we, in a manner akin to that of a man who once was, in Rome, an orator of significant skill, who was then for his elegance of speech renowned and now for his elaborate structure of sentences cursed by generations of scholars of Latin, the language which he spoke and we now study, Cicero, write, rather than by any efficiency, functionality, or ease of legibility have our words, our honors, the breaths of our hearts, be besmirched.
Once
a boy looked very sadly at me after a little bit of conversation.
‘you’re so smart’ he said, ‘I feel like I couldn’t keep up’. And then he
did that sad boy face where you’re supposed to agree to tone yourself
down. So I said ‘probably’ and fucked his mate.
some top advice from a slut, here, 90% of the time when some boy looks sad and tells you you’re too ‘x’ to keep up with it’s a ploy to get you to cut bits off yourself so you can come down to his mediocre level; instead, agree with him and fuck his mate
I am a slut Wen on a dayte With Boye who would Manipulate I’m not sway’d by His saddened state- I say okay I fuck his mayte
just moving along like everyone else 