---TRIGGER WARNING: themes related to ****** trauma.---

On an evening alone, dark and dismal,
I laid upon my crisp floor rug.
Stomach down, back up,
Thinking about the one I love.
I mused and mulled over many things,
Such as how I cared for her so,
Or when we'd next meet,
And what I'd even say.
As I continued to think and think,
My mind settled on other kinds of things.

I bit my lip; I stalled for a moment.
I hovered a thumb over the enter key,
And with a single exhale released my hesitation.
"How to figure out my kinks," or
"How to ask about her kinks."
I felt like a child, sneaking onto the home computer at night,
And finding a timid sort of delight
In googling "*****."

So I continued...
Taking a quiz here,
Reading a page there,
When something stopped me in my tracks.
Something cold ran down my back,
Like a spectre tracing my spine with a finger -
An otherworldly shiver.
Not a shiver of excitement or elation,
But rather one of danger,
Signaling an unholy presence hanging over me.

I could see them as I glanced up.
His eyes:
Smiling
  Laughing
      Singing
                       Feeding
                                                   Growling
                                                        ­                                       Burning
                                                         ­     Knashing
                                Decaying
        Wa­iling
                                               Devouring
                                                       ­                                       Bloodcurdling
Looking, seeing right through me.
My ceiling fan stirred his viridescent hair;
Pulled at the petals of the rose between his teeth.
His grin grew wider
As the stem's thorns grew longer,
Piercing his raw, red gums.

He came to remind me, it would seem...
Remind me that he still existed.
He wanted to remind me that
He still haunted the sides of my head -
Stirring, kneading my temporal lobes.
Searching the gaze in his eyes, I remembered.

I remembered feeling more worthless than dirt.
I remembered the validation I thought I needed.
I remembered the guilt, shame, and fear.
I remembered feeling like a disgusting, useless ****.
I remembered trying to avoid sending him photos.
I remembered staring at my ceiling,
Sobbing quietly in the night,
Silently screaming within my chest
For help.
To be saved...
By someone, anyone.

But most of all...
But most of all,
I remembered why I couldn't be loved.
Not in that way, at least.
My demon, who for some reason I still cling to,
Reasons that I don't even understand,
Won't allow it.
I blinked, and all but his eyes vanished,
Leaving me with a small thought as opposed to immense fear.
Maybe it's okay that I could never enjoy a partner that way?
Perhaps I could learn to be complacent with that.
Perhaps I could learn to be content with that.

I yawned, chucked my phone aside,
And closed my eyes to sleep.

I don't write love poems,
It's just not something I do.
Maybe that's because
I've never been in love.
That is, until I met you.

You monopolize my limbic system,
Leaving me to limbo under my emotions.
Look, you know I had to include some **** like that.
Don't laugh at me, you loveable *******.

I'm staring at the notepad app
On my phone,
Trying to think of how to say what's on my heart.
I type a few words, then I stop,
And realize that I don't know where to start.

Lips sealed shut,
Unable to speak -
I'm a frazzled mess;
An energizer bunny of stress,
With electrifying panic.
For a moment I forgot how to breathe:
Giving my brain some oxygen
May help a little.

"I don't know if you feel the same,
But I wanted to check and see."
I wanted to say so, so much more.
Like how your voice is the most enrapturing melody I've ever heard,
Or how rewarding your laugh is,
Or how intricate the stories you tell are,
Or how you say the most amazing things,
Or how you can make me laugh harder than anyone else can,
Or how you're the most loving person I know,
Or how vivid and lively your writing is,
Or how-


... That's gushy, I know.
I'm not very good at this.
I've never felt like this before.
Sure, I've stood longingly in others' shadows,
Feeling some kind of connection -
A string of fate.
I couldn't ever quite figure out though
If that string was tied to my heart or my prefrontal cortex.

But this is different:
It's not the same,
Not the same.
While it's hard to admit sometimes,
I think I kind of like it.

I've decided, firmly -
Today, a year later from when I knew you;
A year later from when I cried...
I've decided
That I don't want religious ****.

Now hold on - I know how that sounds.
"This ***** is gonna castrate me!
Or something," is what you probably said.
Don't worry, little altar boy.
I only use my machete for garden snakes
In my two inch back yard.

The nerve, the gall, the gumption,
To tell me in the sweetest way possible
That you'd prefer a subservient house wife.
You couldn't even tell me to my face -
It was second hand knowledge,
Passed along to me by my co-worker.

I bit the pink marker and ****** it dry of ink.
The False god stopped sending you love letters.
Boo hoo,
Poor you.

I'm not entitled to anyone's love, and especially not yours.
You came into my life like a bullet,
Which through the lenses of rose-colored glasses
Looked like a gentle butterfly.
The Cosmos - she was looking out for me.
She's seen too many limp men like you,
And saved me with the gravitational pull of the moon.

So once again,
For those in the back,
Who were too busy wooing Joshua Harris:
******* and your christian *****.

You're looking for a girl
To give you character development;
Someone who can sweep you off your feet,
And change your life.
I can tell you one thing, bucko -
She's not gonna be me.

You're looking for a girl
Who can make the stars move to the rhythm of her voice.
The type of girl who, with a glint in her eye,
Sets the world on fire with will alone.
You expect me to be like that?
Please, I can hardly get out of bed
Most mornings.

I used to feel like it was wrong to be normal.
I used to feel guilty for being average.
It took me a while to realize that
It's okay to be proud of who I am,
Even if I'm as simple and bog-standard as they come.

Do I look like my name is Mary Sue?
Bug off,
I've got better things to do.

I've got no pop; no tangy sugary bite.
I'm not your type.

You need to forget me.
I'm not cute or pretty;
I'm not innocent and sweet.
I may not laugh at all your jokes.
I'm not your type, I'm no bubblegum girl.

I don't bubble up and out,
With a sunshine smile and a warm hand.
I have weird knees and baggy eyes,
And my body is like nicotine gum.
You'll quit me and go back to the real thing.

The wrapper is in the trash,
So there's nowhere to spit me out.
So I run around the house at night,
Like a careless kid in the rain,
Splashing in puddles from my indulgent tears.

You need to forget me.
I'm not your type,
But I'd love you more than I've loved anyone.
I'd bury my heart in my tiny backyard
If that's what it took to make you happy.