It's, like, a metaphor or something.

radiosilence95's picture

My friend told me she thinks all girls with short hair are lesbians. Or that all lesbians have short hair. One of the two. Tragic thing is, she was being serious. She's one of my few friends who is under the impression that I'm bisexual, so she had no idea what she was saying. I can only laugh her stupidity off. It's just so utterly idiotic that it's not even worth getting worked up over.

Okay, every day I become more and more convinced that Brittany knows I like her. In fact I'm like 90% sure. I can't really explain it, but I just have a gut feeling. There's no real's all in the vibes I pick up occasionally. It's not awkward or anything. I can just...sense it.

Plus I gave her a poem which was somewhat of a monologue about the wonders of high school puppy love. I of course explained the thoughts and memories and feelings associated with my crush but I never gave any concrete hints that it was her. I didn't describe her physically or anything.

Then she texted me at midnight (her favorite time to text) and told me she read it *several* times and it's her favorite poem of mine so far. She said she loves seeing my writing evolve with each poem. She never even asked who it was. Brittany's had several opportunities to ask about my mystery crush, because it's come up in conversations with us as well as other friends, but she never asks. Which is so suspicious. And she read this poem *several* times. So maybe this was confirmation for her that I do like her.

If she does know, which is likely, she hasn't treated me any differently. Our conversations stumble into awkwardness every now and then but only for a moment. Can't be smooth 24/7 obviously. I don't think it really bothers her. At least I hope not. I asked her about hanging out this weekend but she works Friday, has prom on Saturday, and wants to chill Sunday. All these inconveniences...I hope she's not doing this because she dreads us hanging out together.

Haha. Today in journalism she caught me staring at her, so that doesn't help hide the evidence that I like her. I must've really been staring intensely, because she looked kinda scared. Well, not really scared. Just...weirded out I suppose? She was like O____O and I was like O__________O and I quickly looked away. First time that's happened. Usually when we meet eyes she smiles or the contact is like a millisecond and not even worth a reaction.

I always chuckle whenever I see a post online about a dude being friendzoned by his lady friend. I don't know what all these guys are bitching about. Imagine being a lesbian. I LIVE in the friendzone. I am automatically inducted into the friendzone EVERY time I meet a girl. So all these straight dudes can shut the hell up. At least they have a chance, even if it is agonizingly small.

Ever had that awesome moment when you rediscover a band that you haven't listened to in ages? I had one of those today. Not really a band, but a guy by the name of John 5. He was formerly Marilyn Manson's guitar player and now he's on his own. His songs are all instrumental and he's a really gifted guitar player. It's a pity Manson didn't let him show off a bit. But yeah, haven't listened to him in forever. His songs just kinda sat in my iPod gathering digital dust.


radiosilence95's picture

Here's the poem I gave to her.

I don't usually like posting my poetry online, but eh. What the hell. Don't laugh. It's supposed to be sappy.

It was a subterranean night,
The moon a manicured fingernail
Digging into the charcoal stillness.
“Show me who you are,” her star-smeared face pleaded.
So I did.

A rose-petal cancer claimed me. And I celebrate it every day.
It’s fostered by pipedreams splattered across a 9 A.M desktop,
Nurtured by adhesive glances and locker-side giggles.
Does she know about my diagnosis?
Please. Don’t tell her.

The day was sarcastically vibrant.
The sun a hushed explosion
Flinging debris onto the earth.
“Show me who you are,” my cloud-struck face begged.
So she unfolded slowly, offered me a fragment here and there.

Maybe I’ll be a pearl.
Maybe I’ll be an ashtray.
With that Vicodin smile, I think I could be anything.
Ah, well. I don’t mind if I’ve fallen in the wrong direction.
Don’t mind at all.

What is it? Something’s gone amiss here.
How can someone of my craft trip over words so easily?
How do I describe it? How do I measure it?
Maybe it’s measured by the intensities of secret blushes.
Or by how quickly every nerve blossoms into an electrochemical frenzy.

Maybe it’s simpler than that. Playground analysis.
Maybe it’s the warmth that floods the stomach, or how often friends tease.
Or maybe it’s the army of misshapen hearts scribbled into a notebook.
Don’t forget her initials.
Circle “yes” if you like me.

I want nothing more than to get tangled in that weekend sunset.
To slip into it with her.
Dual sunbursts every day to make me melt.
But she…well…I just wish…
Never mind.

anarchist's picture

You know what else is annoying?

When straight girls say that all the good guys are gay. Where the fuck are they, then?

radiosilence95's picture

Yeah. I hear that all the

Yeah. I hear that all the time. It's just a convenient excuse for being too pathetic to get a guy.

Tycoondashkid's picture

ive got a question

if brittney asked what would you tell her?

radiosilence95's picture

I would be honest. But I

I would be honest. But I wouldn't make it a huge deal by professing my undying love or ramble to her about how wonderful and beautiful I think she is. That would probably scare her. I'd play it off like it was just a silly crush and hopefully she would just say "how flattering!" and then we can laugh it off and continue our friendship.

Tycoondashkid's picture

thats good

if she ever finds out i hope she takes it well.