I wonder if you know the harshness of the things you say to me when you're mad. When you say I hurt you far beyond words, and that the pain you've been through has been entirely because of me. Do you know this? Are you aware of the incompatibility we have? If I cause you so much pain and hurt, and if I treat you so wrong, then why are we together? And then when you bring up the option of me leaving you, and when I consider it, you threaten me with what may or may not happen in the future. I feel like you're psycho and even dangerous. You have anger issues. You don't even remember half the things you do when you're in an unconscious state of mind. Headbutting my eye, kicking my knee, slapping my hand, chestbumping into me.. I now have to redo my eye. You throw things like a kid, you get out your swords wanting to cut yourself, you yell and make me feel like shit. I clearly haven't been so happy with you, and how this relationship is going, so just let me go. You've been putting too much pressure on me, my life, and decisions, it's unbearable. Things were great before. And sure we hide things. You caught me shoot one text to someone you utterly dislike. And I saw those missed calls back in the day. Or those FB messages. Or that license plate keychain under my Valentine's Day poster in your closet. Which is also why I'm taking that poster back and disposing it. I don't want it collecting dust along with the other hidden treasures. I hate relationships!! I'm not ME anymore. All I feel these days are bitterness, jealousy, regret, anger, and sadness. That's the current me.

Flattery Operated.

The difference between cute, pretty, hot, and beautiful. I have been called cute, and on the rare occasion, pretty in certain pictures. But never hot and beautiful. Not being called hot doesn't bother me. But beautiful. I have not been called that yet. No one has been me in their eyes, as beautiful. No man has ever called me the most beautiful girl in the world. And it's a little sad. When a man says that, it means he sees that girl as truly beautiful, and no other beauty could top that. That's when a man is in love with her. Now, I know I am not that pretty. I don't look that good. I have so many physical flaws, and my personality doesn't always make up for that. I have terrible acne scarring, uneven eyebags, oily skin, a flubby stomach, wide feet, scars, no butt, thick calves, oh the list goes on. So I can understand why it's hard for someone to ever see me as beautiful. I get called cute, probably because of my animated facial expressions. Probably. But we all know that being called cute is a weakest form of a compliment when it comes to discussing looks. Being pretty is alright; probably really flattering. Being called hot is just a milder version of sexy, and just boosts up the ego. But beautiful. Ah, to be beautiful is a blessing. A blessing I have never experienced. I know I am nowhere near being beautiful, and even though I am not quite the romantic, I wish someone would see me as beautiful. A man who really thinks I'm the most beautiful girl in his world, would be a keeper. I don't need to fish for compliments, and I am not flattery-operated. But I have yet to meet someone who thinks I am beautiful.

I wish I could say I'm still happy with you. Out of all honesty, I think we lost "it." That spark that made us at one point in our relationship, so content with ourselves, so thankful to be together. We were pretty much inseparable; our daily agendas had to consist of time together. Sure we argued here and there, but we always made up and shoved the pile of anger, jealousy, and bitterness to the side. We got into a fight; cup our hands with another pile of that sort and push it to the side. We fight over miniscule details that irritate us so, and scoop another pile. After our typically heated tousles, we'd still get jabbed by that irksome pile, but time slowly plastered a wall, layer by layer. After some fights, more and more layers started to thicken, and now we had a sort of wall. A wall that was once paper-thin, to a brick wall with soundproof padding. Now, communication couldn't be spoken through. Our hard-headed skulls were indifferent to the hurt feelings, the hurt we were feeling. For me, communication is something I do not practice very often. But when I drink, everything comes out. Like free verse, my speech is most likely overwhelming due to the fact that I hardly speak how I feel. I know you make that effort to get through to me. You do a great job with communicating with me, however I do not reciprocate. That must be terrible: never knowing how I feel or what I'm thinking. I wish I had a slippery tongue, and let my words slide right out. But my pride or whatever it is that's holding me back, won't let me. Our current stage isn't at its finest. Even talking to you on the phone, can make me so annoyed. We're only happy when we're fucked up. When we're sober, we're stoic. I feel like our happiness faded; we're now archaic. And yes, it's primarily my fault. I give up. We were once golden. Now we're gold dust.