Boy met girl...
Boy fell in love...
Girl was smart...
Girl was beautiful...
Girl seemed honest...
Family welcomed girl...
Girl was given a home...
Girl had nothing...
Boy gave her everything...
Girl owed money...
Boy went overseas...
Boy worked hard...
Boy came back...
Boy paid girls debt...
Girl was different...
Girl mocked boy...
Boy felt bad...
Girl used boy...
Boy was stupid...
Girl had more boy's...
Boy found out...
Boy left girl...
Girl didn't care...
Boy cried...
Girl laughed...

Boy learned his lesson...

That her love was just a fashion... a style, a custom, prevalent at a given time...
That his girl was just an illusion... a distortion of the senses, an illness, a disorder...

Now Boy's happy to have her off his back... cause she was No Good, and that... is a fact

If the world was like the British Secret Service
And all the nice guys were James Bond
And all the bad guys had cats:
There would definitely be Bond girls.

Good girls, dead girls
Shoot-you-in-the-head girls
Hiding-in-the-bed girls
While-making-out-with-Bond girls

Other-secret-agents girls
Super-******-villain girls
Some-random-at-a-bar girls
Not-wearing-enough-clothes girl

But then there’s a forgotten girl
An always being used girl
Bond never looks twice girl
Always there to help girl

Cheated by the hot girls
Laughed at ‘cause she’s a nice girl
Forgotten as a Bond girl
But an always there for Bond girl

So all you silly Bond boys
Put down your silly shooting toys
Stop kissing the villain-girl
And have a drink with the forgotten Bond girl

when i was young i couldnt wait to grow up
to do all the things ive wanted to.

most importantly i wanted to be happy
and free.
i pictured growing up to be perfect.

but that wasnt reality.
dissapointemnt fled through my body
when i finally grew up.

its was the complete oposite of perfection.
it was deception.

but after all i never really grew up
im just a little girl in a big bad world.

As a child I would spend my nights in prayer. Praying to God to make it stop or **** me. Life went on then as it does now…slow and painful, with me begging for it to end. I still remember the prayer I would pray to God. A prayer that still gets prayed even today.

“Dear Mr. Jesus, if you can hear me please do not let him hurt me anymore, Mr. Jesus. Please come and take me away with you. I want to be an angel with soft fluffy white wings. Don’t you need an angel like me, Mr. Jesus? I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be a good angel.” Apparently, he didn’t. And it was because bad girls can’t be angels. Bad little girls have to stay with bad people and be punished for being bad.

She is still bad. Bad bad girl. That is why therapist doesn’t want to talk to her. Nobody cares that we are hurting.  All because she is a bad bad girl. Bad girls don’t get to be angels. Bad girls get punished.