the stupid girl.

i remember a day several months ago. i looked pretty that day. i had just come from the place i used to work. i had my boots and my pencil skirt and that cardigan everyone always compliments me on on. my hair looked nice and my mascara curled my lashes such that i looked lovely, irresistible if you will.

it was warm for december, but then again last winter was mild in general. i hadnt been home from school long at all, but it felt good to be here. endless possibilities stretched out before me on the long break ahead.

i remember conversation, laughter, comfort once again. the warm feeling of being around someone i care about and someone who really knew me and had seen me in all lights instead of the superficial plasticity of my newfound so called college friends.

i remember the feeling of sheets cool against my face, burying my head into the pillow of a familiar place. i remember the feeling of friendship, of more than that, of closeness.

then i remember the cold sharp sting. the ripping pain. the heavy drop in my stomach. the bastard hands that pushed me away, that told me no, nevermind, i dont want you.

the question of right and wrong and what worked out for the best is not something im here to discuss today. im here to say that there are some things from which you can never recover.

i remember walking down the front porch steps back to my car that day with a feeling of resolve. i felt good. the incident: forgotten.

but i was not fine. maybe i never will be fine.

because of that day and so many others, i am regularly reminded of what i stupid girl i am. some days it goes away, but the right events, the right words out of someones mouth, the right phase of the moon can always bring it back.

and now, because of that day and so many others before it, i feel stupid for spending time making myself beautiful. i feel stupid for trying to be romantic. i feel stupid for trying to be sexy. i feel stupid for believing that i could ever be someones somebody. i feel stupid for thinking i am important. i feel stupid for believing i am something other than an object to anyone.

maybe that day and so many others before it is just an easy target for me to blame for the way i feel and the way i am today. maybe its no ones fault but my own. maybe those events didnt really shape who i am now.

but im not so sure anyone could understand until they feel the cold deceptive fondling touch of outright rejection.