In My Pink High Heels

One of these days these boots are going to walk all over you.

Every once in awhile, I look at my previous posts and remember instances in my life that compelled me to write it. I remember how I felt, the small tiny details of the scuff marks on my shoes when my heart was breaking come rushing back with the lyrics of Fiona Apple.

What I fear most as I write this is that I will remember you with every worn out- key I thump.
You. You complete with your lies and deceit and beautiful kisses.

Smart women, strong women, women like me, all ugly on the outside, do stupid things. But you weren't my stupid thing. You were my right thing. You, at this point, make complete sense. You make sense.

You make sense in this world I have come to know, you were bound to happen, you married boy whore. you ugly beautiful stupid fuck. You. How I hate you.

How in your hypocrisy could you make your eyes so deep, in your deceit how did you make your lips so soft, in your manipulation how did your hand make complete mine?

How do you do it? how do you reconcile yourself with the mess you have made. How do you wake up and go on with your litte life? How can you ever look at me again with eyes so deep?

You never loved me. You loved the parties, the people, the money, the free tuk tuk rides. That's what you loved . The thought of me & my cosmo. Not my voice, it was her voice you called to hear, Not my body, it was hers you slept with every night, Not my tears, but hers when she pushed out your children.

Me. Your stupid, bossy distraction. Me. Your fucking queen, your fucking drama queen. Me, a stupid silly whore who thought for a second she could love you and be the only one.

So What? I'm still a rockstar.

Go on now, I hear your baby crying. I see her tit come out. I see your broke-ass kitchen and her 5.00 am rice and curry.

Stay the fuck out of my ilgelato life.

posted by pINKhIGHhEELS @ 12:08 AM