the person you were

I've fought for the last months for the person you were;
the person no longer around.
The one who now would rather be with anyone who didn't call them out
as often as it feels I have to you.
A solution would be your not lying to me anymore; I wouldn't have to
call you on it then. Or, maybe you could learn how to better lie.
Then I wouldn't catch you every time.
I wish it were easier to let you go.
I wish it were harder to know that I have to.
I deserve more respect than you show me and you've moved me into a distant, obligatory acquaintance who will pretend she thinks everything is fine,
when really,
I see just as well as you do how cowardly you are being.
Ironically, this is the thing I will not call you on.
Because I deserve better than to have to tell my friend when I know he is being
dishonest.
And if I'm the only one with a
backbone
and a little self-respect,
then I feel
sorry
for you.
The man you were would have enjoyed the places you are going to see a lot more than the boy-whore you've made yourself become. These experiences for you, with your
fingers-in-ears, la la las,
will mean less than if you had walked out, eyes open to the world and all it's wonders and wounders.
Without a perspective on how much hurt there is, how can you feel the real pleasure?
I've never been anywhere, but I know that.
What a waste.

So I mourn the loss of you the Man, and turn and walk away.

the character you possess

show me who you are, please.

YOU. the one in the front row, telling me you're my best friend. YOU: the one who blew me off to have sex with the Russian whore, then ignored me for 2 weeks.

YOU. the one who sits slyly by and tells me how attractive I am. YOU: the one who made out with my friend while I was at work and lied about it.

YOU. the one who values me "more than [I] can comprehend". YOU: the one who raped girl-code by making out with my crush.

YOU. the one who has "never told anyone so much in my life". YOU: the one who has earned my trust and love for being real.

YOU. the one who has given me more self-security than I had ever thought possible. YOU: the one who I believe I will be friends with forever.

YOU. the one who is supposed to be a support system, a mentor. YOU: the one who talks about me with EVERYONE ELSE when I'm down the hall.

YOU. the pseudo-artistic one with whom I shared a night of make-out fun. YOU: the one who calls out a good friend for being successful and willing to promote himself tirelessly.

YOU. the one who is immensely talented and truly supportive and endlessly giving. YOU: the one who will be the first person to be my fan.

YOU. my mother. YOU: the one who will love me for always, no matter what I get pierced.

YOU. my sister. YOU: the one who can be counted upon to make silly decisions which will out-silly mine any day of the week.

YOU. my father. YOU: the one who wants to be the supportive daddy after all these years, but can't quite bring himself to admit it.

YOU. me. YOU: the one who has a red-flag policy and sticks to it.

the lies you tell

Being this perpetually single girl isn’t as much fun as people seem to believe it is. I’m constantly approached as a possible instrument of sexual favors which only seems to enhance my singleness when I decline to participate. Honestly, as attractive as you are, your slurred proposition does nothing but make me think I’m worth only what someone will try to convince me of; in most cases, that you’ll “run [my] show”.

Recently, I have begun to believe that people have no recollection of their words or actions when they are drunk, and since I’m only surrounded by functioning alcoholics, deadbeats, and assholes, I am therefore completely on my own.

And as much as I would love to have free and casual sex with someone other than myself, my aloneness hinders my self-esteem to the point of absolute self-disdain.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been told the following:

- You’re beautiful

- You’re sexy

- You’re incredible

- You’re an amazing girl

- I really, really like you

- I’d do anything for you

- I want to take you home with me

- I’ll come in and ask you out when I’m sober

- I’ll give you the time of your life

All hollow; all drunkenly sincere but not soberly repeated. I’d love to believe these things to be true, something more easily done were it not for the fact that I’m only comparatively prettier than my co-workers (all of whom have long-term boyfriends) and the only sober girl in the room.

All of the women I work with, while they are half my size, complain to me about their obesity. I’m by no means thin, but neither am I fat. I should lose 40 pounds, though. I’ll not eat, then I’ll be better. I’ll be able to attract someone for keeps. I’ll be immensely successful.

Soul-dier

I am still a walking contradiction
In-depth and in deep here I do march
Though I want not to suffer this affliction
And yet to many this is but a crutch.
Creating all this equal it be measured
With lowered expectations I survive
In every mourned emotion comes up feathered
To groom of malcontent I be the bride.
Ecstatic be the people sat before me
In raptures be they all among my own
Called to attention we are being Armies
Fall into winter longing for the home.
So match to us the uniforms of glory
These textiles draped atop our weary frames
Turn all those into flags as you be sorry
And leave us here to cook amongst the flames.
I am still a walking provocation
To go back there is all to re-begin
And individual each inhalation
Will pull apart the pretense of this sin.