I was ten years old when I had my first crush.
I didn't think much of it. I just sort of assumed
That you should care for your best friend enough
That they were the person you wanted to reach for
When no one else was there.

I assumed that love was the type of thing
That you give freely and kindly.

But when he was lost to me,
Due to moves and my own issues,
I held on tight to those feelings,
And attempted time and time again to let go.

But I never felt anything
Since then.
No spark of affection,
No desire to get to know another
In that sense

And I faked a lot of things I shouldn't have.
I faked affection and I faked caring.

I faked being a normal teenager,
Because normal teenagers have crushes and think people are cute,
And recognize attraction and flirtation and actually want to go to dances
And hope that the cute boy will kiss them.

I faked it all.
Because I never felt a "crush", nor did I find anyone cute,
I didn't recognize attraction or flirtation, and I would have rather died than go to a dance.
And kissing I found to be disgusting, I would have rather chewed on rocks.

I thought I was broken. That I wasn't quite normal.
That there was something wrong with me for being so utterly repulsed
By *** and the like.

And in a vulnerable, broken state,
I mistook a bravado of kindness that hid selfish intentions,
For a chance to normalize myself again.
And I broke further,
Through every time I was yelled at,
Berated,
Controlled.
Told not to feel,
Not to react
Not to respond.

For so long, I thought I was broken
Because I cannot look at someone and find them anything more than
Somewhat aesthetically pleasing (if even that).
I cannot look at someone and see any potential
Sexually.

And upon being with you,
And clicking with the conversation,
And that first hug,
I realized I was not broken.
Rather I was a lock,
That needed the correct key,
But the key had been there
All along.

The doctor hands me a prescription
I cough
"Just so the coughing doesn't keep you up all night" he says
"There's nothing else that can really be done for you"

I read the label on the bottle
"Codeine" it says
Right above all the DISCLAIMERS and side effects

I pour out my proper dose
One teaspoon of brownish-red liquid
And swallow it in a gulp

It's oddly minty

I feel it sliding through my system as I crawl in bed
It wants control, so after a brief tussle
I relent

I notice how warm and dark it is
My breathing slows
And the best part is,
I'm not thinking

I don't have to think about all my worldly ties

The first thing I do think when I wake up is that
I can see how other people can't get enough of this
I crave it, just a little, I miss it

DISCLAIMER:
It's not that I want these thoughts to pass, or would ever take action on them.
It's just that there is some part of me that isn't scared of them, isn't scared of never thinking again, and that scares me.

**I make sure my dose the next night is exactly, only a teaspoon.

The more you try to tell me
What is right
And what is wrong,
What I should do
And what I should not,
The more you make me
Want to face-plant
Into a wood chipper.

And yet,
You continue to speak.

Up is up, so down is down.

Red and green means Christmas, obviously.

Birds singing? Happiness.

Rumors equal catfights.

Cheating leads to divorces. Multiple.

And this poem is about you. Duh.

When I tell you I don't in any way, shape, or form, deserve you, you just smile and kiss my words away till they're nothing but a faded memory in the back of your mind, where they'll soon be forgotten. But not for me. I'd always said you were my saviour, my vice, my distraction; but, perhaps, am I yours? Living the life of a hero, with its' pain, sorrow, and guilt- your doting on me, covering me with sweet words, is this your distracting? You say, then, love is a musical, and we are the actors. But you omit who else ventures onto the stage, beloved. Have you forgotten our old nemesis, Jealousy? She wears jade and loathing, and is the lead soprano. Cloaked in all her majesty, hypnotizing with the voice she sings, you remember her well, as do I. Yet lo, from stage left, enters a dear acquaintance- it is none other than Hope, dear old Hope, donning her tattered rags of lost dreams and wasted words. But all is lost when the orchestra plays, conducted by the one who rules over us all- Fear has come back, placing doubt into our minds, our hearts, our souls. We said once we were intertwined, yet how can we venture to regain that conscious feeling of royal sweetness? It is lost to the stage as the music plays louder and Hope falls to the floor in a scene of tragedy. There is no much more to say- Fear has overtaken me, love. How will our musical end?

My best friend and I like to say we're going to end up
working in the same hospital one day.
We have to believe something.

But, right now, all I can think is that
we're very cute
for laying out these adorable, little future fantasies.

I bet the universe would be laughing at us
if there was anything there to do the laughing,
but there isn't.
No path is decreed out of spite or favor.
There's nothing there to do the decreeing.

It is chance that rules our game,
thoughtless chance,
a million cards falling exactly the way we hoped.

I do not pray for the world to do right by me
and give me the ends I am due.
I pray for luck.

And then I hug my best friend like it might be the last time I see her, and pretend that I have the choice to never let go.

The shower's hot, steam rising up
I look in the mirror

And see the black crack of the door
growing silently, inch by inch

I'm home alone
It's probably being nudged by the wind

But I can't stop looking at it
I wipe the steam from the glass and peer through

It's creaking open so patiently-
I locked the doors when I got home, right?

I can't remember
The floors wince slightly outside the bathroom door

My heart and mind race
What can I use to defend myself? A bar of soap?

I start singing, children's songs, conjuring happy, simple beauty
I sing as loud as I can
I rip my eyes from the door

With my voice, I cast a web of brightness around myself to keep my demons at bay