I am lonely. I am so lonely.
I crave a loving touch. And elevate it above myself.
I want the thing that I can't have. And run towards it as though to
stab myself would make me feel better. I want the sun, a lover,
better weather. I want to feel independent and together.
I want to be enough for myself. I want to lie in bed and not think of everywhere else.
Uncomfortable, so fucking uncomfortable.
I want to rise above these itchings of the skin, that box me in.
I am part of a whole world that you will never know.
Of artist gems and basement shows, of I don't know if you knows,
of Chinese food after school, swum conversations at the Red Hook pool,
of kisses on the grey seats, and silent snow on once loud streets,
of people mouthing my own lyrics back at me, of classmates who will surely be
judges, lawyers, politicians, jerks, wealthier than they deserve, poor and broke and so artsy,
of bridges that belong to me. Oh I am the intersection of worlds,
a spiders web of everything I've ever known.
People who have touched my cheek, others who have known me,
All the contradictions that grow inside of me, and make me me, and make me me,
a combination of everything.
I throw myself into it as though it is a workout
here, wear me out, I say, here, use me, I say, here, do everything but touch me,
talk to me, love me, look at me, brush my hand, choose me as your partner, text me,
but never tell me that you love me. I text Emory about crushes being like being hit by a car
(Ananya's words) and he says who do you have a crush on. And I say why do you think
I tried to hold your hand today. And he says yes I know but who else.
Oh the horror of this feeling. It's all logic melting. I give myself to it, so I don't have to give myself
to the larger things that would swallow me whole. I wear myself down. I want to wear myself out.
I want you to kiss me so I don't have to think anymore.
