this one's about me.

I've been bitter for as long as I can remember. Cold, he called me, like liquid nitrogen cold. I'll try very hard not to freewrite, but no promises. This transition began before I even bled, before I even knew the meaning of reproduction-- you've opened my eyes and still a bit blurred, I see. Trying to please everyone around me has caused me to loose a sense of myself. I have so many different levels of evil.... I digress. You know you're not everything I want, but you try to be. Telling me "you'll love me after this", or "anything you want, you got it" isn't making me love you any more or less. But I appreciate you for that. I appreciate the big things, as well as the minor things, but the bigger things more because they rarely happen. A perfect night, no matter the day, is with any 7 of my Audrey Hepburn films, a bowl of Top Ramen noodles and you. I'm not hard to please, but you are just so fucking difficult. I tell you what I want, you want to know how I feel. I'm young so I can't even decipher my own feelings. Only able to tell you what I want, when I want it has gotten me no where, but here. Over three hundred cuts/scars on my legs and arms, and you want to know the story for every last one. And I commend him. I commend him only because he knows that I know he doesn't want to know shit about my childhood; he only wants to know what skills I've learned from my childhood so he can expierence euphoria. I know I'm not the best and I know you think I am; when I fail you're either shocked or not suprised at all. It scares me how well you think you know me, yet I'm not fully aware of myself. Writing this will only lead to further destruction. I pray this will help me, but I don't know half the time why I'm angry. Surrounding myself with friends, strangers at that, so I'll feel more comfortable in my own skin. Healing is better when you're with people who don't know you well enough to judge you. I try to be on the scene as much as possible now, seems like thats tearing bits of me away. I noticed how down I wanted to be and it disgusted me. I nearly died at the thought of me becoming what I most despise-- not to sure if I despise anyone really. I'm shit compared to most. Scary how harsh I judge myself, I don't agree at all. Better me than someone who didnt see it coming. He texted me: "I smoke and 'find myself', and hardly ever find anything." That shit made so much sense to me, i el oh elled it away and acted as if it didn't phase me. Me an him talk too much on lost love, being out of love, living surrounded by love, love leaving us, people misaking sex with love, shit that I don't want to discuss because I'm not soft. People tend to equate sex with love to often. Not me though, which is why I can't speak on that topic vividly. I knew when I loved, how to love certain people, how I should carry myself in the presence of those I thought loved me. Shit like that made me appear genuine, sincere even, but I'm lost now. Don't know when it's the real me talking or the actress. They told me they'd rather die than find out I not Who I said I was. But who would they find out this information from? And isn't death our only promise? . I hate being in these situations where the male swears to Jehovah himself that he's better than me, and I have to put him in his place because he didn't expect me to know what the fuck is was/is that I want in life. Fuck what you fucking heard, I am Isis. I've been placed on this earth for one purpose and that is? --please tell me. Living in this goal-obsessed society to be someone who isn't quite sure what they want is hard as fuck! Guidance isn't what I need, I need someone who doesn't know who the fuck I am to evaulate me. To make a damn good hypothesis and tell me the conclusion. If I'm hopeless, let me rot. I've been rotting since birth, I won't mind.