In honor of recent events concerning Bush and shoes, I’ve decided to post up this little game that was forwarded to my e-mail(thanks, Dad.) Do it for the lulz.
Have fun.
So, it snowed this year in New Orleans. It was pretty but as I watched it fall, I couldn’t help but think of when it snowed December 25th, 2004 as I watched through the blinds of my window in my room. All of my friends wanted me to come outside but it didn’t feel right. Something felt wrong about it, like calm before the storm, if you’ve ever witnessed that. Eight months later, Katrina hit. So when I looked out of the blind of the window in my room this year, I assume it’s just a freight train coming my way. I looked at the marker at the top of my ceiling that marks the highest the flood water got and I figure, well fuck. There ain’t no attic in this muthafucka so I don’t know how in the world I’d get on the roof, not to mention the roof is high as all hell and on a slope.
Here’s where you’ll call me stupid but I guess I’ll have to figure out a survival plan because I am not leaving again(not like I got far last time, fuck you, Texas). This is what you people don’t understand because you haven’t been through it. When you build a life, when a certain area is your life and all you know, when it’s your culture going down under 20 feet of water, there’s no worse feeling. When you know there’s people you’re close to possibly dead or half-way there from drowning, the only thing you want to do is go back. When I left last time, I got fucking stuck in Virginia. I hate Virginia with a burning passion. I hate when people ask me if I eat alligator and mock my accent. And I was sick and tired of people asking me if my house got fucked up, cause obviously if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be in bumfuck, VA in the first place. I was stuck there for two years. That entire two years, do you know what the only thing that made me mildly happy was? The idea of being back home. No Saints jersey, no fleur de lis tattoo, no gold and black outfits could replace what wasn’t there for me. I could not walk outside and smell salt water and fried food. There was no cajun except the lifeless ones like me who were “refugees.” And I don’t want to be that far away from home ever again in my life because I didn’t feel like myself. I get really pissed off at this city, with the corrupt cops and the fucked up school systems and no job opportunities but… I still can’t help but love it. If it was that bad, I wouldn’t have come back. But this is home to me, this is where I’m comfortable and where I know I fit in. This city is not just a city to me like it is to you. I love it like it’s a mother to me. Crazy as that may sound, it’s the truth, and I don’t expect anyone to understand but someone else from here. And I can’t do another Katrina.
I’m the player turned exclusive after my first real heartbreak. I have the tendencies but I’m good at keeping that shit down. That’s where my random apathy in relationships comes from. I’ve got the game to get anyone that I want but I really secretly just want to be left alone. I don’t trust dudes like talking about. To be 100%, I don’t trust anyone at all, with anything- so trusting a guy with my heart is dangerous to me and when I’m in love, I get just as dangerous as the notion the way I view it. I do not play. You gonna be here or you’re gonna be there. Either way, I need to know what’s up, cause I don’t have to give a fuck, and I don’t need you to. But my problem arises when this is established and then some odd months down the line, shit changes up on me and the person I got with…isn’t the person I got with anymore. I’m kind of bananas, I admit it, so suck me off. By the time these muthafuckas change, I’m already in too deep and I let them in, which is why it’s hard for me to leave and easier for me to lean on someone else. I’m not a great girlfriend anymore at the point. I start off perfect and I could maintain that if I could get the same effort from my partner but I can’t. Which really leads to me wanting to be left alone. For real, just please go away, everyone with a penis. I can’t deal with it and you damn sure can’t deal with me not being able to deal with it so…I mean, I wish niggas would get their shit straight or get their shit out my face. ‘Cause honestly…
You may think you want it, then you want me til you get me,
then you got me and you’re fucked,
cause you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life.
If I get attached to you, we’ll be joined at the hip,
I’ll be so latched to you.
You’ll be walking out the house and I’ll run up and tackle you,
chain your ass up to the bed and shackle you,
“You don’t think you’re leaving this house in that, do you?
Not til I brand my name in your ass and tattoo you.”
Have you walking out this bitch in turtleneck sweaters,
scarves and full leathers in ninety degree weather.
Front on me? Never, cause we gon be together forever.
Right, bitch? ……RIGHT, BITCH?
Hey lady, hey darling, hey baby,
I don’t think you really want to be my girl.
I can’t be your boyfriend because…
(fucking with me can be dangerous)
if you toy with my motherfucking emotions,
I’ll kill you and I’m fucking foreal.
I’ll make you suffer like I suffer,
If you fuck me, you might make me fall in love.
Boyfriend’s were hurt in the creation of this post.
I will cheat. And before everyone in the world starts gasping and calling me names, here’s a brief intermission for a big FUCK YOU, for even thinking about judging me when if it was your friend saying this shit, it’d be all gravy.
When I am in a relationship, I will try the most non-hostile approach to fixing whatever problems arise. But that never works, cause niggas don’t listen most of the time until something you’re saying affects them. I try the talking, I try the reasoning, compromising, everything. But this damn generation lacks the ability to communicate, so wtf am I wasting my time for? Every relationship I’ve been in has been void of communication and it damn sure ain’t my fault. Seems like people don’t give a fuck about you until you start taking dumps in their fruit loops.
But back to the point of this, I will cheat. I don’t think that makes me a cheater because I don’t just go out and fuck a person for no reason, I think that’s disgusting. But after a while, say a year or two, of trying the same shit over and over again, getting let down, lack of communication, guess what? This one doesn’t give a fuck but I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t have the courage to just leave the relationship. I’m in it in the first place because I love the person and believe they have potential. Hell, it’s usually good sometimes. But when problems arise, it’s always the same ones, and muthafuckas don’t listen. I get emotionally drained and somewhere between the screaming, cursing, and dish-breaking, I get numb and stop giving a rat’s ass because imo, in those moments, neither do they. So fuck it all. I stop calling. If they call, I answer, but I lack interest. Usually doing something in the background like playing World of Warcraft that prevents me from at least appearing to care. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, sure. But I don’t give a flying shit at the time about that. And guess what happens? Out of nowhere, they sure do! All of a sudden, they blowin’ up my phone, hitting up my Myspace, coming to my crib like it’s a normal thing they did all the time, buying me shit. That’s usually around the time that my pain turns into amusement to me and I pick fights ’cause deep down inside, I feel like crying, and it makes me want to snap necks- but that’s illegal. So I pick fights and I push them away. They just get closer. I pull the fuck off card and I tell them I need to be alone because I have personal problems that are causing rifts in the relationship, taking all blame, because I don’t give a damn enough to tell the truth anymore. Quick and easy. Scared? No, bored of it all. Been there, done that, tried it, didn’t work. So don’t even call me a coward. I lack the emotion to be afraid of anything.
But I don’t know anymore. I’m not asking if it’s wrong, cause I don’t care what anyone thinks. Just talking, I suppose. Fuck him…and fuck you, too.
No boyfriend’s were hurt in the creation of this post,
which leads to the next.
If you don’t feel what the pencil scripts, then nine times out of ten, you ain’t been through shit.
It’s so sweet. I thought I was fucked up with no shoes til I met me a nigga with no feet. I tried to help niggas, some niggas I couldn’t but that’s my mom in me, I love niggas I shouldn’t. Dudes wanna shoot ‘em til he nailed and some wanna threaten me, ruin my health. But let me teach you a little something about depression… ain’t SHIT you can do to me that I ain’t already thought about doing to myself. I’m the voice for the youth that’s living with no reason. FUCK record sales, I give them something to believe in. If your day starts in a broken home, though we’ve never met, at least you feel like you’re not alone.