diary.

I grew up believing that if you kept a diary then chances are secretly you want someone to read it, at least that's what my mom says. So I always kept some form of a diary but I never was able to discipline myself enough to keep it up on the daily basis. Frankly, I just never had that much to say. Never one to speak on my feelings right when I'm felling them so I let them fester. Fester until I can no longer take it. Next thing I know I have a pen in hand and I'm letting it all drain into the paper. Now I have the internet. I don't even think I just type. So I guess here it goes..

Who do I want to read this? Maybe my mother who I feel like I constantly let down and no matter how fucked up my logic is I never seem to get it right. To wake up one day knowing that it won't be wounded disappointed eyes staring back at me. I could want the boy I like to read it. Maybe I may incidentally give him the green light. Let him know that I understand drunken words are sober thoughts and I applaud you for being straight forward with me. Maybe I want a friend to read it so they know that they don't know everything. That they can't provide all the answers when they always seem to find themselves worse off than me. I possibly want a stranger to read the whole thing and tell me I'm not crazy. That everything I go through is normal and I'm just moving with the times. Maybe I just wanna keep it all to myself.

Lately (since saturday) I've been thinking about this one boy. He always was a looker but usually I can decipher who I think I just wanna have a "slut it up" moment (thanks dana dane) to those who can actually see myself with. I never looked at him either way. He talks too much, he brings trouble, I wish he would shut up were all normal thoughts in the off chance we had conversation/interaction with one another. Saturday those drunken wants turn into some drunken words to a drunken epiphany, on his part. Still content with giving him the occasional "do it face" he was giving me the i can wife you speech. All that drunken mess for him turned into a sober want from me. I haven't heard some real talk like that in a while but it seems that it ended at the party. If I revealed all that he did I think I would be stand offish too. Anywho this is his PSA: Don't be hesitant. I like you the way you like me. So lets get together and give it all a try.

Mommy. Oh my sweet mother. The apple of my eye. The blood that pumps through me. The rock that gets me through my days. You will never know how I really feel because I'm a FUCKING JERK. I'm sorry for the hell I caused and the pain that I know nothing about. I cry myself to sleep too, thinking about going back to fix my errors. But ma, I can't. I have a problem that no one can help me with but me. My thought process has been shitty since day one. All I ever wanted to do was rid you of the pain that I believed to be my father, when really it's me. I'm sorry for it all. I'm sorry I'm here. I'm sorry I exists. I'm sorry for just...me.

Friends. Let me live. I have to sink or swim on my own. Your help is valued but you aren't always right. I have to do somethings myself. You don't know how to react to every situation and you can't compare it to you because clearly I'm not you. You can;t live vicariously through me so stop it. I love you who I do consider my friends but sometimes I'm only telling you shit because I wanna tell somebody. Just let me rock so I don't have to hear the I told you so's. Just throw me an "I hate niggas" party and move on.