Mariana
I remember the first time I saw you. No makeup, pigtails, full rosy
cheeks, comfy trainers and the sweater that you loved. You told me you
only wore white panties as anything else was uncomfortable. We loved a
good argument. We puked at magazines that told us how to drive your man
wild in bed. We challenged people who said things like "it's political
correctness gone mad!" and "ladies don't laugh like that." We pigged out
on junk food so what?
Then we parted ways and you left for college.
I remember the first time I saw you after that. You cheeks were sunken
and you were pale. Your hair was ironed flat. You had on those pointy
boots; don't your feet hurt? And oh, what's that? A thong shoved up your
crack. You say you feel more feminine that way. Fine, but I'm not buying
it. I haven't seen your sweater again by the way.
Want some chocolate? Oh you don't eat that anymore, or this, or that.
Now you think that people should just chill and not take everything so
seriously. You can't talk now, you have to go and pick him up.
I ask you later what's up? You say, "it's just him" No it's not
him, don't lie. He's just being who he is, don't be a coward, it's you.
That's a lame cop-out and you know it.
I know love doesn't mean change who you are and that a victim can be
worse than the victimizer, you choose to stay there don't you? You have
legs, get out.
I don't change unless I want to, I'm not lazy I don't blame my
frustrations on others. Just don't expect me to sit around and wait for
you to find that out. I'm a bitch I have better things to do with my
time.
Yes! I want to read more from Real Life Heartless Bitches
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