what I should have written yesterday

[rant]

Just when I think I'm not going to see you, there you are, idly standing around, like a fucking mannequin, like a prim, perfect representation of woman, and I think I should talk to you, but your distanced stare, your slack smooth face, the plugs of the ipod in your ear prevent casual conversation, not that you were ever any good at it, at least not with me,

and I wonder, am I mad because you have the job that he wanted, the one that affords you the luxury of having an ipod, the one that requires little skill and less strength, the one you excel at because you're beautiful and distant, the kind of woman men want to please just to see you smile.

you were never good at smiling though, even though you have the teeth for it. I don't have the teeth for it and I smile all the damn time, you know why? because I feel more alive when I smile. you walk with death on your face, in your pale pale skin and your listless face, bored, pretentious, pretending to be bored when really I know you saw me, I know you see me, I know you prepared for this day, you got your cute shoes out even in the rain, you got your fancy umbrella from the art institute, the one your mother bought you probably, or maybe you went there one day after school and bought it for yourself. and you had your ipod on and set to blaring so I would be deterred from even considering what I would say to you.

I know you did it all for show because the first day I saw you, the first day you realized what it was (that we had somehow both managed to register for the same class on the same day at the same time that by some stroke of good luck--for both of us--wasn't in the same classroom, but right across from each other) you were anonymous, I barely noticed you, you were not a cold stone slab of marble chiseled to perfection, but just a girl, just another skinny, toothy, brown haired girl, a girl whose freckles were almost visible, a girl whose smile wasn't far away, a girl who looked just liked any other girl.

let's say you didn't see me yesterday, that your heart was just cold, that your face was just stone, that your listless hand made your listless fingers raise to your mouth and you listlessly smoked your cigarette, and you had no reaction, no emotion, you were just a mannequin....worse, a flat, two dimensional cardboard cutout.

you were never cut out for the job of loving him and you hated me for getting there first, for finding him, for holding him, and sometimes I think I want to rush up to you and scream, you can have him bitch, you can fucking have him for all I fucking care, you deal with the drinking and the smoking and his stupid friends and his bullshit, I would tell you right now, If you want him, have him.

Sometimes I think that the reason I hate you so much is you remind me of myself when I was your age, ten years ago, angry, bitchy, mean, pissed that I couldn't have what I wanted, mad that it seemed so easy for everyone else. but I know now it's not easy for anyone, they just overlook the hard parts to see the good things, but they call it acceptance and love, but it's really just the same as not paying attention to what hurts.

sometimes I wish you would just come out and say it, say what I felt emanating off of you so fiercely, just be honest with me, just tell me, but you won't, you can't, and the last time I talked to you I apologized for being a bitch to you and you could barely fathom it, you could barely focus, you could hardly listen, because where you come from, people lie, people hide, and no one smiles.

[/rant]