You, sir, are an ass.
I look at myself with disdain
when I think of you at all.
So stop,
You'd say.
Well, that's it. I can't.
I can't NOT think.
It just wont happen.
I curse the fact that I am a woman,
with these weak tendencies,
and flighty fancies.
I'll tell myself
"I'm done! I'm done!"
And I know that I lie.
Because while I KNOW,
for me, you're bittersweet news,
I just can't Not.
Double negatives.
Are they annoying you yet?
Ha. I hope so.
(Actually, honestly, I hope not.)
See?
I want to be an ass to you, too.
But, alas, I cannot seem to find
the heartlessness in me when it comes to you.
Where is my coldblooded nonchalant indifference
when it is that you're around?
Not here.
No where.
I hate it.
What power is this?
I loathe it.
I love it.
You ass.
