Pixels Vs. High Definition
The more I give the more alive I feel. Opportunity for introspection starts after my converser says they hate small talk. We talk about death and how much we dislike being adults with undeveloped brains. The next thing I know, shit is flying left and right because I have been babysitting a manchild the entire time; he has IBS (innate bullshitter). Having been a doormat has taught me a lot of things: You hold the key to undying forgiveness and availability as well as the dirt and grime people place onto you for safekeeping. You are not cool by bending to everyone’s will bae, and it only makes others see you for what you accept rather than what you deserve. There is only one will, and his name is will.i.am<3
People my age tend to love playing games, emotionally and leisurely. For some, “game over” becomes a point in which they need to prove themselves the next round that walks on by, head high and aimed at a perfect highscore position. Personally, my hands still shake even after the blood has long faded from the screen and the question of “continue?” in the corner makes me ponder if I should turn the automated killing sequence off. I have always loved watching people play video games since I never had the nervous system to do it myself. I admire the resilience people have after having been beat down by the likes of a computer, designed to keep you guessing and ever-addicted to a pleasure not so easily won. I see why a lot of guys are only kept interested by “the chase” now, and I wish I had realized it sooner, before I was broken up with and then immediately replaced by 2k not even five minutes later. I am literally like :0 thinking about it
Parting my physicality to ignite pleasure in a lover who only comes and goes running. Does this stem from the evasiveness brought on by a technological outbreak of sexual content? Whether it be in a GTA strip club or on your favorite online site, once your itch has been scratched, there is no consequence in closing that tab or removing your character from that side of town because the accessibility feels as though it has been built for you, for your pleasure. I feel afraid of men, and not because they tend to be stronger than me; you can usually tell with those who are not afraid to raise their voice at you (run!). No, its the ones who cannot stay off their phone; texting their ex, tweeting from an anonymous account, or sending around those pictures of you in one of your most sacred and vulnerable states. These experiences add up like pixels to display what you look like on the big screen; a fool, a slut. I feel like a phone screen filled with cracks, and even those cracks are filled to the brim with the germs from the gentlemen who do not wash their hands after using the loo.
I go quiet once the phrase “I promise” ends a moment of my scarce vulnerability. Now I feel like hiding myself away to become the opposite of the fantasy of which I never seem to live up to. Keep your loaded words away from me when the time comes for a showdown, blanks had been kept there all along. As easy as they came, the faster they’re gone. Men seem to shoot their shot when faced with excitement and fear alike, never understanding the consequence of the hurt that ensues after being hit; somehow though, they always nail the bullseye (collateral damage!). I can’t blame the ones I find myself in a sea of, all they know is to corner and kill from COD I guess.
