swaying across the hardwood floors
swoon, swoon, swoon
under the moon, moon, moon

your fingers dance across my spine
like piano keys
your hand tapping against my thigh
like a tambourine

a gospel choir singing
in the background of your laughter
sobriety is easy
when you're drunk in love

and you didn't even know you could dance to this

I'm Aromantic
thats okay
I can never
And will never
Fall in love

My partner is not
He loves-
He loves me
He can fall
And has
Fallen

But i cannot replicate
What he feels--
I try to give him affection
But it makes me feel sick
I really am trying
But i just cant do it
I can never
And will never

I can never love him
And he knows this
Yet he loves me anyways
I will never love him
Yet he cares not--
I try to appease his romantic needs
But i guess its harder than i thought

When you can never
And will never
Fall in love

I don’t want to make a big ordeal,
but the way you see me is not ideal.

The world expects me to conceal,
but wouldn’t that be unreal.

Now that I’m saying this it feels surreal,
like someone grabbed my steering wheel.

My body feels like oatmeal,
and I’m trying not to kneel.

You turned this into a newsreel,
I wish I could repeal.

I tried to be stainless steel,
but you’re a spiked heel.

people crave touches,

and i thought they were absolutely psychotic

until i met you.

suddenly, i understand,

but still not really

because the only touch i want from you

isn't a kiss or a caress.

it's the sting of your hand on top of mine

sitting on a pile of worn playing cards

(two jacks, to be exact)

making a resounding smack against the table

that startles the elderly couple next to us

and your firm, determined grip

as you swear bitterly under your breath

to wrestle those jacks away from me

however long it takes you.

--glacier

When you pushed me away I really felt it.

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

You were nice to everyone else but me.

I couldn't understand!

How could you be mad at me for being myself?

I'm asexual and aromantic.

You're ****** and romantic.

How can we be together?

Easy, we just weren't
©

Don’t love me.
Please, don’t love me.
I know myself, we’re quite close actually, and let me tell you, you don’t want to fall for her,
you don’t want that girl, I hate her.
I hate her because I know her so well and I know how horrible the truth can smell.
Don’t love me, because even I know to hate myself,
the vanity that despite this loathing I might actually believe that someone could fall for me.
Don’t love me.
Don’t love me, because I met Heartbreak once and she left me gasping for air
and I will never meet her again.
I refuse, so if you love me, please be aware that when you do,
some day I am going to leave you, battered and bruised, because
twisted self-preservation has taught me all the tricks to keep myself afloat by drowning you.
Don’t love me.
Because as much as I will love you, I’m not friends with Commitment,
and whenever I see him on the horizon I set off running in the opposing direction.
I will treat you like there will be no oxygen unless I’m holding you,
but when you’re the one reaching for my hand I’ll become the wind.
Commitment is not my friend, I said, but no one listens.
Don’t love me, because I am a tornado, a storm to chase until I’ve taken everything from you.
Don’t love me.
Someday, you will be married and happy, and I will
whirl back into your life like the hurricane that has never been named after me, and
you will believe that all your scars
and your broken heart
have healed enough that you can run with me.
But I have razors between my fingers and wedged in my teeth,
and your scabbed over heartstrings will be powerless against me.
I am an expert at running, at hurting, at ‘maybe’s.
Don’t love me.
When you ask me for something more,
I will tell you that I am not ready, because I never will be.
Chances scare me, and trusting someone so much will always be risky.
I will tell you that I am not in the right place for your Commitment,
for your future Heartbreak,
and you will tell me that you understand but you’ll stick with me,
and fire will consume everything.
Don’t love me.
I can’t even go a few years with a friendship before
burning it all for at least a few evenings, but we’ll always rebuild the
rickety ashes of the bridges we’ve passed.
Don’t love me.
I’m only saying it for your safety.

I need kisses
like a fish needs colored rocks
and a bear needs honey

I need it like
eyes need sunglasses
and skin needs sunscreen

Like people need chocolate
or french fries or fried food
or fast wi-fi or vacation

The thing about needing
- I don't
- It'd be nice though

I met with a man today,
although
not so much a man as….
a boyish adult.

He told me he liked me,
or perhaps “loved” would be
a better description.
I was showered with things that most
people would love to hear constantly:

Compliments.

I…..am not one of those people.

Now, that’s just the oversimplified version.
A more detailed explanation would go like this:
I met with a man today,
although
not so much a man as…
a boyish adult.

We went out for lunch,
and left there around five hours later.
For the first three,
we were doing all right.

Managing to have pleasant conversation
we even discussed our views on religion.
The last two hours
however
I am not sure how I managed to endure.

He told me he had "fallen in love with me",
and that every word I spoke had him falling deeper.

I explained that I have absolutely zero interest in any such things
(love, romance, all that jazz other people crave,
you know how it is)
I however, am not capable of feeling those sorts of attractions.
(don't want to be either)

As I spoke, he would reply by saying he was falling harder...
that I was pretty, handsome, cute, beautiful….etc.
Not a word of what I said went into his head.
And I knew it from the expression on his face,
that I was only being viewed as something to conquer.
To…..”fix”.

That made the compliments even worse.

*I hate compliments to begin with,
at least ones in regards to my appearance.
For me, they are one of the worst triggers
on my extremely long list.
So is being treated like I’m broken.