i was taught to hate money ya know, so now i have to hate it. but now my mom has this idea that money is great and that it will just appear if she asks the universe enough.
i was taught to love money ya know, because i was taught from a little girl that there was something wrong with my clothes and that i had to buy new ones. i was taught that i needed more and more even when i had enough.
i was taught to be beat up and broken down, ya know. i was taught that i had to stop crying but i should cry it was wrong to like girls if you were girls but you had to find her pretty but not pretty enough.
i was taught that money money money is success i was taught that money will make you happy and it will make all of you happy and you will succeed if you have money if you have money you will be so happy and he will *******. because you can’t **** her.
i was taught to get a razor and slash my wrists as deep as i could but the razor had to be gold.
and to buy the gold razor i had to sell my blood but i couldn’t get blood without a razor so i had to **** her. instead of killing myself i had to **** everyone else because bringing everyone else down was the only way up.
i think the things i’ve learned i have learned because i ignored what i was told.
i dug a deep hole inside of me and i harmed myself,
but they told me to do that too.
but i did it i guess because i was lonely and they didn’t like me and she didn’t want to **** me but neither did he.
my mom said but you’re not really gay and and my teacher said you’re not loud like them
and then they she said i can’t and i realized i had met you before, you were my best friend under the rain and you were the drunken kisses all over again.
i am not attracted to you, they say you feel a spark when you’re kissed and i felt absolutely nothing.
but then i feel nothing most of the time, i felt nothing everyday for years and sometimes i feel nothing again even during the ******* and sometimes i feel everything so intensely like when i’m in the bathtub and the water turns pink because my hair is bleeding the dye that killed the brown and the room is dark enough for me to pretend i am a drop in the water or just
but then i feel nothing most of the time i felt nothing all the way up to the point when i felt everything when i felt it was wrong to break up and i turned around and you stopped the car and i told you foolishly that i wanted to try,
i am so happy that it didn’t work out.
you are just the drunken kisses under the rain and the influence of alcohol and ****, all over again.
but this isn’t about you, no it’s just about me realising that you’re the drunken kisses at night afraid of my mom finding us on the roof under the influence of ***** and marijuana with a friend sleeping in the mattress inside.
this is just about realising that i don’t think i liked you, i just really love the idea of someone liking me.
this is just about me pretending pretending pretending even when i convince myself i am not pretending.
this is just about me ******* everything up thinking about that song about ******* everything up, i am a ******* liar, even when i’m trying really hard to tell the truth.