My effin life

Your lives may be good. My life is just better. Deal with it.


1. Little fetus

It’s like this. Nobody. Will. Ever. Understand. You.

And who, out of anyone would know better than myself? I mean oh-em-gee it’s not like I was born yesterday or so. Even if I am 14 I still know stuffs about life. You may say with that auto-sufficient attitude of yours about how I don’t know shit about anything, how I’m overridden by hormones. All I can really say to that ridiculous assumption is WHATEVAH. You can hate and you can judge, you can criticize me for liking Beiber or 1D and being a massive Twilight fan but in fact you are just making yourself look bad. I am a 14 year old and at the end of the day I can use that to my advantage. You are an adult. Arguing. With a teenage girl. About pop culture. Do you see how you look? Just check yourself out. Good.

This is not a diary despite it being blatantly honest and for what I know it is not a rant unless you look at it that way. So chill, grab a mug of tea and read my love story, my crime mystery, my thriller and my memoire. Read me. Open me up. Cut me whole. Good.

From when I was born I always hated lemons. They are sour and they make your mouth hurt. I have a cold so my mother is stuffing me with the citric of doom. She says “you have to eat it all if you want to get well”. She thinks I am stupid and I don’t know they invented antibiotics for that very particular reason, to make you feel better when you are on the verge of death. I know a cold is no death matter but it surely feels so. I’ll tell you the truth, I got no cold. My mom just likes assuming stuffs like all adults. I feel a bit under the weather and she assaults me with cough syrup and tea. This is what mothers do. I hate it but I don’t hate her. No, never her. Still, going back to my unease I must say it is due to a certain exhibit of the masculine genre. Alright, a boy. And just to clear that up, he is NOT my boyfriend. Just a friend. Actually, someone I know. Fine! I have never spoken to him. Yet.  I go back to my room and stalk him on FB. Nothing new since I checked two minutes ago. He is not very active, maybe he is with someone. But he is not in a relationship so maybe he is the kinda guy who just has fun with girls and then disses them. No, he doesn’t seem like that. He is special, the One. No,  it’s a lie, we are not special. No person is any more special that the other person. As my mate Pascal said, we are all just piss in the wind. He may have used different words, but the message was the same. We are beautiful like porcelain cups, the one with tiny roses painted on them in a nice pattern, the one your granny serves tea in. But we break just as easily. Or wait, are we the reed, bending in the wind, always bending but never breaking? Elastic. Are people like Reed Richards? Nah, I always liked the Human Torch better and you must admit, Chris Evans is just hotter!  Aaaanyways, my issues, remember? That’s why you are here. So this guy. His name is Isaac and he loves dogs. I am more of a cat person tbh but well, it’s okay, we can take his dog for long walks on the beach and then we can go back to my place and rub my pussy. Okay, that just came out wrong. You are probably mortified. Sex? She’s just 14. Does it matter? Fyi I have seen LOTS of porn already. Wake up, the world we live in is crazy, everything is accessible, at the tip of my index finger clicking on that very mouse button. Zap! Click! Crazy information everywhere, naked bodies, fornication, death. I am not too young. Nobody is. Well I never kissed anyone before. I may be outrageously knowledgeable about sex but it has nothing to do with my actual experience. Did he respond yet to my friend request? Nope. I check my phone for texts but I got nothing. I just want to go to sleep and dream of him. Isaac with his beautiful eyes. Isaac with the abs showing playing basketball like I saw him in that day, in the school yard. It was an unusually sunny day, so me and my friends decided to go out during recess on the lookout for beautiful men. And there he was. In the sun he was Adonis, Apollo, he was the god of my heart which he stole straight away like a crafty thief. I am so romantic; my heart still skips a beat or two whenever I think about that moment. It’s engraved forever in my soul. My chest starts to hurt and I cough blood. Maybe I do have a cold after all.

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