I pretended to smile and laugh when you

made those engagement jokes.

It's not fucking funny.

I regret telling you now.

Because I don't know if you've ever seen

a person try to hold back from crying. But I was.

I was having a hard time opening my mouth to tell

you about it in the first place. The fact that I

even attempted to explain to 

you the reason why I'm not going to 

spend the rest of my life with the one person I would- was

fucking hard. 

You're either an insensitive twat or fucking clueless.

Either or... I'm appalled.

Ugh. I kind of don't want to be your friend anymore. 

But at the same time I want to explain myself to you- so you'll

learn to be more fucking perceptive.

I wanted you.
I wanted you because I wanted to corrupt you.
Corrupt that kindness in you that scared me.
Corrupt the sweetness in you that tempted me.
I wanted to taint you.
I wanted to taint you so that when I shoved you
into a wall- you'd curl your fingers through my hair and bring me closer.
I wanted to taint you so that before our lips met you'd smirk-
knowing full well how much I wanted you.
I wanted you.

You said you like it when women take advantage of you.

But I didn't ask you to elaborate cause what was

going through my head was me roughly pushing you 

onto the table to give you a soft kiss. I couldn't

say the first witty thing that popped into my

head. 'Cause the first word on my tongue was,

'Fuck'.

Or maybe I'm just an easier baby machine.

Is there more to a small waist then just the inherent need to mate with one who looks "fertile"? Or am I just over thinking things? Is it the feeling of skin upon skin flushing down the slope of a small waist to the swell of ones hips? Is it the more pronounced sashay, although not deliberate in it's intent's sway? Or is it because the tapered arches leads to skin that encloses the object of one's desire in a titillating curve to behold, to squeeze with two hands?