to the boy who complimented my poem

you're supposed to correct me! that's NOT how it was! i did NOT make eye contact with you, and i certainly wasn't as comfortable and confident as i come off in this snippy little poem. and i expect my poetry teacher to like it when i'm being a little ice queen, but YOU are supposed to call me on my bullshit. you officially have my permission. in fact, it's part of the JOB description if you want to be a friend of mine - built in shock proof shit detector. because i am FULL OF SHIT, and i need people who will TELL ME THAT, either gently like ed and maria, or bluntly like mana and my sister. oy. hard to earn my respect if you accept me as gospel - just my wayward nature. i barely even WROTE the poem. really, you did - you said it, you asked the intense, brutal, erotic, scary, so-sexy-it-makes-me-weak-kneed question. i just reacted, in the space of a tiny little stanza. you give me too much credit, sir.

i wrote this phrase a couple of months back (actually, at first i couldn't remember if i wrote it or emily did. . . i think it was inspired by something she said): "A GROUP OF TEENAGERS JUST TRYING TO STUMBLE THROUGH LIFE WITHOUT TOO MANY PEOPLE GETTING HURT." it still applies, even though i'm technically no longer a teenager. i'm still right. we're not trying to hurt anyone.

and some other things. i want to email you but i'm not sure if it's too passive aggressive. posting on my LJ is *definitely* passive aggressive, but i'm pretty sure this will not be read. but i can't talk to you . . . you make me strangely silent. it's scary, few boys silence me . . . only the really powerful ones. uhoh. in your presence my big mouth shuts itself up.

more later. i'm not done with you.