Immature.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I'm immature.

Submitted: November 30, 2011

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Submitted: November 30, 2011

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I only just discovered that I’m incredibly immature.
Not just because I make jokes about penises and whores,
But mostly because I can’t stay attracted to the same girl for a week or more.
After that I get bored
And I go to the girl store
Where there’s walls and walls and walls
Of these things they call girls
And there are some with straight hair and some with curls,
And some that are acrobats and they can do twirls,
Some are dancers and some can do swirls
With those ribbon things that they have in America – on the other side of the world.

I’ve got me a woman, who is perfectly fine.
In fact she’s perfect and if I wasn’t a faggot I’d know she’s divine.
But I aint got the sense to realise she’s mine,
Because I just looked at my watch and realised it’s time
To move onto another female. Wait. Stop. Rewind.

She’s perfectly fine? What does that mean?
Are you saying she’s functional and fairly clean?
No it’s better than that. We have lots in common.
We like the same music and movies. My heart should be throbbin’
But it isn’t because my head keeps on robbin’
These feelings away from me. It’s leaving me rotten.

So decayed and putrid and rotting inside.
I feel like something crawled into me and died
And then it moved up into my eyes
And is distorting my vision, so that whenever I try
To clear my head out and get into my mind
And realise that she is cute and kind
And definitely has a very attractive side,
All I see is what’s negative and bad about her. Why?

I’m a slut and I’ll never be happy
Because this creature inside me keeps making me scrappy.
It makes me discontent with whatever’s thrown at me.

I hate you, you fuckwit.
Stop with this shit.
Get out of my head and let me have some happiness.


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