Untitled

he told me that I could save lives
and I believed him.
he told me that I was going places
and I smiled and nodded.

I promised him that I was going to be something
something. anything.
and that I was just fine.
I wouldn’t be here anymore.

somehow my dreams became twisted
the stage was no longer my passion
scripts were no longer useful pieces of worth.
the shows became a novelty, a sporadic event.
we were no longer one.

I thought that maybe he would change my mind.
that he would create in me a passion,
for something. anything.
other than people.

but I failed him.
I failed at being his star, his gift.
and I would like to say sorry,
but I don’t know that he deserves it.

though I promised that I would get rich,
famous,
beautiful.
and that I’d support him in his old age,
I can’t say that I would have gained anything.

so I’m not going to get rich.
I’m going to be the crazy lady that lives
day-to-day,
and I’m going to live on coffee, nicotine, marijuana
(and maybe sometimes I’ll eat)
and I won’t be rich,
because I’ll be twohundredthousanddollars
in debt.

I won’t be famous because that is for classless,
asinine, valueless
whores.
I don’t care if I could become famous for something other than
an affair, a sex scandal, a movie.
because I won’t. and I can’t.
I will not stoop to that level, I will not become one of them.
one of those who I hate.

I won’t become beautiful,
because I will not become rich.
or famous.
I won’t become beautiful,
but I’ll accept that he already thinks I am.
that I’m already perfect.

and maybe an apology to them
is in order.
for breaking curfew,
for breaking the law,
for being a teenage girl,
with no FUCKING REGARD
for authority.

but I don’t think so.
I’m a sixteen (almost seventeen) year old girl.
I don’t necessitate approval
or hatred.
hell, I don’t particularly like it.
I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me.

what matters to me are the issues that matter:
life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness and equality.
so if I’m sorely mistaken,
well.
I’m not particularly sorry.

I suppose I own him
and them apologies.
but what for?
I’m being me,
changing into something real.
so, pardon me for changing.
but I’m not fucking sorry.