The odd thing is that
Only certain people are
Allowed to get picked on

When she’s pretty
Maybe even itty-bitty,
She cannot be a target

When she is ugly.
Or has a different way of being,
She can only be a target.

It is acceptable to look at one
Who is so very different
And then keep on insulting

If he is a sports star
Then he must be wonderful
And is never to be picked on.

If he is smart and clever.
Wears glasses, maybe, then
He can only be less sought after.

It is said that all are
To be treated equally.
But this is never lived out.

She is told that she
Can be anything she wants,
As long as she looks the part.

She is told that she must
Be brilliant and then
Falls apart when she fails once.

It can be as bad as to create
One’s identity for her as
It is to deprive her of one.

He is told that
He must play sports
He must get perfect grades.

Perchance he doesn’t,
Opting instead for art,
Never aware of it’s hefty price.

Apparently only the
Pretty girls can pick
On others.

But the smart ones
Can throw a
Much, much larger punch.

When you are
At a disadvantage,
The ***** are in your court.

Because the pretty girl
Who has no real friends
Cannot be bullied.

It is not viewed
As something wrong
When done to certain people.

We accept that some
Get picked on, deciding
That it’s how the world works.

Because the popular guy
Who wants to dance
Does not understand pain.

Bullying is only seen
As taking one’s freedom. Never
As telling one how to live his life.

Because, somehow,
You are never allowed
To be pretty and smart.

Because you are
Only allowed to be
Society’s perception of you.

You are allowed to be fat.
But then you must be comedic.
Never can you be a fat dramatic.

Because it isn’t over until the fat lady sings.
She is always the comic relief.
Never is she the leading lady.

You are allowed to be short.
But then you must be petite.
Never are you just something ordinary.

Because retailers makes special jeans
For the tall and the short,
Forgetting how it highlights the differences.

We pick out the differences
And choose to make these
The prominent points.

We don’t look at what’s the same
Because then we’d have to admit
That none are really any better.

We all want to be better than
Someone else around us.
It’s simply the way the world goes around.

All I wanted was acceptance.
All she wanted was kindness.
All he wanted was to have fun.

But we all wanted to be seen
As something more than ourselves,
As something extraordinary.

We all want to
Feel amazing, to think
That we are worth a lot.

But only if we play
That role we were assigned
Are we allowed to feel we’re worth something.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good rumor as much as the next guy. Some of them are actually quite lovely and kind. Some of them have come from a really kind heart who gave one of the most amazing grains of truth. Sometimes rumors are the truth. It’s just that, most often, they are not. For shame.

Perhaps I have gone way too long being jaded by the idea that people really are generally good and that they would never want to hurt others. This may be the worst idea that I could make in my life, but I am choosing to believe that it is in fact one of the better ones. Maybe I want the world to be good.

See, you all go around, thinking that nothing good comes without a price to pay and neglect to mention that the same is true for bad things. You cannot do something bad without giving up something that would otherwise delight you. These two ideas have become fois, and, as foils, they cannot come without the other.

It has come to my attention that one can think anything which she wants. This is only the beginning of the wrongdoings. When one can think anything, what is to stop her from doing anything? There is no way to stop actions when you have so boldly fought for the right to think them up.

But she asked about my forearm. I did not want to answer. And she did not push me to say anything about it. As it always goes, I don’t know what she should have done instead, just that I did not like that, which she did do. It is so very complicated when someone wants to help. I don’t want it. But she does.

It is not as though there isn’t a lovely backstory. Believe me, there is a large book somewhere that I could call my backstory. It would chronicle my entire life’s doing, from the first time I was hurt to the first time I hurt someone else. It would say everything that I cannot.

When I was five, I broke my arm for the first time. I ran into my mom’s car. It was parked. I was trying to steer a bike. Turns out I couldn’t. Years later, in 3rd grade, I would finally stop being afraid and learn how to bike. Still didn’t like it. Years later, in 7th grade, I would find out that it was actually my elbow that I had broken.

Some girls who I thought were my friends picked on me for it. It may have been my first experience of getting picked on for being different. It did not matter one little bit, though. I had my friends. We were five. We all make mistakes. I just learned that not everyone can be trusted with anything.

At the age of six I was in kindergarten and there was a girl who did not like me very much, if at all. She picked on me. I was a skinny little thing back then. I have seen pictures. But that did not contribute to the picking on me. Nope. I was picked on because I really liked to eat salads. Salad. I was bullied because I liked salad.

And I was always very nice to her. I can attribute this to a lot of different things, but I think it was because I knew that fighting back wouldn’t accomplish anything. So, I ended up choosing to hang out with guys. There were more of them at the school, anyway. And so I learned that different people can be beneficial.

This girl who bullied me was never someone that I was mad at. I remember that she had a lot of animals at her house. I remember being so jealous because she had every type of pet imaginable and I only had a fish. I named my fish banana head. It was yellow. But this girl had so many pets.

It is funny, in a way. I know that years later it would be told to me that her home life wasn’t exactly perfect. Maybe I hadn’t known that much when I was that little, but I did know not to throw fire to extinguish fire. I think that I was so willing to find good that I did find it. I learned that everyone deserves to be cared about.

In third and fourth grade, there were these two girls. They were nice enough. I can’t exactly pinpoint why it was that they did not like me, but I have my suspicions. I was the fat girl at that point. And, to top it all off, I was in an advanced academics program. I was prone to all the bullying. Didn’t know it.

But this is not the point. The point is that they hurt me and wrote me a letter in my yearbook telling me that I should apologize to them. And so I did. I felt so terrible for having hurt them that I asked for forgiveness. I did get it. They were not without hearts. And so I learned that the loser must give in to demands.

To talk about the next few years is a crazy mess. But there was one time when I saw this guy cry. He was talking about how his sister was mean. I guess that this is a common thing with older siblings. He was this guy that everyone thought was rude and immature. But, from that day on, I had a soft spot for him.

Jump ahead a few years and he and I are in the same German class. He is there, talking with his friend. They begin by having a puzzle solving competition. These guys, who are brilliant, are racing to solve a puzzle. But they talk about the funny things they did in second grade. There was a stick one of them found.

They were the type of guys who had a lot going for them and perhaps I was the only one who saw that one guy who all others had found immature as being absolutely brilliant. He just didn’t try. People are so much more than the facade they lead you to believe. That’s how I learned to look before judging.

But I know that my appearance has always made me feel like the ugly duckling in the room. I have been waiting for so long to become a beautiful swan. A lovely, skinny, beautiful one. Once I was tricked into seeing a therapist about it. Had I known, I may have given it a shot. Thought it was a weight loss clinic.

In eighth grade this new girl came into school. She was from Florida. She was pretty and skinny and blonde, which should have gone without saying. She was everything that I could never be. And my group of friends came to the realization that she was better and picked her over me. Can’t blame them.

In middle school, my theatre teacher gave me roles that were absolutely gorgeous roles and told me I did wonderfully. I believed her. She allowed me to be a lead when there were better actors out there. I was made to think that I was someone with talent. So I tried from then on. I will always thank her for the confidence.

And then I entered high school. I discovered that it was only the same people who got cast. They all looked the same; petite, skinny, and gorgeous. Of course they would get the part. It was made for them. I was then lead to believe that I had no talent. I was swimming on dry land. I learned that people only want certain things.

Still I adored theatre. I decided that, since I would never be pretty enough to be an actress, that I should at least design. At least I could be a part of things that way. And so I took a summer arts class in which I learned the basics of makeup and applying it. It may have been the highlight of my summer.

But that was the summer that I realized that I would have to be proactive in changing my appearance. I did some things that I may not be exactly proud of, and certainly not enough so to mention, but they did happen. I cannot lie. It was seen as the only solution. I learned that mind over matter wields great truth.

Two years later and I would have designed once and been stripped of a crew head title as well. I had told her I would be gone that week. She said it would be perfectly okay. But then she changed her mind at the very end of it all. Some other girl wanted the points. But we all knew who was the first choice: me.

Then comes the piece de la resistance, you could call it. There was this girl who decided that I could show up to all of the rehearsals show week, stay until late at night, but then could not be there for the actual shows. She did apologize to me and I was only mad at myself. I confirmed that I really was not good enough.

So here I am, right now, at the point where tears have run dry and my thoughts are overtaken by daydreams. I have all these lovely times in which I am running away. off to a foreign land. And everything always works out in my favor there. I am allowed to love whomever I please. It is perfection.

Because now I am in love with a beautiful foreign girl. Her demeanor is lovely and when she smiles, she has the cutest dimples. I cannot help but smile and act like a fool whenever I am around her. Love is strange like that. But I am not allowed to love a woman. I have learned to not add another strike on my list.

I was never the daughter that my parents wanted. They tell me that this is not true, that they love me no matter what. But I know better than that. They will love me more if I am into science or math. My mom keeps on telling me to not stop math, because there is a way to creatively use it. What lies.

She just doesn’t think I can make it in the art world. Maybe I can’t. Oh, but what if I can? Don’t I owe it to myself to at least try? Oh, that’s right, she’s the one who fought for years to get me to become skinny and gorgeous. I understand the reasoning, but was it necessary? I am not enough for my own mother.

I have not become secluded because of one event. I have not shut myself out because of one person. It has been a series of thoughts. It has been a long time in the making. It has been a lot of decisions. I have not undertaken this change lightly, and neither have those around me. Poor them.

This is something that scares me, too. I used to be willing to face the world head-on, and now I don’t want to even think it exists. Who have I become? The product of a society, which teaches girls that they are worthless if they are not classically beautiful…
The product of biased marketing. That’s who I am.

I know that they all like to say that nice guys finish last.
But this really is far from true.

Most nice guys really will end up finishing first.
It just may happen to them well after they want it to.

But it may be to your advantage, that way.
You’ll get to meet people at their best, some would say.

When you get to finish first, first, you will miss out on a lot.
The people whose prime is early in life are generally not the best.

I know that it is really hard to think that you’ll have to wait.
There is not a single person who enjoys waiting.

But it really is in your favor to wait for a little while.
You can meet yourself before meeting other people.

And you have to be crazy to think that there aren’t others who are lonely.
Sometimes the nice girls think they’re in last place, too.

Nice guys think that they have to change.
Nice guys, please do us all a favor, never change.

The world can use a lot of people like you.
We need some people we can be proud of.

See, you think you’re a problem because her parents would like you.
Give it a few years, and that will be what she wants.

I meet this nice guy once and really liked him.
But, as you’d like to guess, I didn’t date him.

I’m even certain that we were flirting for a little bit.
Yet, I did not wish to date him.

I suppose you can call me a hypocrite right now.
I would be lying if I said you’re completely wrong.

But never did I say that nice guys would always win.
All I recall saying is that they wouldn’t finish last.

Because, if I’m being frank here, they cannot be last.
Last is reserved for those whom you don’t desire in the slightest.

And I can attest to always wanting someone nice.
I can admit that I will always want someone who is kind.

And you’re wondering why I didn’t date what I wanted.
As luck would have it, I knew he was too good for me.

He may have actually gotten a different message on that.
I’d be fibbing if I said that I told him that.

He just thinks that I only want him as a friend.
He thinks that was all I ever thought of him as.

He is not entirely wrong, honestly, he’s not.
Dating friends is something that complicates things; so I won’t date them.

But he doesn’t know that I was willing to break that rule.
I would go against all I stand for, just for a nice guy.

Sure, I would then somehow ruin things, but it would be nice while it lasted.
But I could never think of hurting someone so dearly, not when he gave his all.

Nice guys don’t finish last because no one wants them.
Nice guys finish last because everyone wants them.

Nice guys win in the end because others have gathered up their courage.
When we can be real with them, then they can win.

Nice guys finish later because we like them so much.
We are scared to hurt them and it causes us to hurt them more.

We can never win when it comes to people.
No matter what you do, someone will get hurt.

Please don’t fall in love with me.
I know you think that you want to
But I have met myself and I can assure
You that it really is not what you think
You’re getting yourself into,
Regardless of what you may believe.

Please don’t ignore me for days on no end.
I understand that I can be annoying
And have too much energy one day, and
None at all the next day,
That I speak the truth and that
Most of the time, I’m not all that kind.

Please don’t tell me that I’m smart.
I know that it doesn’t make sense to someone like you,
Who really is quite the genius;
But I have only ever been called that
And once you call me that, too,
I will forever be in fear of letting you down.

Please don’t call me pretty.
Flowers are pretty. And I would make a very ugly flower.
Were you to call me pretty,
Then I would think that
I stand a chance in this world
And we both know that’s not true.

Please don’t ask me about myself.
I know this is a stupid request
Since I ask you about yourself
And listen as you talk about yourself,
But I don’t want to tell you something
If you were never ready to listen.

Please don’t tell me I have nice handwriting.
I get it, you just want me to know there’s a
Legitimate reason that you’ve
Been staring at what I’ve been writing,
Yet, all I can think of is that you accidentally
Read some of it and are disgusted with it all.

Please don’t tell me that it will all work out.
Believe me, I have told myself that
Enough times to know that it
Simply isn’t true, and I’m betting that
You also have told it to yourself enough to know
That it really doesn’t work that way.

Please don’t make general statements.
I get it, if it’s simply a segway into something more
But it is rarely a segway into something more.
If it is not leading to something else,
Then I’d rather you say nothing at all
So I don’t ponder what exactly you meant.

Please don’t ask how my day went.
I know that you don’t care
How my day went and
Really just want an excuse
To tell me exactly how
Your day went.

Please don’t ask if I want to talk about it.
If I wanted to talk about it,
Then, trust me on this one,
I actually would talk about it;
Maybe not with you, as you’d like,
But I’d talk about it, with someone.

Please don’t make me think that we’re friends.
Whether it’s logical or not to you,
I actually take that quite seriously
And do not like it when
I get lied to about something like that,
Especially something as important as that.

Please don’t return the cold shoulder I give you.
I know that I should be able to take the
High road, since I’m asking that
From you, at least sometimes I do
Take the high road, and so since I’d do it for you
Can you get off your high horse and do it for me, too?

Please don’t cut me off in the middle of a sentence.
I know, I know, we all get really excited about what we have to say,
Sometimes forgetting that a conversation
Has to go two ways in order to work.
But I always think no one cares,
And that only proves it: that you don’t care.

Please don’t tell me how I’m feeling.
I know how I’m feeling
And I know that you cannot know
How it is that I feel
Because you are not I
And just because you say it doesn’t make it true.

Please don’t tell me what I’m thinking.
Yes, I get it, you really mean well,
You’re simply just trying to help.
But I didn’t need someone to help me think
I have been left alone to my own devices
For far too long to even need something like that.

Please don’t point out when I need help.
If you really think I need help
Then please, feel free to actually help me,
Because just standing there,
Telling me that I could use some help
Doesn’t actually help me out one bit.

Please don’t tell me what I cannot do.
I have faced enough issues
Of not being able to do things
Based on things that were
Completely out of my control.
No need to make me think of those.

Please don’t tell me that it could be worse.
I’m fully aware that it could be worse
And do not need someone I
Barely know and have
Rarely ever talked to, to
Re-state common knowledge.

Please don’t tell me a lie to comfort me.
I don’t want to hear your wonderful lie.
I know that we’re all quite good at lies,
Especially when they’re to comfort.
But I will never be a fan of a lie,
No matter how noble it’s intent.

Please don’t tell me that you love me.
I know, everyone would ****
To be told that, and here I am,
Refusing that which you want.
But I will say I love you too
And you won’t get how much that took.

Please don’t tell me that you care.
I think that you don’t realize
That I may actually expect you
To become concerned about the
Simplest of things and the boring ones,
Not just the drastic ones that impact you, too.

Please don’t tell me that you want to help.
I appreciate the thought,
However selfish it may actually be.
But I would never want to
Inconvenience you by asking for
Something as useful as your help.

Please don’t guilt trip me into anything.
I understand that this is sometimes
All that others have left you as an option,
But you can simply ask me,
Or better yet, straight up tell me.
I’ll be more willing to help you, then.

Please don’t tell me you’re sorry.
I quite honestly don’t care one bit
If you’re sorry or if you’re not,
See, I care what you’re going to do next,
Because it matters more where you go
Than where you came from.

Please don’t become my friend.
I know that I really could use one,
But you seem like such a nice guy
And I don’t want to do something silly
Like fall for you in the process
And ruin everything good we had going for us.

Please don’t ignore my advice.
You’re going to think
That I’m making it all up,
That I don’t have a clue
About that which I tell you.
But ignoring me hurts us both.

It’s really a quite funny story,
Truth be told.

In middle school,
There were all sorts of dances,
Most of them actually
Fell directly after school.

I think it was more out of convenience for
All the teachers and faculty
Who were needed to come and make sure
Us middle school children didn’t wreak havoc.

Anyhow, I think I went to one
Of those after school dances.

But that never counted to me
As anything more than
A glorified after school activity
That I was doing with all my friends.

See, to me a dance meant
going out,
Buying a new dress and
A matching pair of shoes.

To me,
Anything that you could come
Exactly as you were
Did not count as a dance.

The next year, in eighth grade,
I decided that I wanted to do cotillion.

I’m certain that my one friend
Exclaimed how confused she was at this;
She could not stand the event
And did not understand why I’d willingly join.

But it was never about the details of it.

It was about the idea that I would get to dance
And that I would learn how to dance.

At five years old,
I decided to join ballet,
If for no other reason than
Because my best friend was, too.

I was not ready for ballet
Back then, at the young age of five,
But it may have been good,
It made me realize that I like to dance.

I would always like to dance
Even if I lacked all grace and coordination.

Because I may have had two left feet
And a great tendency to twist my ankles.
But luck would com my way when my dancing partner
Would also have two left feet.

That was really my first dance,
That time at cotillion,
When we were trying to tango,
And we both had two left feet.

I dressed up in a floor length dress,
Pink, with a sheer layer on top,
A solid one beneath,
And two thick straps on top.

So maybe we weren’t the best dancers
And maybe I’m not much better now.

But it was a lot of fun,
And I dressed up all fancy,
And I got to dance with someone,
And my first dance was what I’d wanted.

I had wanted something memorable,
And it was certainly memorable.

There was this girl who fell in love with her best friend.
When the friend came out to her,
She said absolutely nothing,
The friend never knew how she felt,

Four years down the road,
She finally musters up the courage to ask her out.
And so they’re happily dating.

I fell in love with my best friend
Three years ago,
At fifteen.
The other girl is eighteen now.

I guess that adulthood gives you courage
To do some really daring things.

I wish that I had the guts to do that,
Tell someone how I feel.

But it is so very hard to.
And I know the answer i wish for
And I know the answer
Which I’ll likely receive.
They are not the same thing.

But maybe,
When I’m eighteen,
I’ll get the courage to ask,
And love what happens next.

Once I met this girl who had
Been single for only a few minutes.

To me, one who has never dated,
Never even been kissed,
This was more of a reflection of
How bad the tables turned my way
Rather than humorous,
As she had intended it to be.

How is it that some people manage
To always be so content
While others lounge about,
Waiting for love to come their way,
And they would fight to make it all work out.

But they are the ones who will be
Twenty years old,
Never been kissed.

Searching for love,
And still believing in it all.

Reality
Confused.
Terrified.
Not enough.
Never enough
Never going to be enough.
I’m told that these are lies
That I have been led to believe are the truth.
But they really are the truth.
And that’s really the issue here.
Were the false,
I would not care.
But they are real.

Dreams
Courageous.
Confident.
Exuberant.
Daring and caring.
Strong and brave.
Willing to do whatever it takes.
That’s who I am.
In my dreams, anyway.
Anything I want to be to any extent that I want it to be.
That’s who I am in my dreams
I am fantastic.

Great
When I was four, great was:
Seeing my friend.
Going to the pool.
A lemonade stand.
A Beach Trip.
At sever, it was:
Friends and parties and fun.
At fifteen it was
Seeing the world
For all that it’s worth.

Terrible
At four, terrible was simply:
A scrape or a scratch.
At sever, it was:
A friend moving far, far away.
Breaking a limb.
Having a fight..
At fifteen it was:
Losing a friend.
Realizing the world may not be
Generally good.

All
Once there was a guy who went in search of the fountain of youth.
He wanted it all:
Fame, fortune, and eternal life.
But then he would be there, watching all that he loves die.
We all want something out there that we think will make our lives better, but have not taken the time to consider how it would end up fareing for us.
We’re told that we are entitled to it all.
And we are not given a way to actually obtain any of it.
Oh my, my, my.
How fun it must be to be five years old and think a wish on a shooting star means a lot.
I believed.
Was it a mistake?

Nothing
If every single thing that we thought was stupid disappeared,
I guarantee you that it would all be missed.
Then we’d once again want what we can’t have.
I did not ask to figure out the world’s intricacies.
I have made friends with some writers.
You can always have more
Is a line that I have always adored.
Of course you can!
When there’s none left, you can fill it up.
But, when there’s no room left, you can only take less unless you are willing to hunt down another container.
Oddly enough, it is this nothingness that terrifies us.
But all success stories came from little or none.
Why do we love the tale but not want it, too?

Take It
What you wanted.
What you got.
Have some fun with it all.
When will you realize that you may have taken the one thing that we all desired, too?
What makes you think that you’re entitled to it?
How I feel every time something lovely comes into my sight and I get the thought to want it.
It was easier back when these thoughts did not consume me.
But I took a very foolish chance and now I’m here.
What I needed.
What I received.
Had lots of fun pretending.
Realized too late that I wanted something else.

Leave It*
Run.
Go.
Fly, fly away.
Doesn’t matter how you exit,
Just that you actually do.
Walk
Crawl.
I really couldn’t care less.
How can you care less than nothing?
You can’t.
Said that I deserved it all,
Everything that ended up coming my way.
Thanked you
For telling me the truth.
Thought it was out of a sort of kindness.
Wish I were right.
But then you really didn’t want me.
But still you stayed.
Why’d you mess with me like that?
How rude can you get?
I gave you all the space you needed.
So what gave you the right to leave without a second glance?

Part One: Soulmate

So you go down the street
As you have been doing your entire life
Up to this point, anyway.

And you see a person
And you think it’s your soulmate,
Whatever that is.

But it’s not.
And it never was.

Yes, it exists.
Yes, it’s a real possibility.

But your soulmate changes constantly
Because you change
Each and every day
Of your life.

Part Two: Love

Here’s the odd thing about this funny little thing:
It’s not an emotion.

See, you know if it’s an emotion because you can sense that it’s happening.

But love sneaks up on you.
It comes by surprise.

One day you’re fine.
The next day, you see that person taking history notes.
Nothing productive to society.

And you stupidly
Can’t stop staring.
The Greeks have four words for love because
They knew it wasn’t an emotion.

Emotions have levels.
Love has only descriptions.

Part Three: Insanity*

Back to this history notes thing.

So there I was, just sitting there,
Also doing nothing
Productive to society.
When I glanced around the room.

Red earbuds.
White I-Phone.
Taking notes.

Something I really should be doing regularly,
Taking notes, that is.

That one has it all figured out
And has it all together.
I don’t.
I don’t want to.

I don’t mind falling stupidly in love and not knowing it until I cannot stop staring at one who is taking history notes,

Which are nothing useful in the grand scheme of life.

Just notes.

And, yet, I wouldn’t stop looking.
And I didn’t want to.

When I was five
I dressed up as
sleeping beauty
For Halloween.

My grandma made me a dress that
Perfectly matched the one in the movie.

And I held a bouquet
But was not told that
There were thorns on roses.

I should have known that.
Flowers were around my yard.

But I don't think that
I wanted to believe that
Beautiful things have
Such power
To hurt.

And the thorns pricked me.

It was the first time that
Something I find lovely
Hurt me dearly
In return.

So I was doing very little more than staring at the ceiling when I noticed that there was something really off about how I was. And then I saw her there and I realized that, well, I had fallen for one I cannot have.

And it is not because I am unlovable that I cannot have her. That may be the rationale that I seem to love placing on that, but not this time.

In this one instance, and this is really what makes it slightly amusing, the reason I knew it could not happen because she is a she. Now, I am not the one opposed to being with a girl, but I have a feeling that my very religious mother and father would flip a table at the mention of that.

Not to forget that my beliefs may also agree that it is not the best idea. Trust me, my small group leader is so very opposed to that idea, and so I really don’t have anywhere I can freely express these feelings and talk it out.

Because I believe in love and what it stands for. So I don't see much of an issue with what I feel, but everything I have been taught has led me to believe there is something wrong with me.

And my  may claim that she has no issues with same *** marriage but I know that the view only pertains to those who are not her family. Were I to be that way, she would have one hell of a cow.

And she is still there, that girl that I adore so very very much. Every day, I will look at her with a large smile on my face and pretend to not care that not being able to walk right up to her and ask her out on a lovely date is killing me.

Because it really does hurt me each and every day, to think that I am yet again in love with someone I cannot have. Typically, it is due to not being liked in return, but I won’t have the chance to find that out.

There is the glaring fact that my parents seem to really want to know who this boyfriend of mine is. They really seem to think that I, silly old me, have a boyfriend; they’ve taken to calling him “Tony”.

And I try so hard to keep a smile while hearing this all. But I may have to tell them that I do not have a boyfriend; I’m in love with a girl

She was there, as she always seemed to be,
Reading a textbook and blocking out the world.
And I was there, as I always seemed to be,
Waiting patiently for someone to come and talk to me,
As though someone would choose to talk to me
Willingly, of her own accord, as if there were nothing better.

So this was the way things went between us
For a few weeks and then maybe a month more.

But then Christmas was nearing and
We all knew exactly what that was code for:
Gift-giving. And, that is a code in itself for:
Who really is a friend?, and ,who
Is nothing more than someone who takes up space
That you use only so you don’t have to feel lonely?

See, it determines if that person sees you as someone worth value
Or as someone who is a warm body and a friendly face, if that.

Simply put, and this is not a lie,
From me, she received a hand-painted
Ornament that had her name on it
With block letters that,
Inside, were filled with a pattern that she,
Herself, had specifically chosen.

It is really important to mention right now that I
Didn’t expect something from her. It wasn’t something that was necessary.

But low and behold, she had to go ahead and get me something,
Likely to satisfy her egotistical need.
What did she get me? A tin full of candy.
Now, I realize that doesn’t sound awful.
But the thing is: I put in a lot of time and care into what I gave
While she didn’t have to do much more than go to the store.

Why does this matter? She blatantly gave another gift to another friend
Of hers; it was a customized, lovely, thoughtful gift.

I essentially got a gift card.
Do you know how much thought goes into that?
None. None at all.
Sure, you have to choose the right place.
But you really don’t.
Because it can be easily converted into cash.

Anyhow, this began the slow realization that I didn’t mean anything to her at all,
That I really was that ugly fat friend that no one really wanted.

It confirmed that I was worthless
Last resort at best and then
Maybe in the top thousand
On a decent day when things
Seemed to be going my way.
And she was more to me, I realize.

It was incredibly destructive, I’m  aware
To care so much about someone who doesn’t give a **** about you.

But I thought that maybe it was a fluke
That it was simply because she wasn’t expecting
The very thought out gift that I had given to her.
I believed that it was because I had simply
Caught her off guard, and had she had more time,
I would have gotten something that was comparable.

Now, I know that a gift is a gift and that I have no right to complain about it
But, frankly, no gift at all is so much better to me than some plain old thing.

That was simply the first event in
A long series of events that
Did very little more than
Destroy a friendship that already
Was quite brittle and fragile,
Simply delicate on a good day
And “handle with care” at best.

Yet, I tried to salvage it because I thought that I was making a big deal of nothing.
I don’t want to let something go down without a fight. But how much will it take?

If I had a dollar for every time someone said that they just wanted to forget,
I would have so much money, and it wouldn't even be funny in the the slightest.

Well, not for me, anyway.
See, I'd have tons of money and everyone else still would really want to forget.

But they would never realize
That, of course I still remember every single little detail of it all.

Yes, I still remember
What it was like to cry until everything somehow worked itself

Just hoping, wishing, wanting
For something better to come along and make everything settle itself down.

My problem is really that I don’t care to have anything in my entire life forgotten
Because everything changed me for good, even if it was really something quite rotten.

Sure, I’ve had some things I’d
Really truly like to not have follow me around for a long time

Yet, there are so many other
Goals, dreams, wishes, and aspirations that I hold near and dear.

Systematically, if I change one little thing
All others will somehow change themselves as well, almost like magic.

Problem ends up being,
As it seems to be every single time this happens,
That the issue really is picking the right thing to alter.

Surely I could pick anything that I wanted
And just wait and see what happens to me

Just wish upon a shooting star in the night sky
For everything to somehow transform for the better

It likely won’t happen to me
But the fun isn’t in it happening
The fun is in getting to dream about the future
About what might be
About what could happen with one little difference

I could become someone else
And become delighted with this new life of mine

Or, I could become another
Who is everything bad about myself brought out tenfold.

Either way,
As far as I am really concerned

No matter what happens with an alteration
Whatever may come my way

Anything, absolutely anything
Is preferable to this insanity that encircles me daily.

See, I could have a dollar for everything that people wish to forget
And I may come up with a sizable chunk of dough to spend to my heart’s content

But I would rather have (as it is to my advantage to do so)
A dollar for everything that I have managed to remember all these years

Because then, as sad as many of those memories may be,
As many as I should really long to forget about and
Just give in and leave behind

Would be all the memories that made me who I am currently.
Then I would have enough in my pocket to create something to go back in time.