What hurts the most is seeing the thing you want
And not feeling like the moment to grab it is at hand.
Some strange distance is between us…
The girl at the ____________ register
Sure, I can talk to her about Yawning.
I can tell her about my theories on time.
What becomes difficult, however,
Is working up the nerve to flirt.
I don’t want to
Because the situation is wildly inappropriate.
I don’t like flirting.
I want a steady conversation.
As a youth, there were those I played with
And it just clicked.
Rare were those encounters,
Where I just clicked with someone else.
The play was fun…
They got me, I got them.
There was an ease of knowing them
Like I had known them my entire life.
All sincerely cliche lines,
But we still all know the feeling.
Precious it is, it’s how I met all of my best friends.
Why one of them wasn’t a woman;
There’s always been a strange fear of them for me.
A fear of obtaining them;—
I have that fear of getting to close to them
On the chance that they would find out what I was really like
And walk away.
But on rare moments, I could be just myself
And similarly find myself at ease with them.
I suppose I want conversation more than anything.
I want agreement, even if I’m dead wrong.
I want resistance on moral truths;—
Not intellectual ones.
I feel there is a strange chasm between me and the woman at the ____________.
Perhaps if we met at the book store.
Perhaps if we met anywhere but there.
But then again, I am quite unimpressive.
A woman wrote a poem about Echo and Narcissus.
I felt like Narcissus.
Perhaps I am becoming him…
However, I don’t like peering into the mirror
To look at myself. I am hideous.
Rather, I have been taught to love myself by therapy…
I would like the _____________ employee to unlearn me
Of all those tricks.
Therapy seems to colden and deaden you to the harsh realities of life.
It seems to put up walls,
It says, “Don’t trust anyone.”
And soon enough, you live, can wipe your own ass,
Can eat and live off of work.
Just, something is missing in life,
The more important part.
But I have the pressure of family
Telling me all life is about wiping myself.
Wiping my mouth, my butt, putting soap on my hands
And cleaning out the nether regions.
As if that is the only joy of life.
That, and doing labor I am not willing to do
To serve a purposed end of what exactly?
Did I forfeit my happy life from two crimes in youth?
If so, maybe I don’t want to take care of myself
If this writing cannot earn me enough to win bread.
So… I twirl about two desires
Being an author and being in love.
I want to be an author for the purpose of wiping myself.
I want to be in love for the purpose of having something beside
Hygiene to live for.
If you could understand my families indoctrination,
Life is all about cologne, toilet paper,
And eating. Pleasures to be derived
From the excess of bodily functions and their expressions.
Of course, I became angry at one of them in particular
When they said, “Let the TV raise your kids.”
It had never been their philosophy of life…
One of the things I appreciated most was how they nurtured me
And cared about me when nobody else seemed to.
But, life is all about liquids.
It’s all about dopamine.
Meanwhile I stand quite helpless
Not wanting my life to resemble it.
The girl behind the ____________ counter could have fixed it…
But, truthfully, was there a chance at bonding?
She had a job to do.
I had a job to do.
Anything extraneous beyond that
Would get her in trouble.
As, that exact life is what I despise.
We could have been soul mates
And the de facto laws of business
Kept us apart.
Somewhere, I’m looking for a life
Where you just meet the girl in your tribe
And fall in love with her because you don’t know any better,
Marry her, and then grow up and have children.
You’re never taught to covet beauty,
So even when someone more beautiful arrives
It’s not this immediate lust and gravitation.
You simply don’t know any better because there is no sexual desire
Except for the one person you found it with…
That woman you met in your village.
Yet, there were old maids then, too.
So, I have no surmise,
Except to say that I didn’t want to flirt
Because I felt a boundary.
When I find the right woman
I want there to be no boundaries.
Rather, if she shows up at two AM,
Or I do, we’ll be none the callous for sleep.
In laymen’s terms
I want a friend I can have sex with.
I think that’s what everyone desires in a mate
As there is nothing else in this life worth obtaining.
Success, glory, honor,—
It seems too much like wiping myself.
Rather, when I’m old,
Maybe my desire is for there to still be someone left to wipe me.