You’re Not David Bowie, Though…So…

He said at least I’m honest and I thought and said, yeah at the very least, people could not fucking lie.
It isn’t the case is it but we could be saddened by that fact very easily.
Other people try to pressure you into feeling bad because you’re just outside their normal,
or you’re not hugged up on some loser playing house and it bothers me.
Which makes me trap myself.
I go right back into the pond where the scum was that I just washed off and the pickings are as slim as they were in the 90’s
and I’m no picnic either so what is the point of all of this, y’know?
How do I grow by giving up what I want to do again and over and over again for the benefit of someone else?
I’m sure there is some big piece to this puzzle that I’m missing I just can’t figure it out. I mean if I die by myself who cares? I’ll be fucking dead so I certainly won’t care.
I’m an average looking female at best and yes I look exactly like my photographs and there really isn’t anyone to impress or prove anything to but myself, is there?

So no, it’s not that serious, and yeah I’m honest.
But could you imagine if every single male “interested” person who talks to you tells you what they think about your appearance in great detail
like you are supposed to be grateful? Like, I could get hit by a truck tomorrow, dead in the kisser, and then what, I’m completely worthless suddenly?

I will go out with any dude who has a conversation with me literally about anything other than what the fuck I look like to him.
I assume on some level he was attracted to me or what did he bring his dumb ass over to me to talk to me about then?
Why speak to me?
Then to turn around and have nothing else to say to me to hold a conversation that we fall back into the vapidest

exchange-

You’re cute, girl.

FYI, I think you’re so cute…..

ARE YOU REALLY CUTE IN PERSON girl or kinda cute or just sorta cute?

Tell me.

 

There’s nothing else to talk about. To have this happen every god damned day all day everywhere you go around the world from the time you turn 11 until you, like me, are about to turn 45 is exhausting. I couldn’t imagine being beautiful but I’m certain its better because no one is really brave enough to talk to you. I couldn’t imagine being completely grotesque but it has to be better where everyone pretends they can’t even see you at all. And no in the grand scheme of things, it is not a big deal but it is wearing me down.

 

Then he goes whelp, I haven’t said anything to you about your appearance and that means we’re going on a date, Brickhouse! Whatcha like to eat, sweetcheeks, and don’t start lying now!

 

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