bittersweet

I’m free, so says the constitution and the status of being single. I can shout, kick, cuss as much as I want and won’t give an effing care about what people say.

The problem with me is, I’m too kind and it would take me a while before I realize that I’m mad and should’ve told you off or something.

So there.

Shut the fuck up. You can’t dictate what I think, what I say and who I bash. You don’t own me.

I can bash as much as I want, low as it may sound. I’m being a hedonist for a while, see and I do whatever makes me feel better, whatever makes me happy.

I can call anyone a bitch and if you’re affected, hurt or wold just like to cry, honestly darling, I couldn’t care less.

Now, all I have to do is say all these to your face. Hmm, maybe when you’re less fragile and less pathetic.

—

Thank you, fellow bashers and all those others who have motivated me and made me realize how stupid I can be. I need a good slap of harsh reality every once in a while. Keep on slapping me if I don’t keep up with the improvement. You have my consent, really… I’d rather be an ice queen than a pool of tears.