Three Vasaris of Twenty Eleven

Girls are the most miserably painful creatures on the face of the Earth. Which leads me to loving Ventrilo more than ever now. I can listen, and someday speak, to all the boys/teenagers that I desire to know better. And even though I really don't know what's going on, I can hear them. It would be creepy, but they know I'm here.

I am not a tyro of the life alone. And neither are you. However, with you, it's unsurprising. I am not seraphic, but I care about people and give them a chance. Unlike you. You are so introverted and stuck up in your own ways that you're far too obsessed to be anything but horribly annoying. Everything fell apart not because I changed, but because I stripped off my false skin and exposed my umbrage out. It should never have had to hide; Nor should it have existed. I'm not some bitch for finally telling you how they feel. No wonder she left you and let all her friends tell you off. At least I'm not that heartless. I was converted to hatred of someone I never knew because I "had to." Why is it that everyone has to share your opinion? But, I guess that's how friends have to be, right? We aren't your sycophants! Friends aren't like that. That's when it hit me. You're just like him. Sure, he valued you as a friend because you never fell to him-but the problem is that you two are alike in that way. No reason for you positions, no justification. And everyone has to be yours. Your friends. You opinions. Your last word. No. I'm not here, complaining, trying to upbraid you. I'm just pissed off. There's no reason for me to act sanguine when I don't feel that way. Here's another thing: You're unsupportive. I remember that Thursday when you told me I didn't support you with boys, I was literally laughing in my head. Uh, stupid bitch, what boys? Oh, right, they don't exist. I wonder why! Anyways, you're unsupportive. You go off on your all-about-me tangents and then won't listen to a word I say about what is important in my life. You bring up your friends, who I don't know but know don't like me, and I listen. I laugh. I understand. I bring up him, someone important in my life, and you glare me down, shoot me evil glares. Maybe your logic is that I'm unsupportive because I'm not alone with you. Maybe that's because I'm not a bitch and actually treat boys like people instead of being an overwhelmingly sardonic. Which brings up another point; you're also contradicting. Your life isn't a paradox. You logic is that you need a guy, who you care about, to tell you to improve your looks. Because, obviously, it's the best choice to have some guy say, "Bitch, you're fat." or, at beast, "You've been gaining some weight." And you hate yourself so much, it's like you're asking to make it worse. Every time I told you that you could help yourself, your torpor gets in your way. Oh, and hypocritical. "I was bullied!" --> 'Help me, I'm so innocent! Don't hurt me feelings! But, I will hurt you like none other and I have the right to because I was hurt when I was younger and I'm damaged! Sure, it was, like, seven years ago, but they were mean! So, I have the right to be judgmental and critical and rude to everyone because I'm a cynic.' -Facepalm- And then you say that you don't treat your friends the way you treat people you don't know, but how do you expect to make friends when you're an unfeeling bitch? This makes me wonder if you were ever trying to be a toady...And there it is -hypocritical, bitchy, contradictory, unsupportive.
(Feel lucky I didn't decide to mention all the infamous times you've tried to "guilt trip" me.)

Do not let that last paragraph convince you that I am some goddess of right, because I don't have an inferiority complex and I can admit that I'm wrong. I know that I'm a "bad" human being according to standards of society. I hate kids, I have ribald tastes, I'm sometimes stentorian, I am mainly stolid when I hate people, come on-I have a surfeit of bad things I could list about myself. I would never claim to be a sacrosanct like you are.

Gosh, that paragraph was supposed to be about these last few days, but I guess I just had a few more things to say about you.

Your voice is trenchant is holding onto my heart. Some people may believe that our choices may be have bad salience, but it doesn't. Only sublime affection.

I can't wait for your rejoinder.

My meter is not a heartbeat in iamb,
or a reverse.
My heart's chorus calls out to syncopated notes,
that are completely tacit.
The impossibility is for me to be spartan when my heart is,
in a way of tiny tongues, turgid-
Past towns have left me feeling like the practice of love
left talons in my veins,
while soporific things left me dead.
Dreaming and death were connected by Hamlet,
as he tried to pride his home and castle.
He had such sedition; I envy it.
Arrest me for usury of my soul,
and specious tall tales.