Peanut butter really makes a person think.

Posted: August 14, 2011 in transliteration

You made me feel like
no one but you
could ever love me…

and even though I’m fairly certain now
that you did

love me

you didn’t make me feel like you cared
by trying to make me feel like you were the only one
that could ever possibly accept how damaged I was.

I’m a shit ton more fucked up now, by the way.

As a matter of observation; the more fucked up I admit that I am, the more people seem to accept me.
The more they expect and demand.
Here I am
estimating how many more days I can live off of a jar of peanut butter
because my best meal ticket
is out of town
and I spent grocery money on…a different part of myself.

I was never what you wanted, and if you thought I was…

“You can’t leave me. You know everything about me and still accept me.”

That, I suppose, is one of my major traits
good or bad
although you’re the only one to ever call me on it.
I haven’t had anyone say anything even remotely like that to me since you.
It gets me into a lot of trouble
and taking
at face value.

A lot of the shitty things you’ve said have been matched and surpassed, and all I can do is laugh, because what am I honestly going to do differently?
There are no huge surprises. There are no elaborate fabrications to untangle.
I am always this state of partially unhinged.

I believed you for a while.

It wasn’t me.
It was you.

I’m sorry you couldn’t accept that I’m stronger than you.
In all of my disgustingly weak, insecure, openly expressed flaws and vulnerabilities…
I’m my own person.
I haven’t grown out of it yet.
I’m not a thing.
You can’t gain a sense of ownership or control, or you can, but without my consent…you’re left with something completely different in my wake anyway.

Not me.

How long did you expect me to humor you?
How long will this jar of peanut butter last, because the end of the month is still

a long way off.


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