Being called “annoying”
Is like a glacier, frigid, rigid, inescapable preventing from social contact

A choking, strangling feeling penetrating your veins. A stone crushed by the might of a palm

Isolated, observing, analysing social conversations yet never overcoming the boundary

A tether severed and knotted to the throat. A rush of pain caught in the wind at the hilt of the dagger.

But a hand, a few words can reach into the chasm, rejoice and untie.
Create connections and weave intricate relationships, to bloom into a captivating flower.

That hint of compassion, gradually using the rubble to form a new personality, saving esteem.

Blooming, prospering

I'm tired of waiting around for you,
tired of knowing I come last but still hoping to be picked first,
like a child in line for kickball who never makes the team.
My heart feels like your kickball,
discolored red and rubbery from the trauma.
I just want to be the team captain for once.

"You're Mexican?! You don't look Mexican?"
             "What's Mexican supposed to look like?"
"Oh, you know... Sombrero, a curly twirly mustache, maybe like holding a taco!"
            "I am eating a taco."

"No, like a real taco.
One that is like made in Mexico,
with like Mexican beans,
and Mexican ladies.
You know what I mean."
           "No, I don't."

"What's it like? Did you have a quinceanera thingy? Do you speak Spanish?"
           "No and no."
"What?! Then you like aren't a real Mexican. All Mexicans can habla Espanol."

            "Oh, you know what. I forgot. I know what it is."
"What?"
             "I'm not just Mexican, I'm German too."
"That makes like total sense. No wonder you can't speak Spanish. But wait, like were your family Nazis?"

How hard is it,
To pick them out,
Together.

I mean they specifically come in pairs,
Two, dos, zwei, deux,
Trapped together by plastic handcuffs.

Pairs,
Like pairs of binocular eyes,
Like a pair of hearing aids,
Like barbeque chicken wings,
Like that obnoxious aunt and uncle.

Are you a slob?
Is your closet a mess?
You’re definitely a person who leaves hair in the drain.

Why do they cease to match,
Is it to purposely annoy me,
While I’m waiting for this **** bus,
which was an hour late,
two hours ago.

One is green like it was picked from a nose,
One is orange,
Bright
Orange.
You had to pick the most clashing colors, right?

And I can see them,
Right there, poking out of your
Adidas flats.

They taunt me,
Regard my shoes with noses turned up,

Play tennis with my emotions,
And twist my brain like a contortionist.

Were you in a rush this morning,
That you totally forgot to look for a pair,
An ACTUAL pair?!
There were absolutely none?!

Is it wrong that I’m judging you right now,
Or that I definitely would not want to have a conversation,
Let alone sit next to you.

Socks are supposed to match,
That’s how they’re made,
Knitted, sewn, and colored soulmates,
S-o came along and bonded with c-k-s,
See, it’s chemistry.

currently wishing
my uber driver would shut the **** up for half a minute

I just want to listen
to Joy Division
in silence;
with nothing
but the pressure
of my inescapable apathy

please shut up;
I really don't care
that two children were hit
by a tractor trailer this morning,
only a bit jealous.
I never thought I'd meet
someone as lonely as me,
but the continual conversation
that you regurgitate
proves otherwise.
I wish I could be
taken out
by a tractor trailer -
at this point,
I'll settle for anything.

uh-huh
yeah
really
no way

I feel as though this trip
is a metaphor
for my waking life:
just a blur of scenery
flying by,
while a stranger
makes noises at my depression -
and I just,
uh-huh
yeah
really
no way

I hate how
I hate everything

hate
how lonely I am

how regardless
of who
surrounds me,
        comforts me,
                loves me,
I still feel like I'm alone

welcome to the void