Cake

Disclaimer: The following will be filled with anger, curse words and typing before thinking. This is a true snapshot of my twisted thoughts, busted brain and dead heart, as I will not be proof-reading this before I press "Publish Post." Continue if you must, and know I will regret this later.

Dear Lonely String-a-long Joe,

No. You do not get to have your cake and eat it too. You do not get to talk to me like I am a whore and say you're "disappointed in me." You are not my father. You are the one who loved me and left me crying in the airport parking lot. You built me up and made me feel impermeable to fault just to fly an airplane into my heart and take me out at my base. You watched me crumble to the ground. And you sat there! You fucking sat there and watched like it wasn't happening to someone else. You couldn't say a word other than, "I can't help how I feel."

But now you're back. Saying all the same wonderful things but getting jealous if I'm with someone else. You want to be special to me. Fucking 180. What happened? Someone doesn't do it the way I do? No one else makes you laugh or feel warm-fuzzies like I do? That's cause it's me and it always has been. (and you fucking know it.)

My fault: I - like a total jack ass - let you back in. But I question myself before letting my guard down too much, what does this mean? The reply? No commitments. Look Yankee, you either have all of me or none. None of this half ass, when it's convenient for you bullshit. "But you're in Texas." I get that, but then don't get mad at me for seeing other people. I'm not going to be back burner Janna who's there when you want to feel good about yourself. (Reference "Boomerang" Blog.)

That's not fair. That's not real. That's an idea. You're in love with a thought. You're infatuated with the facade. You miss a connection. You don't want me. You want an idea. I know that and it fucking kills.

All.

Or.

Nothing.

I haven't been the same person since that day in August. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, but you can look in the mirror and thank yourself for it. Because if you don't like it, fuck off. This is what you did.

It's my birthday in two hours and I have had more drama in the past day than I have had this whole year. This shouldn't be how my year of twenty-four begins.

War and Heartache,

Janna

Reset

Here we go again. Back where we started or where we left off rather. You there. Me here. I cannot imagine this ever working the way we want it or need it to.

But I just can't seem to let go.

You have my attention like you've had all the while.

I wish this damn button was real.

Thieving

You know when something is so loud you think you hear something else? For example, you're vacuuming and you have to stop because you swear you hear someone talking to you.

My head is occupied by this screaming, white noise of everyday life and all I hear is whispered calls of my name from something, someone. But when I silence this noise in my head and rack my brain for where to go, alas . . . only silence.

Maybe you hear it too? The same screaming feelings and emotions of what you think you're supposed to be screaming towards but someone else is calling your name.

It's not me. Your impetuous lust for attention fervors a desperate plea that makes me sick.