I Know You

I've seen you before, ya know.  I've smelt the sour stench of your falsities.  I've gorged on the putrid pile of your flesh and have always come up wanting.  You want me until I don't give you what you want, then onto the next that will tolerate your meagerness.  I know you.  I've met you before in others.

I was different once.

I use to hide this.  I use to scour the earth for hidy-holes large enough to fit my nonsense in.  Sometimes it wouldn't all fit and I'd have to sit a top it all...legs crossed, looking nonchalant, hiding nothing but embarrassment and shame.  I shouldn't feel this guilt any longer, for I have done nothing wrong.  Nor have you.  No blame.  No guilt.  It is your fault I am this way, however.  'Your', in the general sense, for you are all intrinsically identical.  Dissimilar packages in similar components.  I would never admit what I was feeling when I was treated so very poorly by your kind.  I would swallow it.  I would bury it.  I would accept that this treatment was as good as it would get for me.  No more.  I SAID, NO MORE.

I've thought in the past that because we are women- the weak gatherers who silently run the household/world whilst our bumbling lovers think they have the control- we are made to swallow it.  Created to receive what they dish out with gentle good humor.  'Boys will be boys.'  Fuck.  That.  They want their cake and to fuck it too.  Then if we've grown balls enough to speak up about our minds and delicate sensibilities, we are immediately thrust into the spotlight of ridicule and pointed appendages...err, fingers.  I am not crazy.  I am not irrational.  I am not jealous.  I am not going to sit by and fucking take your bullshit as so many women before me have.  All of my past relationships have failed.  Yours?  Common denominator?  I see.

You say such astounding things.  My breath has literally caught in my throat, I've been so overwhelmed by the manner in which you convey your love to me.  That is undeniable.  The other side of this unending sided bitch goddess, is that your actions are void of...action.  Well, not entirely true.  They speak encyclopedias to other women.  So.  Many.  Other.  Women.  You've lied.  You've cheated.  You've done anything in your power not to be found.  How am I the one who changes this?  I don't think I fucking am.  People don't change.  They get old and lazy.  Weary of the chase.  Tired of the expanse amount of energy necessary to maintain a facade long enough to get laid.  So, her I sit.  Last one standing.  Open arms and tear filled eyes.  Hoping for a heart that I could never possess.  You won't allow it.

They want it all.  As do I.  The sex addict who only gets off on your cock.  The librarian who masters physics and only gets off on your cock.  The saint who rescues burning kittens from a blaze and only, ever, gets off, on your cock.  The buddy who can chug a beer and crudely suck the cock only ever meant for her in the washroom while onlookers gaze lecherously from the urinals.  What are you to me?  Do you offer this?    Is any of that even on the table?  Of course not.  You want the little woman at home pining and yearning and waiting with breath held til your return when she can prove her longing for you with a nice good cock suck, while you have a myriad woman pawing at you on your nightly visits to the depths of hell.  Well, you can suck my cock.  Yeah, I've grown a big fat dick and we've decided we'll be perfectly happy together.  I shall ride my penis off into the sunset.  Enjoy your empty ego trips, for I require more.  HI-HO SILVER!