I am desperate for conversation
*I feel like I haven't had a conversation with ANYONE in a long time.
*I've been too busy being bitter and hurt and selfish.
*and immature.
*I have been really immature.
*Expecting people to adore me and to acknowledge how smart and wonderful I am
*I have been pining for attention
*and I have been bitter and hurt
*snapping at everyone at school my comments oozing sarcasm
*false kindness
*the baby talk, the bull crap, It all has to stop.
*I've been a snob.
*A stuck-up jerk around everyone all the time.

*Snapping at my teachers, demeaning them in front of the class
*all in pursuit of the appreciation from people I don't care about.
*I always knew people changed quickly, sometimes events tear them apart and they rebuild with nasty hate for glue and then they thrust their acid attitude in the faces of those who approach them
*I guess I never thought I would become so mean.
*Part of me blames the compliments, people always saying how smart and nice and great I was.
*It made me believe that I was truly all of these things and that nothing could change these simple facts
*that these things would remain strong pillars of my being regardless of the gales that weathered them
*impregnable walls of personal strength.
*But it went to my head I have realized.
*and now I have little but disdain for the ones that laid the foundation bricks of my fortress of positive traits.

*the mortar has rotted and the workers are left with a tottering building that brick by brick falls upon their heads, each painful collision sows seeds of dislike.
*and now the people who built me up look upon their creation with bile in their throats and wish to tear it down.
*and all the while the acid rain from the factories from which they constructed the equipment to build rains down on them only fueling their burning rage
*and I watch them, and I laugh.
*Anger breeds within my breast
*and I shudder with pain from the hurt of my broken heart.
*How can I carry on I wonder.
*and then I realize all this, every last piece of rubble that steams in the subsiding acid rain and everything that I am and have done, was for the wrong reason.
*Am I good person? I think not.
*I am as manipulative as my mother
*and it is a mistake to open yourself to me
*for as others have torn me down, I will tear you down
*because I need your affection
*I crave your attention
*and I go mad without it.
*and now you can see that all that I am is a sad little girl in the corner, hiding behind the straight-backed smart aleck that I try to come off as.
*vulnerability is the key to my inner self. Softness and vulnerability.
*And bold, prideful, pain-inflicting, yet playing the victim, that’s the key to getting attention
*and I am good at it.
*and the world is lonely.