A Little Poem
It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny,
it doesn’t matter if your fat.
As long as you’re not a bitch,
I don’t care about all that.
It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny,
it doesn’t matter if your fat.
As long as you’re not a bitch,
I don’t care about all that.
When I went to the movies.
I saw this chick.
And I had a chance
I gave her a little lick.
I kissed her for an hour.
Be for I did see.
We both had some fun.
I was kissing me.
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Because she was so beautiful.
Her lips were soft and moist.
I purposed her on that day.
I lifted her on a hoist.
She was my chick.
We were so gay.
But we broke up two months later.
To bad anyway.
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That girl and me made history.
Boy I loved her so.
I wished I could find her now.
Where did she go.
I searched high and low.
There she is right there.
I think I’ll go kiss her.
All over her derrière.
_______________________
Sometimes I still think of her.
When I’m all alone.
When I’m sitting in my cell.
Gnawing on a red bone.
I think her name was Susan,
Or maybe it was Jan.
What ever her name was,
She was a man.
1. Announcing to that world that you joined a fan page that you (and everyone else) will forget existed that next day.
2. Quoting lyrics to generic pop and/or rap songs. Supposedly they have a personal “meaning” behind the lyrics. Which is total B.S..
3. Bitching that you can never seem to find the right guy and that the ones you do find turn out to be assholes. Usually said to fish for compliments.
4. Legitimate status updates, i.e. what you are doing (or going to do), where you are, and so-on-and-so-forth.
5. Farmville updates. Seriously, nobody gives a damn that you found a “special rare” egg. No you’re the special one.
It’s not just you…
We all have the most bizarre thoughts…
Impulses constantly flowing through our heads that would have dramatic conciquences if we actually went through with them…
So why don’t we?…
Why do they stay in our heads?…
The answer is simple…
CONTROL.
There are many things in this world that I don’t understand. Why people die, why there are car accidents, why the sky always looks the best on days that I have other things to do besides be outside.
But what is most puzzling, above all, is people. What I’m talking about isn’t something complex, like addiction, or murder, or rape. It’s something so simple that it’s almost impossible to understand why I can’t seem to grasp it.
People hurt each other every day. Whether someone beats the shit out of someone and breaks their nose, or calls another person a faggot because they’re too close minded to understand the way people are born, or the decisions they make.
But the worst part about hurting people is those who have the capacity to try and regress and fix what has long been broken. You would think that after beating the shit out of someone with a broken rusty pipe emotionally, you would come to the realization: Hey! Maybe I fucked them up so badly I shouldn’t try and fix things, because in reality, it’s only going to be the equivelant of setting them on fire while they’re alive. It takes a conscious mental thought to fuck with other people’s lives. I would know, I’ve done my share of breaking people down until they literally want to kill themselves. And do I talk to those people anymore? No. Because there was a reason in the first place that I said and did all that shit.
So, if a person is attempting to shut you out of their life and move the fuck on, and it was your fault they want nothing to do with you anymore, take the hint. I’m not a bitch, seriously, I fucking hate bullshit drama blah blah blah. But I posted this blog to everyone. If you are going through anything I just listed, and it’s your fault or even if it was done to you, remember why they aren’t in your life anymore. Remember why the friendship, the relationship ended.
Stop. Hurting. Other. People. Plain and simple.

Oh how I despise you, MySpace.
The following concerns MySpace profiles that for some reason of another must blare music in my ears as soon as the page finished loading.
Let me put it this way: although everyone does it, nobody likes it when music starts playing as soon as the page loads. If I wanted to hear some sh*tty band you’re obsessing over, or some generic tune that describes your sorrow over some insignificant break up, I’ll press *play* on my own. But, chances are, that isn’t going to happen.
Comment below if you agree or you can shatter me emotionally with your hateful comments.
It’s your choice.
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