Love in the Year 2067
i’m afraid we’ve never met,
and i’m afraid we’ll never meet.
yes we’ve already met,
but did we really meet?
you’ve painted your nails,
and you’ve spoken your piece.
you’ve put on your dress,
you’ve given your speech.
i have yet to bloom—
to dress up, to room
with a roommate like you.
with a roommate like you.
grandma’s tears make me ill;
if i could write a piece that’d let her see with my eyes, i would.
because they’re dry,
and they don’t lose very often;
they bottle up anything and everything,
so when the gates open—they don’t rain, they don’t pour—
they flood anything and everything,
and push out every candle
they make it so i can see,
see without the water disguised as saline.
see without the wall of emotions,
see without the burning bosom/ the fuzzy feelings/ the chest pressure/
i couldn’t bear anymore weight,
i couldn’t let any more lies roll off my tongue.
so i stopped putting on my shirt,
my dress shoes.
i stopped walking down the sidewalk,
stopped smelling the seasons,
stopped racking focus between tree branches and gradient skies.
i stopped sitting on cold metal, under dim, yellow lights.
i couldn’t stand the hypocrisy i’d exhibit every single week;
i dreaded it every minute.
in her’s and everyone else’s eyes,
i am sad
i will rot in hell,
and fall endlessly.
i’ve killed every expectation, every handshake, every smile—
every cold, empty smile.
every envelope enveloped in gold, and attached to a pair of the meanest eyes i’ve ever seen.
i’m free but pissed off.
i’ve found my truth,
but truth doesn’t matter when it kills
to bite down,
and to destroy, all because of your many wasted opportunities, would be pointless.
life doesn’t sink its teeth into everyone.
some will go their whole lives without tasting sweet, sweet venom;
they’ll only know what it feels like to brush up against poison.
and some won’t even experience that.
after high school, some will never muster their favorite color or book ever again.
some will never love, and therefore, never get their heart broken.
some will hum the same tune their whole lives.
no pauses in the wind, no ripples in the water,
no disruptions, no disturbances
no alarms, no surprises,
just a straight line from the first breath to the last.
don’t you dare think a mere expression of frustration will turn any heads or draw any attention whatsoever, because nothing is certain, especially when you’ve been “dodging bullets” your entire life.
don’t you dare budge—not a tear, not a face, not a noise. go back to your safe, monotonous life where you belong, because you didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything for six goddamn years, so how could you expect anyone to do anything but reciprocate?
it turns out that life just doesn’t sink its teeth into everyone.
some must chase after the rodent.
it’s diseased, harmful, and so hard to catch.
and to those who have had the pleasure of being attacked:
enjoy the shit coursing through your veins,
and the pleasure.
the circle-jerking high school experience was,
closed off. noninclusive.
not that i’m dying to be a part of an orgy—
i just wish i could get a chance at some meaningless sex
and some fake love.
love based on the shallowest of pools
on the most secluded island resort.
far far away.
because at least it’s