I did it again. I got caught up in my head. I was so busy putting everyone else first that I started riding on fumes. The light was flashing and I just kept cruisin'. Last night choked me harder than Zack could have ever: people are awful.
Right now, though, let's talk about men, baby. They tell us we suck because we are too loud, too sexy, too ugly, too dumb, too pretentious; basically, we are too much of something -anything- that they feel like spotlighting at any given moment.
Some men figure it out. They realize that they need to do a little better. They read some shit and get into deep, meaningful conversations with Feminists. Give them a boundary, and you'll figure out how much respect they actually have for you. Oh, how quickly the mighty become simple and predictable.
My father had a black book of names. The men I've dated and truly cared for had their own lists to make them feel important. Nick was blatant and screamed Predator, girls were ranked and showcased as trophies. He had a type: young. The next a list of adventures; Parker wanted everyone to think he was brave and had seen the world while carrying so very little. He was a trust fund baby. He never actually experienced a single-fucking-moment-in-time, he just expected and collected. Then there was Zackary, my perfect imperfection. He was a mix of them, but we also shared the trauma of a horrible childhood. I had to love him. While he loved to destroy women and then add us to his list of "Crazy Cunts".
The guys that were old enough to be my father though; they taught me the most about men and those broken parts of myself. I feel as if I definitely need to point out that trauma gifted from the first man a daughter is to love and learn from then being coined "Daddy Issues" kind of solidifies how fucking warped the world truly is.
Red is my color. Rage is my pain.
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