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Love isn’t a good morning text
Or some other slanted
Minuscule gesture
It is a presence looming
Craving to capture you
Envelope you in your entirety
But here we are waiting on a rose
Or a gift
A letter
Perhaps if that’s what love has become
Then I will hope I find something better
I don't remember writing this.  I just found it open on my desk top and when I read it I thought I actually wrote something good for the first time.
  Dec 2017 Anastasia Helarch
Morgan
he interrupted me
in the middle of
an earth shatteringly
pointless story
to tell me i had
a cute laugh,
in a smoke-filled
garage infront of
all of our friends.
i said,
"alright dude
*******"


that night
i slept in the fetal
position with four blankets
and craved his skin so
bad i didn't even notice
that i bit my lip
until the pool of blood
collecting inside the deep ditch
of my gums, began to taste
of hot metal

today he texted me
while i was at work
and asked if he could
bring me a coffee
i looked at myself
in the bathroom mirror,
sighed and told him
we were busy
then i bought a
coffee for myself,
let the bitter sweet
warm liquid
linger on my tongue
and pretended
it was his lips

alone is a state of being
and i have never been alone,
lonely is a state of mind
and i have never been anything but
don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.
Look at you,
with your
cat ears, face paint,
masks of every sort

Look at you,
dressing up
as something you aren't
as if you don't already do that
364 days out of the year
Look out the window, or stare at the screen
I can't tell you what any of these posts mean

Everyone wants their five seconds of fame
Social media making everyone look the same

I'm not romanticizing the way it was before
I just can't take mindless scrolling anymore
November 10 2016 will mark 365 days since I deleted all of my social media accounts
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