spaced paper.

I am a question mark,

You are an exclamation mark.

Everyone can smell my cheap uncertainty,

Everyone buys your expensive cologne.

Favorites dart and escape me,

You capture yours so quickly and easily.

Sometimes I envy you,

And you won’t admit it but you envy me too.

So

Keep carving your casket

And I will keep gnawing my cage.