Sometimes—or well, quite often actually—I just hate people. I hate the lies, the way they talk to someone behind someone else’s back, the way they can’t keep themselves to being faithful, honest and kind to those they say they love. And I think it’s really funny how people constantly underestimating me, like I’m stupid for real or something, or just really naïve. I’ve been naïve. I’ve been blue and I have believed in people not worth to believe in. But I’m not that girl anymore. I know things, I find out things. I always do, and just because I keep quiet about it doesn’t it mean I don’t have a clue. 

I really love being the center of a mean joke in front of the entire Facebook. Who cares if I’m not laughing, just point out my silly flaws and mistakes I’ve already been through and explained, and for the love of god don’t bother to ever mention the things I’m actually good at or the fact I’ve never failed on these things besides those mistakes. Make me look really bad and sloppy and whatever, I mean, why would anyone care if my feelings get hurt along the way? Who the fuck cares? Clearly not you.