At Least You Know Where You Are

When I Am In A Relationship, I Don’t Wear Lipstick At All. I Hate The Smearing, The Retouching, The Constant Throb Of Phoniness As You Surreptitiously Check The Damage In Your Compact Between Kisses. I Wear Lots Of Mascara To Compensate, Different Colors So I Don’t Get Bored. When I Am About To Break Up With A Guy, He Has Full Warning Because I Start Wearing Lipstick Again.

He Was Addicted To Me And Now He Has Gone Cold Turkey. He Used To Send Me Fifty Texts A Day. And Now He Is Ignoring Me. It's Like I Was Once His Barack Obama. And Now I Am John Mccain, Conceding Defeat Like A Sad-face Sock Puppet, Knowing I Have Sold The Best Of Myself. He, My Electorate, Not Only Does Not Want Me, He Actively Feels Pity.

My Radar, After All These Years Of Sanity, Is Still Off When It Comes To What People Do Or Don't Mean.

You’re Like Marilyn Monroe,’ Ken Tells Me, Which I Take As A Compliment And Say A Nervous “thank You”. Interrupting, He Adds, ‘you’re All Velvet And Velcro. Men Want You Because You’re Sexy And Broken And When It Gets Too Rough They Can Say “hey! This Toy Is Broken!” And Toss You Aside Without Feeling Bad.

I Think A Neurotic Learns From Their Mistakes. A Psychotic Does Not.