Will you like my backside?

To miss you
Is such a waste of time
For one, you won’t come back
Two, you were never mine.

To miss you
Is also very irritating.
First I won’t be able to piss you off
Second, no more sadistic waiting.

To miss you
Is to want your hair
For one, to lash across my face
Two, caress every inch that’s bare.

To miss you
Is to hear your brazen laughter
For one, it awakens every sense in me
Two, I like the way you look after

To miss you
Is to deny your existence
First, I don’t really think of you much
Second, missing you is just pretense.

And I can’t think of anymore rhyming lines. Also, I am getting pissed off thinking about You. You, who? Yoohoo!

“Last night I saw a side of you I wish I had never seen,” said another. Well, what side do I show then? The inside? Outside? Backside? My early-morning side is definitely out. I don’t look pretty when I wake up, you know. I look… sleepy. Definitely not like the women who inspire early morning poetry on look-how-she-sleeps-like-the-morning-dew etc. If my nose is blocked, I will even sleep with my mouth open. Not very dewy, I’m sorry.

Then there’s the side of me that loses temper. The side that flares for a minute (or some) and lord! How it flares. It scares a lot of men. It turns off most others and blows my chances of making crazy love after a crazy fight. Again, I don’t look like any goddamningly beautiful warrior princess or anything when angry. I just look a small woman getting really angry. And my mouth does draw into a very thin, tight line and my eyes get very mean. So I don’t think you will like that side of me either. Shrug. No one seems to like the entire package.

“You don’t always look beautiful.” Yes, I know, I am sorry, forgot to insist on that one before I met you. You don’t look beautiful, you get too angry, you have too many opinions, why do you have to say something everywhere, why aren’t you patient enough, etc. So I am not all that you want me to be. Do you think I should kill myself for it? Arre baba, DON’T like me. Go away. Look! Turn your head and you will see the most gorgeous woman walking down towards you. There, now you can grovel at her feet. Sigh. Beautiful women scare me. I ALWAYS lose out to them. (grim) Smile.

And yes, Apollonia surfaces again. Apollonia? The drop-dead gorgeous Sicilian chick Michael Corleone falls for in The Godfather and forgets his fiance-in-waiting, Kay Adams. So no matter WHO I like, there will always be an Apollonia and I will always be plainer than her. SO BE FUCKING IT.

And I miss dancing. There is SO much pent-up energy that I NEED to get it out of my system. Men are not helping. They don’t do anything for the energy, except for fucking trying to psychoanalyse me. Seriously, why bother?

DEAR GOD.
Isn’t there ANYONE with whom I can just BE? Who can fucking handle me? Who will know when to keep quiet – while I blow my lid – and then put me in my place with some terse words? (Anything more would make me violent, ha ha) Someone who will see through the sometimes-false bravado and call my bluff? And yet someone who will hold me close when sometimes, I put the confidence on a hanger? Someone who tires me in bed? And yet has the patience to wait for me to open up? So I am combative… don’t tell me, dear god, that you didn’t create even ONE man who can match up? What the fuck. And don’t tell me, dear God, that you’re vacationing either. I haven’t had a holiday since March 2006, how the hell are you on a break?

AAAAAAAAARGH. I so, so, so NEED to dance.