boyswhy

"The Boys That Just Won't Leave"

A fit of rage in a battle of multiplicity can be a bit of a bad omen in the moment of the world. What am I trying to say? I'm really tired of fucking ex-boyfriends thinking that they still hold some major standpoint in my life. It's over, I'm gone, you're done, you can leave now! But this chaos is not so easily fixed. There are feelings that remain - bitterness to portray - material items to be exchanged - friends to be divvied up - post-break up sex to be had - volumes of books to be written about cheaters and bastards and the nice guys you got too easily sick of. Then in a million ways over, you wake up one day and some new boy is sleeping next to you - in the wonderment that is lust - and you wonder to yourself, 'I have to do this again'? Thus repeats the cycle, every time adding some new dramatic soul to your life that just won't go away until there are too many to count on both hands and you find yourself inhibiting the wastelands of jock bars and sorority chick coffee houses just to avoid these little boys. So then what?
A standstill question in the minds of girls everywhere. Do I have an answer? Well, I was hoping you could let me in the secret of ridding boys from the daily routine of life. I suppose it is some compliment that they just can't walk away - but compliments are only sincere for a period of time until they get a bit old and tattered and annoying in that ever so unpleasant way. Soon that "compliment" of them not wanting to get over you becomes pathetic and useless. You start seeing them in a new way of disgust and lack of respect. You lose all pity you had and just want to slap them and tell them to, "be a man." A man? Ha. These boys could use a dose of testosterone, something to make them realize that you're sleeping with other boys because you'll never be found in the moment of sex in their bed again. The post break up sex had been had and gone and in that moment, you realized just why the relationship didn't work much - the poor boy couldn't fuck for shit. Of course this is along with a million other reasons of his poor character and lack of attention and that way he drove you insanely crazy. But that's neither here nor there.
No, the point of this entire rant is this: When all is over and you see that girl you put all of your heart into walk away with no regrets - most likely she's leaving because of your own fault - get some fucking balls and get over it! Don't call her constantly. Don't leave emails of pathetic tales and certainly, my god, certainly do not, I repeat, DO NOT, get drunk and show up at her door thinking you're going to fix everything when you can't even pronounce your own name. You'll just be shoved to the alley and left for dead. Because I think if boys just stopped over exaggerating the way girls act and think, they'd find it all a very simple thing. Either we're happy - or we're not. If we're happy - then you're in the good. If we're not - you're out the door. All you have to do is figure out whether or not we're happy and you'll have all the answers to the female mind and the tactics of life. But then again, that would require a boy to actually read between the lines and that's just asking too much - but that's another story for another time.

"i don't know - it feels - good? relieved more like"

She's been through this a thousand times over - saying goodbye and ending ties. And it's never lasted and she's always felt petrified by removing the single soul from her life - everytime she walked away - she'd run back in fear and sadness. And now that it's happened again - she doesn't feel like walking back - she doesn't even feeling taking a last look - there's nothing left to see. And moving on in the moments of anger and love - she feels this weight being lifted and smiles. With Avail screaming in her ear, ". . .if I never see you again, I'm counting my blessings, I'm higher now than when I broke down. . ."
The giddiness creaps up and she starts screaming - not out of anger or frustration or sadness or love or lust or insanity or immunity, but from happiness in the relief a huge burden being lifted. She screams and runs aroudn her room - dancing like a psychotic inmate - to the fast steadiness and rasp voice and strung out guitars that is Avail. She lets every note take over and smiles as she stumbles over strewn clothes and books. She screams until her voice is gone and falls on her back staring at the ceiling. Smiling. For the first time in years she feels free, like she has broken unbreakable cuffs that he held her with. She stands up and puts her hands on her hips and looks at a box that has been taped up for months. She opens it and grabs some records, a few rare in title - says out loud, "I think I'll go play frisbee by the river."

"kansas city seems to suck from here. . . but then again, so do you"

Oh Keraouc Jack with your Kansas City notions. Haven't heard from you in quite some time, except for a few moments that probably guilted you into doing so. Guilt and wanting something. You appear to say you're crying, I suppose expecting a friend, but when I needed you the most, you had to "walk your dog." So Kerouac Jack with your jazzy emotions I hardly ever think about you. Only times when I'm posed to write about my past, about boys who thought they could do what they want. I suppose I should shed some light on the way you thought you were, the way I thought you were. But my mind isn't so clouded anymore and you're not hidden behind misery. So write I will and how I see fit, they say a writer has the best form of revenge - to write you as they see you with every single character flaw, to never be erased. But I have no vengence towards you. So write will I with my past in my mind and I'll paint you as I saw you from the beginning to the end. And perhaps, this time that you've declared silence - as you usually do every three months or so - will be the last time I hear from you and that will be fine, just don't show up three months from now - I won't be here, like I always am, I won't want to rewrite our end.

"notice the passing moments. . ."
Signals are sent through fascinations of past experiences. Fuck them and leave them - an old proverb. But still in play in the human mind as you read. Don't send them into oblivion, they're just being themselves. But do me a favor and give 'em a couple of bruised balls. You're never what you seem and I can't break this idea of lust. So let's end this charade of fish on a line. Throw me back or keep, I don't give a fuck anymore. Losing someone you once loved is a horrid event, but losing someone you never loved is a game of catch. Even worse, requires more skill.
I loved the boy with the southern accent, but the one with the scratch deep still boggles my mind and these are the dramas I'm entitled to in my daily life. I'm not sure which is which anymore and even the boy that has the title of "The first to break my heart" at an old age of 23, he still comes around to make sure all is not calm within. I know that I probably bring this all on myself, but I'm a 24 yr. female with a bad case of boy craziness. What's a girl to do?

"soon, when I have decided it is the right time. . ."
I'm erasing the past. Letting go of history. I remember the facts and that's I'll need to make sure it won't be repeated.
No more communication.
No more ties.
Break.
Sever.
Disconnect.
My friend looks at me with a sorrowful smile, knowing that I finally have made the right decision. She says, "About time."
I say, "Time is something more powerful than minutes."

A sad sorrow to forgive and not be forgiven back.
A sad sorrow to remain appreciative in the background.
My mind furrows with anger.
My mouth wants to shout the truth.
To hurt like they've hurt.
But my mind knows better, it settles itself into another set, not letting the words flow to my fingers, typing the entire story for the world to see, for her to know the truth.
It's not easy to let go a friend that never acted as so, you'd think easy would come to mind, but harsh anger comes to mind.

So deleted.
Refrain.
Let the machine pick it up.
Block the emails.
Let life finally let me live.
Kiss whoever I want to kiss.
Fuck whoever I want to fuck.
Stare into the eyes of whoever I chose.
And finally I will do what I want with whom I want.

"I'm back, I'm ready to go. . ."
I ain't no goddamn sonofabitch, you better think about it baby. . .
Just when it seemed like my life might have calmed down, I have to move back to the parents house for a couple months, long story. I don't feel like telling you. I don't feel like, well, really dealing with you. Not you the reader, you the insensitive bastard who reads this. And if you're questioning yourself, "gee, is this me?" Fuck yeah it's you. You sitting at your computer so reassured. Reassured that I'll always be here. Well you know what? hehe. . . --------
I've found a way to put you away. These ceilings that we stared at when you fucked me for the five minutes you could last, on the phone or in the bed. I've found a way to get away from what you think you could put through me, you and you and you. . .
I've figured out the motions of absence of love and I've learned to get what I want and it's not you and it'll never be you or you or you again. . .
All of you boys think that you could just walk over me and I'm the lonely little girl that will say, "ok, whatever you say" Well I don't think you realized who you're dealing with and when you're old married to some hack of a wife, thinking about the past, you'll regret what you lost and I'll look back and thank the gods above that you fucked up because if you didn't, i might end up with you in the shit hole that you will call life.