What is wrong with you?

No, like, actually.

What. Is. Your. Problem.

I tried to like you, I really did, but you are so disgusting.

Inside and out.

There is no win.

I loved you, fuck, I still do, but I don't fucking like you.

I did not leave you because we had ONE argument.

I did not leave you because I can't handle criticism.

I did not leave you because I didn't want to change.

I did not leave you to pursue someone else.

I did not leave you because I was pursuing someone else while we were together.

I left you because I didn't like you.

I left you because you were my first love, not my only, and not my last.

I left you because you were not the one.

You never were, you never were going to be, and you never will be.

When we were split, I thought I missed you and your romance, but I realize now that romance was never even there.

I didn't miss your love. I was mourning our friendship.

Every day we were together, I hated you more and more.

I hated when you touched me or would tell me you loved me.

I hated when you bragged to others about our "love story."

I hated how you talked shit about the people I cared about because I hung out with them when I could have hung out with you.

When I told Lex, he said we should've been friends with benefits.

What fucking benefits?

The sex I didn't want and didn't like?

The dates you never wanted to go on?

The dinners with your family where they would sit there and talk down on me while you laughed along?

The conversations you never wanted to have with me?

The making fun of my passions?

The insulting of the people I care about?

The kisses you forced down my tongue?

The shit you would talk about me to your friends you think I never heard about?

The communication skills you didn't have?

You were the fucking worst.

I was so scared that maybe it was all in my head and that it wasn't that serious.

Maybe I was just having an episode, and I'll start liking you again after we break up.

All the things you always said were such a problem when the only problem was you.

I guess I was right though, I do like you more now that we are not together.

I like you better when I don't owe you shit.

I like you now that I'm not forced to.

I have been so happy to not be your girlfriend.

I haven't talked any shit, started any rumors, or thrown any shade.

It's clear to see that you aren't capable of that though.

This was the thing I was most worried about.

You don't know how to leave with grace.

I've heard a million rumors, and all of them have come from you.

Why does there have to be a problem?

You do not know how to be at peace.

I pray that one day you will have enough self-respect to let yourself be happy.

I know I do.

But I also know I'd be even happier if, for once in your goddamn pathetic life, you shut the fuck up.

I'm sorry, but no one wants to hear about every piece of trauma you've gone through before they know your favorite color. And we don't want to hear it in the middle of talking about something that made us happy.

You find the need to make everything about yourself, and you refuse to let someone else feel good about themselves or their accomplishments.

There is a reason no one fucking likes you. It's because you are you.

Simple.

You are an annoying piece of shit that no one wants to be around or to have to listen to.

And the sad part is, I'm not even saying that just to say it.

I have all the people you force to be around you that you think you are friends with to back me up.

Everyone who heard about what happened with us through you went straight to me for the real story.

70% of the people you hung out with stopped because they don't feel obligated to anymore because I'm no longer there begging them to be nice to you.

The rest are just there because they feel bad and are trying to be a good person because they know if they didn't hang out with you, you would be completely lonely.

They told me.

ALSO

your ass is not black. no one in your family is. even your family will say that. stop making being black your major personality point. we all know.

I ended up on a challenge about desperate love. It worked out because I had some lines in my notes app that I could work off of. I've always found it funny how I could write about situations as if I was going through them when in reality, it isn't my situation at all. It might be a defense mechanism; with only half the things I write applying to me, it leaves a sense of deniability in whatever I put down.

The bell rang shortly after I submitted my piece.

"See you at lunch Diego."

He smiles in response and walks off to his next class. I am in the same room for my next period, but I don't really like talking to any of the other people in there, so I move up to a seat closer to the front.

The class goes by quickly, and all of a sudden, it's lunch.

I walk up to Diego, but I don't say anything because he's busy talking to Xavier.

Xavier is another one of those friends that I mainly interact with through insults and bickering, except I actually think he might hate me. Whenever I say anything nice, he just starts going off about how my nose makes me look Jewish or how he thinks I'm autistic. '

He's definitely the type of person you could start recording any time they start talking and then put them under investigation after turning said video in. This is probably why I choose to ignore whatever it is they are talking about until their conversation is over, but before that happens, Diego notices me and cuts off Xavier in the middle of one of his concerning statements.

"Bro, have you seen what they are serving for lunch today?!"

"Nope, I was planning on getting Taco Bell. School food sucks."

There are three different lunches you could have at our school: A lunch, B lunch, and open campus, which stretched to last during both A and B. I was one of the few sophomores that had open-campus for lunch, Diego did too, but he hardly used it because he was always scared he wouldn't be able to make it back in time to spend B lunch with his girlfriend, Kyra.

"Where the fuck do you get all of your money? You don't even have a job, but you're always going out to eat." Xavier said.

He wasn't really wrong, I went out a lot, and while I do have a job, It's more of a favor I get paid for than anything. I just clean a little at the drive-thru convenience place, and the owner, Katelyin, pays me 20 bucks a week. She always says that she would give me an official job, but I can't serve because I'm underage. I end up getting most of my money from gambling and odd jobs for people, like assignment help and chores. It still shouldn't be enough to support my spending habits, but I'm not complaining.

My train of thought is interrupted by Diego, "Guess what they have for lunch."

"What?"

"Spaghetti."

"Hey, Diego, I'm bored," I said, turning to my friend. He and I have known each other for years, but most of our friendship consists of insults and arguments that neither one of us take seriously. We technically have something we should be doing, we are in our psychology class, and we haven't done any of our work in the past two weeks, but it's not like we plan on starting now.

"Go cry about it; I'm busy," he replied.

I look over at his screen, and he's in the middle of reading part 7 of Jojo's Bizzare Adventure. I have no clue how; almost every comic site on the internet is blocked on the school Chromebooks, but I don't question it.

"You aren't fucking busy; stop lying." I turn my screen to him. I have a writing website opened. I don't enjoy writing all too much, but it gives me something to do. I click under the challenges tab and ask him to pick a prompt. After scrolling through for a while, he clicks on one.

"Do that one." I look over at the prompt and immediately shut him down.

It read Spaghetti juggling.

"I'm not going to do that one; it's stupid, and what would I even write about?"

"Dude, it literally says that it could be anything as long as someone juggles spaghetti."

I laugh. I can't even imagine a way to work that into a story.

He clicks 'enter' and turns the screen back to me.

"You should just write that you went to the new Mario movie and started passing out spaghetti to everyone."

"What about the juggling part?"

"Walk to the very front of the theatre and just start juggling that shit."

One thing that I admire about Diego is that he is such a shameless idiot.

I laugh, telling him that I wasn't going to write to that prompt and return the screen to him so he can select a different challenge.

He looks at me and smiles.

I know I should say it

He holds my hand, and my heart skips a beat.

I know I should say it

He speaks and I hear angels sing.

I know I should say it

He wants me to be around him.

I know I should say it

He tells me he loves me.

I only want him to smile for me.

I only want him to hold my hand.

I only want him to say my name as angels sing.

I only want him to be around me.

I know I should say it

I do.

"I'm leaving you."

Because I love him.

It's when you become a part of all of my favorite things that I notice the water around me.

Not enough to drown but enough to make the ends of my jeans soggy and cold, so I can't ignore it.

It's when I find myself looking for you in every room that the water reaches my knees.

Not enough to drown, but enough to make me want to stay because the water feels warmer than the air.

It's when I find excuses to be around you, even when it makes things harder for me, that the water reaches my shoulder.

Not enough to drown, but enough to stand and contemplate floating for a while.

It's when I rather be upset with around you than happy around anyone else that the water is too deep to stand.

Not enough to drown, but enough to tread water until I grow a little sore.

It's when I grow to hate the one I'm supposed to love because they are not you that the water grows strong.

Not enough to drown, but enough to make it a struggle to keep swimming.

It's when you leave that the water has won.

I'm drowning.

I'm gone.

when college ends and my books are well paid

and my mother wonders if she'll see me again

i don't talk to any old high school friends

and the one i love now is holding other hands

i don't mind i just hope their smile never ends

when I forget the way my depression sweater feels

and i no longer need fire to heal

and my hands stay manicured and clean

when i'm all alone, all i support is myself

im not sure if that will always be

and wealth is gained

for spirit

for love

for joy

for rain

my success is looked up to by little girls

envied by my father pitiful words

the ones like chains i one day will break

my dark brown eyes, now mud and stone, now soft

maybe by someone i will forever call my own

maybe a child, whose name i don't yet know

at least a decade before my parents see me come home

not for their love, nor that i miss their hold

not like i can remember, those memories are old

i tell them i'm better than they are or ever will be

and for them to hear and know i'm speaking honestly

my future i can not fully see

the farther i look, the hazier it will be

like rain-stained glass

you can see, but it's still blurry

I wouldn't say I like it here. Even wishing I could escape is a common thought for me. Birds can fly away if they have a problem with their circumstances; why am I not a bird? Why must I tread instead of soar? Like it is as if I have anchors clasping down my feet, every step, I cry in anguish, for I cannot detect the air of hope, nor the light of happiness. Why must the birds be so selfish? I am sure that I would carry those who can't fly upon my back if I could. Is it they are too scared we will weigh them down? That we would dig our fingers too far into their backs? Is it that they know we will rip wings away so we can fly on our own? Do they know that we are takers? We took the earth and said it is ours because we have feet, so we deserve it because we have hands, so we deserve it. But why? We were last; it isn't fair. The birds were here first, and they are selfless to the earth and its children. And am selfish because I want their wings. To be entirely honest, I wouldn't say I like it here.

Laughing in dim warm light.

Tears streaming down my face.

That one song on repeat.

They just left my house.

Right after they kissed me.......

But I'm just a friend.

write.write.write.write. i just realised i was forgetting to press space..........and CAPITALIZE THINGS

I don't really care anymore. I'm listening to the same song on repeat. It sunds like emtyness. Did I spell theat right? i don't care. I don't care. That's right.

I wish I could type faster.

Then maybe I should actually practice.

I'm going to puke.

I think.

The dull yellowish light from the old chrismas lights I put up on my bed frame, is that the word, is nice. I can see most things

no I can't. No I can't. No I can not.

Better than nothing, right?

This was a mistake.

Why am I here.

whyam

Why am I here?

I can't do anything right.

I hate it here.

That feels wrong. Was that wrong?

I don't care.

Why?

'Why?' what?

Why are you always in my room? It's creepy.

To have a roommate?

The fact I don't have one.

How is that scary?

First of all, I said creepy, not scary.

Same difference.

That's not the point-

Then what's the point?

THE POINT IS-

Why are you yelling?

The point is, I don't have a roommate, right?

Right.

Right, so why are you always here?

I don't know.

Okay, so if you are here, then why does no one else ever notice you?

Wow, that's creepy!

I know right?! It's almost like that's what I have been trying to tell you!

Then why didn't you just say that?

Keyword: trying.

Oh, I get it now.

You are so annoying.

I'm sorry. All I want to do is help you.

How?

I know you think too much. You get so stressed, the thoughts push against your head, and it hurts you so much.

...

I just want to help you.

...

I want to take the pain away, I want to calm you down.

You're so sweet.

I thought I was annoying?

Yeah, you are. Annoying, but sweet.

...Yeah.