not letters

I have begun to hate letters, and then I return here, to the blue, because this is where I used to be able to say the things I was too afraid to say elsewhere. And here I can say things that sound like bitching because they are; bitchy bitchy aieee i just bethought me of that song, sigh, and now a little smile has come and what's the frigging point of trying to spew if i keep turning around and amusing myself? and they don't listen, not one of them listens, and i want to scream it, you don't listen, you don't understand, only that comes back to me, to me, immaturity again, but they still don't see the words, they still try to find a way around the words, why would i use them if i didn't mean them, but then that's a wrong question, because of course i only mean them in that moment and after that they're lost and nonsense and gone and boys are the worst. i hate them. and i will return your present, i should never have taken it, no present is worth having to be convinced that it is a nice present and even as i took it i felt it was an afterthought, and i can't accept it; thank you but no thank you; i will keep the postcard but not the perfume, thank you but no thank you; only how will i give it back? i must i must, only how? and other presents across the sea and i don't want them either because here comes the déjà vu, and nothing so much as other books with scrawled messages, and i don't want an end like that and i wish i'd never known because surprises are better always better because only surprises cannot end in disapointment and none of you get it because you don't listen, you never listen. and i tell you and tell you and try to tell you, and all of you only hear what you want to hear, every last one of you, and i see why people have girl friends.
and the blue is not a message, and it isn't meant to be a message, it isn't for you to come here and read all i have written and try to find in my rambling something that fits you because this is for me, for me, and if it refers to you as it may do, it's still not for you because were you invited, i think not, and don't assume unless you were. don't assume but always ask, because people like me need to be asked before they tell, i won't volunteer, and none of you hear that, though i shout it till my face is blue, i won't tell you if you don't ask unless it is something cruel and mean and bitchy, then i'll tell you because the words are so much easier then. easier easier like now see the words come tripping out and i don't even have to think twice because i am all those things, see? selfish and cruel. it's a lot more fun than sensitive.
and this time it has been a message, more than most, it has, i feel it, there is a something i want the three of you to see here. and perhaps four, but she knew all this anyway and probably better than me.
and i feel decidedly better. not enough, not enough; but better, noticeably, appreciably, actually.
*sigh*
well.