I suppose I regret that time I said I wouldn’t get over that guy; the time I cried of laughter when really I just couldn’t bring up the courage to let myself cry for the reason I wanted to; the time I kissed him and wasn’t ready; the time I almost did that; the time I looked at you and you didn’t see me; the time blood sparkled against the midnight-lit lamp; the time I let myself believe I couldn’t and the other when I let myself believe I could.
I suppose I regret not being there and being there and doing this and doing that with this person and that person and making my world crash in burning flames.
Judge me. I don’t care. Judge me on my clothes, my mistakes, my love of makeup. Judge me on how I’m an outcast and how even that world sounds pitiful. I made myself an outcast, you didn’t make me. I stopped talking and taking interest in you. I left you to smile at your friends, insult them, go to parties, and drink until you were too drunk to stand. I left society, so judge me. No one will listen.