Boys Will Be Haters

I don't understand people sometimes, I honestly don't. I suppose I will never really get used to people hating me for no reason; never fully understand why they choose me to be the subject of their shit talking. You hate me so much, yet my name is constantly on your lips. It doesn't make much sense, does it?

These people, grown men, that I've never done a damn thing to, feel the need to trash me to anyone with ears. Posting threads about me on random websites with AIM conversations and harsh remarks. The fact that you lack anything better to do is rather pathetic.

Perhaps it's the way I walk, the way I talk, the way I just don't give a fuck who you are. Maybe it's because I wouldn't give you the time of day, because you couldn't sleep with me, or because we dated and you fucked everything up. Maybe it's because I'm going somewhere, after years of hard work, and you can't stand the fact that you will be stuck in this town for the rest of your miserable existence. And darling, your existence is sure to be miserable at the rate you're going.

I take no shame in being a strong, intelligent and driven woman. I'm sorry that the spotlight has turned to me and you've been left in the dark, but you weren't commanding it's attention.
I shouldn't be expected to apologize for gaining success and I'm not going to. Why should I want anything to do with you? Who the fuck are you, anyway? You're nothing to me, and the rest of the world doesn't care for you either. If they did, you wouldn't be so bitter.

I knew when I started going down this road that not everyone along the way would greet me with open arms and a smile; that not everyone would embrace me. But for every remark the few haters make, there are a hundred other people cheering me along.

You act like I owe you something, like you're some big shot that holds my destiny in the palm of your lonely hands. The reality is, no one outside of this city knows your name and even the people here don't give a fuck about you. The simple fact that you can't even address your problems with me to my face, that you have to use a computer to protect you, shows what kind of "man" you are. You aren't a man. You're an overgrown child that hates anyone and everyone that has what you so desperately long for. You hate anyone that doesn't kiss your ass and indulge you in your fantasy of actually meaning something in this world. That's not my problem, it's yours.

At first I wanted to beat your ass, then I realized what a waste of time and effort that would be. So instead, I will continue to walk with my head held high....leaving stiletto marks down your back as I make my way to the top of a mountain that doesn't want you. I will laugh at how insecure and jealous you are, and I will use your shit talking to fuel my fire.

Your ego is too big for this tiny town, and it's completely out of place. Who are you kidding? It's all bravado, it's all for show.

Go ahead sweetheart, keep talking because talk is all you've got.