i've met several people before and i've loved them in equally different ways,
but none of them were ever as captivating as you.
i could watch you do nothing for hours.
your smile, the way you part your hair, the way you rest your hand on your cheek when you're looking at me.
you're a dream.
for the longest time i had dreams of someone who never existed, but at this point i'm almost convinced the person in my dreams was you all along.

0 years, 0 months, 0 weeks, 0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds clean.

i wish i could reset.
i wish the number wouldn’t reset when i slide blades like a debit card
the transaction i make for pain is selfish.
every time i give into the impulse
the inclination that i am not beautiful
i watch my number go back to 0000000.
zero.
nothing.
no accomplishment made, sorry.
all failure achieved, but no prize.
what is the price for failure?
more pain? reset the number once more as form of punishment for the previous time you reset?
a constant cycle of swipe
blade accepted
blood pouring from the crevices of my skin that were separated by the purchase of what? temporary happiness?
the sense of numbness and euphoria lasts seconds, but i go back for more every single time i suffer.
it’s disgusting
i’m disgusting
swipe
accept
repeat.

0 years, 0 months, 0 weeks, 0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds clean.
would you like to start again?

i've taken apart and put back together
the people who left me in life.
i keep their mistakes in a cage of my mind,
reminding myself to be weary of it.
i keep their positive thoughts in the spot of my heart
that regardless of how awful they were, they'll stay.
and i pray one day they notice they've always been with me;
that i will always listen.

i've written suicide notes on my birthdays.
i've calculated my best options and i've stressed myself out for it.
because i do not want to **** myself;
sometimes, i feel like i need to.
i've burnt the skin off of my body with a bar of soap,
and i've cut myself with plastic combs
do not tell me self harm is done with a razor or a cigarette,
because i've done far worse than that.
i don't tell anyone unless they ask.
and even then i keep the worst parts to myself.

i have done things i regret.
there isn't much to say about it without sounding selfish,
the things i've done were my fault,
they were never anybody else's.
i regret the things i did in the past,
though i wonder if i'm still worthy of friendship.
relationships never last.
we're hurting people, and calling it love, don't tell me the person you're with is your soulmate because someone better may come along
and take them away.
that's what i think to myself when i feel like i want someone.

i don't believe in love.
i grew up on not thinking anyone would ever love me.
when i was thirteen,
i was begging for the affection i wish i'd kept savory
from the man who held my hand, and taught me how to ride my bike.
they say your father is your soulmate,
but, i don't think he loves me.
my friends all had boyfriends in the fifth grade,
and i was admiring everyone else, wondering if there was a single person out there who thought of me the same way i thought of cold pasta at nine o'clock at night.
golden.

i've been told some things about me are not right.
and i believe it.
i've been told i was not worthy of life.


and i believe it.

i used to be afraid of storm clouds and lightning strikes,
i used to hide away when the gray came along the edge of the horizon,
its gaping mouth eating the world below it;
a thunderstorm.
i used to fear the very weather that lived inside my head,
a constant brewing thunderstorm
that never left.
i'd fight with it,
pretending i was some kind of weatherman with a power to stop the incoming tragedy.

i was too slow.

and now the storm has taken all the things i thought were beautiful,
the storm swept love,
guilt,
empathy.
now i sit and feel empty,
because along with my emotions,
the storm took me.

i've been told some things about me are not right.
and i believe it.
i've been told i was not worthy of life.


and i believe it.

here i am sat in the windowsill
of a person's office while they're working

if i am slow enough, and quiet enough
maybe i will be able to get by
but i am so lost and they look so intelligent
i want to ask them for directions back outside.

the tree in the window, a foul reminder of where i was before
all this happened.
i stare at it, and it stares back at me with a strange sense of distant
sympathy, the tree.

the human at their wooden desk
with machines whirring and fans spinning
takes notice of me here.

and oh, my woes,
i shall spill them on this windowsill
and lament for a life short lived.
these days, a spider is no short of 8 steps toward death
after seconds of being born.

but i am old, and i have lived
a great three months of my life.
somewhere between half or a quarter of my lifespan.
middle age has been kind to me, i am plump and i am intelligent.

my webs will serve as a story for the others to see
a warning for them to read that this human is
like the others i have heard of,
cruel.

but, they stand up, and they speak to me.
they call me friendly. they inspect me.
i feel rather embarrassed, so i try to hide behind the blinds
but the human opens them, and their big eyes peer into all eight of mine.
i try to escape but i'm frozen to the windowsill.
"this is it", i begin to say my final speech. my family is somewhere outside, resting, while i am face to face with death.

and the human stares at me, and speaks to me
like the giant furry thing with three legs that they called 'cat',
and for a moment that at first felt fleeting, and soon became a warmth, i felt... loved.

"friendly little intruder! you shouldn't be here, you'll starve."
they say with their sing-songy voice.
they skitter out, much like i move myself in the windowsill.
i try to find a means to hide, or a bug to eat. a place to make a web, and hope that i am scary enough for them to leave me alone.

but they return, and they place a dome over my head.
at first, i am fearful. they are so much bigger than i,
and i have heard the stories.
but, the shoe that they had brought sits idly. it is not an expectation, but a last resort.
and i peer into the dome, and see caring, gentle eyes distorted through plastic peering back at me.
a smile on their face, a shaking to their breath.
we're both scared, but for different reasons.

i want to ask them: why? why do you help me and why are you scared? i cannot hurt you.
they whisper that they don't want to hurt /me/.

and then it all feels so fleeting, from that point on.
i watch their nurturing gaze through the lens, before it is lifted above my head.
this time, i freeze, but not out of fear. we are working together to go back outside.

i am introduced to a small plastic wrapper of something too big and too foreign for me to understand,
but, what i did understand, is that there is my way out of this windowsill.
so i crawl on it, and the human puts me in their little plastic dome
a lid with freshly pierced holes for breathing comes down over it, trapping me inside for my brief ride to the outdoors.

when the big front door opens,
i wonder if i could show my gratitude.
so i linger a while, and i stare at the human who stares back at me with a patient smile.
i wiggle my my chelicerae, cleaning them with my fangs to show content.
the human recognizes it.

i have never felt safer, in these few seconds, than with this human and this mystery plastic out on the concrete of their porch.
"you will have a much easier, and better time out here, little spider friend!" they beam, and i cannot help but hesitate going home.

because what is one more day and night in the windowsill
of a friendly human and their plastic domes, and cheerful eyes?
there is no harm in staying, when they will not **** me.
so i think i will invite my friends, next time.

it follows me like a shadow,
each day clinging onto my body for dear life;
i wish my memories would die before i do.

it has gotten smaller,
but it still hurts the same, as if it had just happened yesterday;
at night, the memories still creep into my mind.

i am going insane,
or maybe i've just stayed the same;
**** truly never goes away.

is it so hard
is it so hard to be yourself
is it so hard
is it so hard to not be someone else

is it not easy
is it not easy to learn to love
is it not easy
is it not easy to not just give up

is it just convenient
is it just convenient to suffer alone
is it just convenient
is it just convenient to forget your own.

i'd rather be silent, than speak and not be heard, so when you told me you felt OBLIGATED to spend time with me, i just shut my mouth.
when a vase breaks in an empty house, and no one's there to blame, did it ever break at all?
i am that vase.

when you told me you felt OBLIGATED, did you mean that all the time, or just that one time? do you feel OBLIGATED to kiss me? when do you stop feeling OBLIGATED and start actually giving a **** about me?

i can't even tell you how i feel right now. you'll feel OBLIGATED to pity me for being upset. your emotions are more important to me than my own anyway, i guess i just feel OBLIGATED to put everyone above me. i never feel OBLIGATED to care about myself.

so when you feel OBLIGATED to hang out with me, maybe start to learn to feel OBLIGATED to tell me you don't want to. so that i don't feel like you always felt OBLIGATED to look at me.

my hurt is no one else's burden to carry, but mine, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
so maybe feel a little OBLIGATED to stop asking me what you did wrong. maybe feel a little OBLIGATED to stop feeling OBLIGATED to spend time with someone you call a friend.

what dictates a date anymore?
i'm unsure.
ever since the virus struck, i've questioned so much.
is my degree working toward something considered "essential"
or will one day in the future when another sickness rules, i be laid off
and labeled
non-essential?

my whole life i've been non-essential in people's lives.
i've been the off-brand toilet paper that people wait till the charmin's run out to buy.
i've been the wal-mart brand frozen pizza that serves slightly less purpose than digiorno.
why haven't i ever been the prego? the heinz?

i wonder why.

and what dictates who i am?
is it the labeling on my outside, or the contents within?
what did you look for first? my bright colored packaging or the nutritional value on the back of my canister?
did you search how many calories i carry? the baggage i've brought along during my stroll through the store?

if people are browsing ever so constantly, why am i always left to live through my shelf life?
until you picked me up.
oh, god, you picked me up off the shelf and you looked at me for much longer than anyone else did!

what happened to the stroll in the store? i'm gliding.
you've whisked me up and it seems as though you didn't even get a chance to see what i've been through: you've decided. you want me.
i want you too.

what dictates a date anymore?
is it a stroll in the grocery store?

i can't help but look at you.
you're so focused on your video game, but every detail of your face stands out to me.
it feels like every little thing you do makes it harder for me to hold back my emotions.
i'm falling for you.
not in the romantic cliche way that they write about in novels or movies.
i'm terrified.
you're so easy to talk to it's like we've known each other our whole lives.
my only thought through it all is: what if you leave?
when will you finally decide this is one-sided, and you give up? i'm sorry i don't show you how i feel.
i want you to know, though.
i want you to want me as much as i want you, and i hope you do.

you have the brightest smile i've ever seen,
for a second, watching you smile makes me forget i've ever been in pain.
you're like a beacon of light through a stormy sea of clouds-
i'm so happy to have met you.

i know most times i'm pessimistic about my looks, who i am, and my situations,
but you remind me each and every day of the beauty i didn't see in myself before.
no one's ever treated me the way you do.
thank you.

maybe once this pandemic is all over,
i can finally do all the things i want with you!
our cute date ideas that we've stacked up,
the hugs, and kisses, and cuddles we managed to imagine for so long.
it's so weird, but it feels like i've known you my whole life.
you're a stranger who has become so important to me.

maybe i rush things, i wonder, but you always give me the same energy i give you.
maybe you think i rush things, too, but you won't say it.
i like you a lot, you're very intelligent, you're handsome, you're caring, gentle, funny, radiant, and you seem to fit just right into my life.
maybe, again, i'm being too rushy. maybe i'm overthinking.
perhaps, though, you feel the same?

either way, i'm falling for you every day, more and more. each phone call and every smile makes my heart flutter. i wish i had words to describe it.
you mean a lot to me, already. i hope i do the same for you.
i'm sorry if this is too much.

but you didn't feel the same.
you felt an obligation to make someone happy, why?
you lied to me this whole time, why?
you do more harm than you do good, you know? i stick around hoping that you'll change your mind and want me, you never do.
this painful game of waiting to be good enough for you never stops.
i'm a pawn in your game, it's all i ever was. i'm just a playing piece you want to offer up for the other team's grabs.
you cannot wait to be rid of me.
everyone loves me when i'm an idea in their head, aa fantasy, and then they meet me.
i meant nothing to you; i gave you everything i could, but it was still not enough.
it's all never enough. i was never enough.
admit it, you feel obligated. and you never wanted me.
you wanted an idea.
you felt obligated.

when i feel ugly or unwanted, i wear jeans to bed.
and when i feel hurt and worthless, i wear jeans to bed.
so when you told me without words that i wasn't good enough for commitment, i wore jeans to bed.
and when i call things off between us, i'll wear jeans to bed.

your staring made me uncomfortable. not in the way that i felt your eyes penetrating my skin, but in the way that you are not allowed to look at me because you have chosen not to notice me for days now. you don't deserve to see me, i am invisible to you now, or at least i should be.
your haunting presence made me feel inadequate. your eyes on my skin reminded me that you only feel obligated to spend time with me. everything i thought that was real never was. how am i going to bring myself to tell you no when you finally decide you want to call and tell me all about it? you don't deserve to hear me, you don't deserve to recognize me after telling me you feel obligated. you can feel obligated elsewhere, then. i'm removing myself, now. i'm sorry.
i wish i was good enough.

when i don’t have the right words to say,
or i choke them back in fear:
i flirt with you in german,
pretending you understand that:

“mir fehlen die worte.”
“ich mӧchte mit dir zusammen sein.”
“du machst mich so glücklich.”
“solang ich weiß, dass alles bei dir gut ist, ist es gut bei mir.”

i know you probably already assume
that i have feelings for you.
but, in german i know i can be honest with you.

and i think this about sums it up:

“ich mag dich wirklich: ich hoffe du kennst kein deutsch.”

you're a liar,
at least that's what you've told me you are.

i've been begging
for someone to come along and make me whole.

but your lies pinned me down
in an endless pit of emptiness

a wishing i was pretty-ness
a wishing i was skinny-ness
a wishing i could wear a dress without feeling
i look a mess.
my hair's greasy
and my teeth are stained

i realize now
your lies left me strained.