(no subject)

[crazybeautiful]

then he magically reappears and shatters the night's brilliance, my opportunity of growth and hope. for the sake of poetry, i kept this: How I loathe his existence, that sick, fucked up vision of a man. He is a shattered, jagged piece of the mirror of masculinity that we all look into and see ourselves opposite. I hate him. And for once, only once, the allowance I am giving myself is relentlessly assuring. I hate him, and I am allowed to hate him. I don't care if he knows. Actually, the more he knows, the better he knows to stay out of my way.


I want opportunity to call me;
somebody, call for me.