I frequently spend my hard-earned time wondering why I’m so ****** up
You, with your flop of hair that bounces about so jauntily as you hop down the stairs,
Look at me
And that look is so purposefully intense, like you thought to yourself,
I’ll look at her so she sees that I have been looking at her seriously and then she’ll know that I must mean something by looking at her
I would really like you to stop looking at me now.

You never used to look at me like you wanted me to look at you looking at me.
You, thin, so thin, thinner than me, leaning towards me asking if I wanted to hang out again sometime.
I grab my phone and begin to accidentally dial the pizza delivery in order to escape you, clicking it off just in time to not order an extra large calzone and shove it down your skinny throat

I’m sorry I said that. I don’t want to be cruel. Can you just not text me for a little while?
You, with your excellent, **** self-portraits, all designer-y and brooding, your brow furrowed over soft brown eyes.
You look ridiculous. You don’t look like that in everyday life,
stop telling people online that you do.
And don’t tell me I look pretty in mine- I was trying to look weird, and I put a lot of effort into it, and I don’t appreciate you constantly acting like I’m beautiful.

I really didn’t mean to mess with your head that night I shoved you against your front door and kissed you like I meant it.
You, with your excited breath, like the fates had finally graced your doormat, you tasted like pretzels.  Sweet, salty.  
I tasted like cheap beer and doubt.
We linked for a while, your hips pressed to mine like an iron to a shirt, gently, trying not to burn me.
You were getting your fill, but I was still taste testing.

I bet you can’t forget that time that you drove me home, both sober, and you manned-up and leaned in and kissed me. I still didn’t know if you turned me on, but it was nice to be kissed, to put these lips to work, so I kissed back.
You, I bet you can’t forget that I stopped mid-kiss and awkwardly found the door handle, pushing it slightly open, saying,
‘Oh my god, I’ll never get over how weird this is, you’re…. You’re you,” strangely, sounding choked, laughing a bit.
You laughed back- it was the most offended laugh I ever heard, and laughing is our business.
I leaned back in to kiss you again, mostly out of guilt and to reassure you that I was still unsure of how assured I felt about where this has ended up going.

So basically, I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry in advance for breaking your heart.
You, with your earnest emotions and serious glance, really don’t deserve this dysfunction.

And I, I with my reluctance to change, to obligation, to showing myself to you…
I will probably be alone forever.