Dear Infinity, You pushed the wrong button you call me emo again and i WILL gouge out your eyes with a rusty spoon. there are two men who are perfectly willing to marry me and make babies with me and dedicate their lives to making enough money so that we don't starve and the sex is good and they're sweet enough i suppose but they aren't smart i suppose they're smart about some things but they aren't smarter than ME and i happen to know that i'm stupid and i care about them but i am so fucking lonely and the verbal diarrhea is draining and it makes me want to cry but i don't stop long enough to cry and i'm interesting enough to get away with desperately clawing for attention ALL THE TIME ALL THE TIME ALL THE TIME and in class today after six years of studying academia so well i can recognize the wrinkles of its butthole in class today i sat down while some white conservative completely out of touch with a label-less life professor explained to students of junior standing or higher what a metaphor is A FUCKING METAPHOR i am twenty three years old. my father just turned sixty. and i asked him to pay this institution an amount of money that i couldn't even conceive of when i was holding it in my hand so that SOME DOUCHEBAG COULD SIT THERE AND EXPLAIN WHAT A METAPHOR IS AND TELL US HOW TO SPELL SCENE? SCENE? i wanted to cry but instead i talked and talked and talked and repeated and paraphrased and made strange sounds while poking things because i feel dead inside and if that's emo you can fucking suck it infinity whatever your name is who has read my diary since forever but has never bothered to run into me in real life so we can have an awkward coffee moment because he's too fucking scared PUSSY! don't call me emo. i go cry now. |