A Kiss With A Fist

I am a flirt, a terrible flirt. Well that’s not exactly true, considering I have no idea how to actually go about flirting. I do, however, try very hard to get people to fall in love with me. I have this fantasy of being fought over. Of having at least 3 guys (and maybe even a girl or two) completely obsessed with me. Consumed by me, in love with me to the point of distraction, something of a dramatic Something About Mary situation. Although there is always one person, one guy, that I want. I’m never torn or questioning, I just want him. I always choose him, no matter what one of the others offer me. That’s the thing about obsession, addiction, it’s not love, you see, none of these boys (or girls) are actually in love with me, they just think they are. Rather, they are in love with the thought of me, the idea of being with someone like me. Someone that makes them themselves, someone who will be the person they want, they need. That’s what I do, I am in the business of dreams, I am a dream girl, and I am wicked good at what I do. Though of course, this mystery man of mine, the man of my dreams sees right through all of that. He knows me for who I am, and what I want to be. He finds a way to make me genuine and make me real. I guess the real reason I do all of this, is to find someone like that, my very own magic man. Someone to take care of me, not so much in a mother-father sort of way, just someone to notice. Someone who notices when I’m not feeling well or when I’m sad. Someone who can stand up to me and tell me when enough is enough. Not someone who stands back and lets me do whatever the hell I want to do, because we all know that sometimes what I want to do, isn’t at all what I should be doing. Besides, isn’t that what I’ve been looking for my entire life? Someone to give me boundaries? Which I guess is the same thing every kid who ‘acts out’ is looking for. Boundaries, rules, love. Eck, there it is again, that impossible little word that makes me want to pull my hair out. What can I say? It’s what I want. Though I know, I wouldn’t know it if it were smacking me in the face. I’ve never been in love, and sometimes I think I never will be. I can just imagine myself falling in love and never realizing it, shying away from it, running away from it; because I’m scared, because I’m me. Happiness isn’t a color I wear too often. Winning isn’t something I’ve ever been accustomed too. It’s hard to change the way you lose, when you think you’ve never won. So, like I said, love isn’t something I know, or have known, and it’s not something I’m looking for either. If it happens, it happens, but I’m not looking for it. Although, once again, like I said, I probably wouldn’t know it if it were smacking me in the face, so now a new, question arises: How will I know? All I’ve ever known of love is heartbreak. (Yes I know that sounds like a cheese-y country song, but it’s the truth.) I guess you can say I never really learned how to love. LAME CHEESEY & don’t forget STUPID. I’m tired of talking about this, so it’s time to tuck and roll, abandon the subject and move on. . . .