Stop Being Fake

It’s raining outside, which means that it’s a fabulous day to rant. I’m in a sexy, red-laced bodysuit and black Spandex shorts wearing glasses, a bandana, dark mauve lip stain from the beauty supply store, and my GiveNoFucks attitude. Oh joy, oh joy!

Lately, I’ve been so baffled and hurt because I feel as though no one takes me seriously enough to have the decency to tell me that they’re blowing me off, or if they generally want me around them or not.

I’m the type of person who sees through people easily. I can laugh at your fake front that you put on for everyone else, because I’ve learned to laugh at myself sometimes as well. But I can see that everything you do is for other people to see you doing it, whereas I do whatever I want for myself. That’s the difference between us. 

I don’t care if you blow me off. I have my plans, and to be honest, I’ll go to clubs and parties alone because I’m a rock star like that. I AM a party on my own. I was in the entertainment business for a bit, I know how to keep eyes on me wherever I go. Maybe that’s why you treat me like I’m a stupid hoe. Having fun is not an issue for me, bringing someone along is anxiety-inducing at this point.

For me, it’s a matter of being considerate; more so, it’s about being fair. For example, I get peeved when people only want to see me on their terms alone. Texting me up the ass, telling me to hurry up when we’re not even going anywhere. Yet, when I invite people over to hang out with me sometimes, they assume I have all the time in the world for them to be late/not give me any notice whatsoever on why they don’t want to come. I’m just the type of person who has to get in a mood to be around people. I like my circle tight, and I give my friends a lot of space. For me to hang out with you is something I have to be prepared to do. And once I’m in that mindset and actually want to not waste my day by myself and you blow me off without notice, that’s just rude to me on all levels. I respect your time, I respect doing what you want to do, and if you don’t show me the same respect I do think of you differently. Don’t ever think you got it like that.

I’ll get into the special caveat now.

When I do go to someone’s place and that person brings another best friend, I expect equal attention divided between us. Don’t invite me to ignore me. I don’t care how long it’s been since you’ve seen your friend, if you’re inviting me too I don’t want to be ignored the entire time you’re with your friend. I didn’t know I was an audience member. Also what’s even ruder is when the long-lost, star-crossed friends make plans right the fuck in front of you without considering you at all. Especially to events that you know I’m going to be at, and you don’t refer to me and say that I’m going too. I don’t fuck with that.

Another reason why I’m mad today is because of my reaction to my last blog post. To any guy who thinks that my last poem “Secrets” is about them, you need to relax. First of all, it’s a persona poem. You cannot equate the speaker to the author of the poem. That goes for any creative piece. Also, please don’t act like you’re the only abusive piece of shit in my life lmao that’s cute. To any girl who thinks that I advocate abusive relationships, please don’t misrepresent my writing or my platform. I am a feminist, I live for peace and harmony, and I will only give my heart to someone who truly deserves it. The poem was a response to an Eminem song, “Crazy in Love” (which, fun fact, was NOT about Kim.) I wrote the poem because of how deeply I related to it. It was a culmination of past experiences and heartaches that enervated me for a long time, but like always, I let those experiences fortify me. I’d been in those moods where I was feeling nothing to feeling 80 emotions at once. It kept me up at night, dried my eyes out, and was absolutely nauseating knowing that I fell so hard knowing I would either break or be broken.

But these days I don’t care about people who want to make me feel their misery. I’m indifferent to you fuckers. You’re nothing but phantoms who inspire great writing and attempt to spook me every now and then.

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