I despise kissing you because I can't stop thinking about how delicious you are, how you cradle my face, and how you breathe on my neck when we're together. I despise giving you a kiss. I despise waiting in your bed for you to close the curtains and snuggle into my arms. I despise having sex with you. Getting up in the morning and tracing your inane tattoos makes me angry. Your morning breath makes me angry. And you hold me so tightly against you because, as you say, I'm so soft and warm. I'm shivering inside because I know I'll miss you for days after you leave. I despise having sex with you.
I developed the ill-conceived 'cool-girl' persona, the one that gives the impression that I am careless. In other words, I'm the cool kid. In other words, I'm the cool girl who makes your bed, leaves early, and doesn't bother you for a week with text messages because I'm the cool girl who leaves early, laughs with, and says, "You're so fun." Whenever you want, I'll vanish. When you need me, I'm there, and when you don't, I'm gone. Not really, but I am the cool girl you've always wanted. I'm the hottest chick.
Despite the fact that I'm the sexiest girl around, I despise kissing you.
When I get home, I can't stop thinking about you and wait for your ridiculous name to appear on my computer screen. You've been put on "do not disturb" and "restricted" status on my Instagram, so I can no longer see your name. You can't talk to me. I've turned you off. To see your name or not see your name, that is the question. In spite of my reluctance to be bothered by your presence, I check my phone every hour. I want to be able to sleep at night. Nothing but peace has come from you. That swiping on the applications you're doing in bed is well known to me. I know you're simply interested in meeting new people to fuck and feed off of them, and then you want to disappear so they can continue to be cool girls.
I'm everything you say you want, but nothing you actually desire.
I am no longer who I used to be.
A reminder pops up on my phone, saying, 'I'm not my bad thoughts.' That's where I'm going.
As a classy girl, I don't want to kiss you since it makes me feel out of place.
So, what's the point of waking up so early in the morning? What's the point of you kissing my head? How does one begin the day by strumming a Neil Young song? Because you know that the light awakens me up, why do you cover my eyes with a shirt? Why do you make me like you, just to depart when I need you the most? Just why do you behave as though you care, or tell me you care?
I despise you to the core.
I'm constantly looking for faults with you so I may vent my rage upon you. That might be a good idea. That might help me break free of your grip on me. I may be able to force myself to dislike you. I see food stuck in your teeth, but I don't tell you about it until it's all gone. I strive to make that image a part of my consciousness. With a piece of spinach between your teeth, you and your silly grin. Nothing. When you're adoring me in my dreams at night, there's nothing in your teeth. Nothing. Imagining you taking a bath and resting there with your long legs bent, your arms at your side, is a challenge for me. Nothing. I can picture you standing awkwardly in a large line by yourself, unsure of what to do with your arms when the time comes. Nothing. Running in flip-flops is how I picture you. Nothing. Imagine a gathering of individuals trying to make a joke that fails. Nothing.
Talking evil about you is my only goal. I don't often like to criticize people, but this could be the only way to get through this. As a result, I tell my friends that you're a lousy lover, that you don't know how to touch me, and that you're still in touch with your ex. Because of your jaw locking and the fact that you come from North Carolina, I'm going to assume you're a North Carolinian. When he hurts me, I rationalize it. Nevertheless, you aren't causing me any harm.. Everything is well with you. I'm the hottest chick.