I don't like you.
I never liked you.
I didn't like you when you started dating my best friend because you had a ****** sense of humor and she deserved better.
I didn't like you when you hit on me despite dating my best friend, and when you told her all the things you thought I was better at than her (despite her being just as great if not greater than me!)
I didn't like you when she finally left you.
I didn't like you when you used every manipulation tactic you could think of trying to get her back.
I didn't like you when in your resulting depression you told me you loved me.
I didn't like you when you stalked my blog.
I didn't like you when you seemingly gave up and deleted your own.
I didn't like you when you created a new one and decided to message me.
I didn't like you when I responded. I didn't know who you were, and when I found out I stopped.
I didn't like you when you attempted to readd me on social media despite me deleting you.
I didn't like you when you decided to send me Snapchats although I didn't accept your request.
I didn't like you when you decided to tell me you loved me again.

If you're wondering why you can't see any of my **** online anymore, this is why.

I hate my stupid brain
Always forgetting, day dreaming and overthinking
Scheming on things that I know can't happen, or won't for some time
And when it's not doing that it's arranging words and punch lines together by rhythm and syllables that rhyme

I hate my stupid heart, always anxious and never not being optimistic,
Always creating dreams that my brain will produce
Always searching for something beside hockey and poetry to invest in, when I don't even know how to do my taxes.

Lastly, brain we need to have one more chat
I know we've had our differences, which is weird because you occupy the space underneath my scalp.
But if you could be so kind as to become more flexible to changes in a rehearsed routine
That would be, dear fleshy *****, simply keen

Funny how when I write diary entries,
they're nothing but cryptic,
just in case someone else manages to read it,
because my fear consumes me,
and Roosevelt was right,
as the only thing to fear
is what keeps me up at night.

People underestimate words on a page,
but it dictates every single way
we move and interact
each day and how the world
conducts business
without us,
without me,
and I sit here wondering what's wrong,
why can't I see
some words have used me
their appeal, too strong,
and I couldn't tell them
how wrong it'd be to follow
every move they make
leaving me stranded
abandoned
by my own mistakes.

It's hard to claw at the truth
when it hides, evades,
and no matter what you want
it just won't stay,
maybe it's supposed to be
impossible to find
cause I haven't taken the time
to stop reflecting
on such derelict
themes and open my eyes
to what's new to seize,
it means something
when you've closed yourself off
and every sound
every option
seems like another **** wall
and maybe
it's hard to know when
you're always told stop
instead of go.

Flicking through photos online
Of nights out I wish I were invited to
The cameras flash and all turn and look

Putting on their best smile
All dressed up for this social competition
Faces under make-up almost beyond recognition

I am jealous
Oh look, there is my best friend
Who never seems to talk to me
Who never sleeps alone

Who feeds me advice
From websites he thinks
I haven't already read

Yes I know what Dr. Whatshisface said
Yes I know it will pass
Yes I know that it's all in my ******* head

And I may be bitter and lonely and angry
I may be often inclined to whine and to moan
But what sane person enjoying their own time
Needs so many ******* pictures to prove it?

Oh look there is everyone I ever loved
Oh look there is everyone who never cared
Far away on the other side of the country
Not wanting to know me

Their smiles taunt
The arm around the shoulder
The fake friendly satisfaction (I hope)
The vainly sought interaction

I am jealous
And I realise
How tedious are their ordeals

Their false social conventions
I hate every single one of these
Disgusting self satisfied short sighted

Pretentious people
But I will always long insatiably
For their attention

He knew the importance of words
and treated life like a crossword;
taking hints and context to places
that he never knew were possible,
solving them faster than his mind could keep,
he was full of it,
and every letter got him closer
to his dreams of entitlement.

Oh you've solved it, all right,
but his genius was limited,
nothing but words on a page;
The puzzles? He'd just skimmed it,
and each box became his defeat
for his words would no longer speak.

He could only solve the same book;
shoulders up, blamed his luck
on his limited palette,
maybe he'd done better if he invested
in a thing like vocabulary.

A forgotten mission, a new edition,
blew around in his mind,
but somehow he never could manage
to find the time
to understand these riddles' complexity,
and so to this challenge, *he'd flee.