Angry Resa's make for keen blogs

Apparently I'm very important.
Terribly. Phenomenally. Important.
People I don't even know are reading my blog and the rage is a poppin'.

Now, anyone who reads what I write and isn't a friend of mine has immediately gained favor with me.
Why would they want to read my rantings when they know nothing of me?
I certainly wouldn't care to read their blog.
And yet there they sit, pouring over their lil' iphone, mouth agape, muttering, 'Why, I never!'

If you can't take the heat move to Alaska.


So, some gals (Yes, fellow women, not douche bag males but crazy bitches--And ladies, you're giving all of us a bad name and validating the case of lovers past that say we're all nuts, thank you ever so--) these dames are reading my words and drawing conclusions just because.
Because they just KNOW all I'm truly saying.

Like if I wrote, I'M A LESBIAN they'd start a rumor saying I was gay because they lacked the imagination through all their presumption to see I was being a blatant smart ass.

Why do I even care? you might ask.
Because the mega bitches have twisted my words and tried to pit someone I actually like against me.
She's writing all these terrible things about YOU.
Bitch, please.
You wouldn't know what I was actually writing about if you read the Cliffs Notes for it.

You know that saying people will try and tear you down?
Well you can only be knocked down if you're high enough to fall.
Things are looking mighty fine from this castle on the clouds and ain't no one taking any ounce of my joy.

Creativity Artistic Passionate Loving Spiteful Freedom of Speech Included.
I'll write whatever the hell I feel like, la-d-ie-s.
If I ruffle your petticoats you can always choose to, I don't know, NOT. READ. IT.

Thankfully in an age where the only human interaction takes place behind a computer I do hold a little power over the forces that hate.

Limited profile is Facebook's ability to make it so I can give someone the finger without actually lifting a muscle.

You wanna be my friend?  Fine.
You wanna see any shizzy I actually post?  Kiss my succulent ass.

Why I feel the need to allow people access to my life, my thoughts, my passions, my wit, when I would never willingly spend time with them is beyond me.

What the hell was life like before Facebook?

It was all, Hey remember that one kid?  I think we had that one class together?  Naw, I don't really remember.  It was ages ago.  What ever happened to 'em?  Awe well.  Whatever.

Now we have this ability to hunt folks we would never have the audacity to speak to openly in public so why am I scrolling through their status updates and pictures? 

I've even found myself looking at the profiles of exes of guys I'm seeing.

That's fucked up.

And yet I KNOW I'm not alone in that.

Why has such psychosis replaced normalcy?

And how can I believe in the hearts of men when I'm believing the illusions of technology?

The web is a magnificent thing.

But nothing can take the place of looking into the eyes of those who see what no photo can capture.

Fuck you.
I want you.
I miss you every day.
I've forgotten you already.

Believe what you will.
Take what want.
I know you already have anyway.