And I do feel like a piece of meat. A big one though, just because I’m really tall.
I hate when people think that you’re always there: available for whatever THEY want to do whenever THEY want to do. It’s nice, isn’t it? It’s really easy to think like this.
And I hate even more the ones who actually think you are a piece of meat. They go to the butcher and ask for a real piece of nice meat and: bingo! There you are! No feelings, no nothing! Just another piece that can be eaten without doind any thinking about it.
Maybe it’s all my fault. Acatually, I do think it’s all my fault. Along these last years, I was always there, waiting for been picked by him in whatever market. I’ve been really patient and kind about it even when the stupid person came around and threw me some beautiful words. As any asshole who loves somebody, I used to believe in every single word that it was told by him. I used to think he only said the truth all the time. Bull shit! Big fat bull shit!
I guess I allowed some people to see me from this point of view. And that’s why, once again, the fault is mine. You can put the blame on me... go on!
Wait me in the next barbecue, dear! I’d rather be a piece of meat that cannot be picked by anyone, specially by him! In fact, being a piece of meat makes me a being without any thoughts, any feelings, any hearts to be hurt. So, maybe it’d be a good idea. Who knows?
(*) Text written in March 25th