"we're going to
sarah's church
this sunday"
you said.

"you're
going to sarah's
church this sunday"
i said.

and you gave
me that fishy
look you've been
giving me every
saturday night
for the last month
"why don't you
want to go to church?"

well i have my reasons
tucked up with abstracted
pushpin waves on
bible class corkboards
and poked into the corners
of empty white rooms
where abrasive carpet wore
my feet into odd patterns

sitting on my splintered
windowsill and listening to
things i wasn't invited to
something with singing and all i
really recall was sawing off warts
with a pocketknife while i listened

those early days
before the roof was
fixed were when the
trouble started.

"because
i'm not."

that's not much
of an explanation
but neither is
the truth
which by the way
i didn't mention

i didn't mention the
way i felt last night
when i looked at
year old photo effects
or the hitch in my chest
the last time i listened
to dan's cds
the way i ***** shut my eyes
and try to keep breathing
every time you drive by
what used to be woods or
someone else's welcome sign

"i like this song"
you said in the car
and i felt the bloodied swallow
of mismarked communion wine
like my first taste of hate
so many years gone now
surging down my
closed and slit throat

tim mcgraw was wrong
don't go to church because
your mama says to
don't go to church because
anybody says to
it won't get you into heaven
but it might get you
anxiety and a hospital bill.

(maybe i'm so critical
of christians because
christians were
critical of me
but hey that's just
a random thought)

and i don't talk about
how when i see the faces
of strangers that i
memorized between
the lost references of
out-of-context verses
all i see are reflections
of white words i typed
into their irises
i typed too fast.

and i was just too
tired to say that
large-scale screens
drive me over the edge
too tired to imply
once more that i
have turned into a
college-student statistic

one who has
more behind her
motives than
pure apathy.

so having thought all this
i repeated myself
"you're going to
sarah's church this week"
and wished you could
understand my reasons.

I checked the mail everyday hungover feeling like **** probably looking just as bad.
The mail clerk always looked at me strangely .
How's the writing going ?

I had made the mistake one time of speaking to her one day.
She saw I was always sending out envelops to different magazines it was a small town what can I say she was a nosey *****.

Well I'm almost making it I replied to her walking out the door.
It must be great seeing your words in print .
I don't know when they are I will tell you what it's like I replied .

I  was standing at the door more than ready to leave get back home mix a drink and start my routine all over again.

She looked puzzled .
You get so many back surely you must get some things published .
There rejections they always are.

Aww come on you haven't even read them yet .
I'm psychic I don't need to read them.

How come you keep sending them out then if you know the result?

Well you see just like women turning me down I seem to never tire of asking besides if I badger them long enough just like a woman in a bar after a few drinks maybe I just might get lucky.

She just looked at me .
Well you have a nice day MR Robbins.

I left made my way home  happy I could make the nosey ***** uncomfortable I never understood peoples need to know everything I loved my privacy I hated social networks there false ******* happiness all on display it was like a store window all fake all ******* mannequins and fake smiles .

It was never reality besides who gave a **** what you had for dinner !

I sat the mail on my desk or on that over crowded thing that I believe once was a desk  .
Mixed a gin and tonic and began the self abuse that was reading rejection letters .

Most were the bland same **** .
Sorry to say no , We have to pass sorry and good  luck .
One was a card not even a rejection slip these people were pros to bad the women didn't hand these out at bars .

Dear sir.

Thank you for buying me drinks all night making crude jokes while staring at my ****.
Sorry to say not if you were the only man on earth and even if there wasn't a battery left in this world for my ******* .

Sincerely
Valarie  .


Now that would at least be good for a laugh I thought .

I got to the last one some little college paper known for there edgy ******* .

Dear MR Robbins  

We are happy to inform you on your recent  submission to us.
We will be publishing your poem.
A Good Day To Feel Slightly Bad .
In next months issue of are paper thank you again and please feel free
to send us more work.

******* I thought to myself.
Now how would I ever face the post ***** again knowing that I was a total fraud as a psychic.

Well either way I was always happy to be wrong.

I mixed another drink I thought about telling friends about my recent success.
Then I thought to myself.
I really didn't feel like making any today .

Cheers .

Gonz .

"i feel like
you keep
yelling at me
for loving you."

11:45 p.m.
monday
23rd of may
2016

it hit me like
a ton of bricks
or the thousands
of memories i've been
repressing for years
coming back

where my
problems
have twisted
their roots deep

hear me
out here

"do you still
love me?"
i would
ask
every day
every
single
day

and every
single
day
she said
"of course
i still love you"
and always wondered
why i never got it

i did get it
i was just
double
checking
i just had
to make sure.

hear me
out here

it is not
that i don't
believe
i'm loved

it's that
i don't want
to be loved
in the first place.

let's be real
when you love
you lose
it's all fun and games
but in the end
you will lose

someday your
dog will die
people will
eventually leave
and you'll move on
from even the
buildings you
carved your heart into

love is not
a fair game
love is a
casino
where it's all
rigged
so you think you've
hit the jackpot
but really you're
that much poorer.

i will gladly
go through
life alone to
never hurt or be hurt

i'm fine
with being
single
i'm fine
knowing i'll
die young

i'm fine
saving all
my feelings
never gambling
on another's
compensation

because i never
want to be loved
if it means i've
gambled too much.

tosses around her words so she can watch them fall and make a dent in the earth, a dearth. she fills it up with water and prayers but she can never harvest anything except for love. that's where her body comes from - someone else's curves, brimming to the top & exploding  with doves.

if there was ever a volcano that erupted just to shower everyone with petals and pearls, it would be her. a curse she holds to be so tender.


but god, i wish i was her.

What is it about me that makes me so undesirable?
Is it the way I laugh,
The way I cry?
The way I often pray to die?
Is it how often I break down,
How often I need to be picked back up?
Is it the way I tell myself I'm okay,
Then rejection is a smack in the face
Tainting my beauty and (lack of) grace
Until I decide to leave without a trace?
Or is it my horrible need for sympathy
The way you tend to always look at me
And shake your head and roll your eyes
The very things that I despise?
Then again, I love to think
I wouldn't be the last chosen on earth
And that there's are girls that could be worse
But this doesn't matter.
It will never come down to a pick and choose
I'll never get the chance to win or lose
I've already lost.
But at what cost?
I've renounced confidence altogether
And I've taught myself to know better
But I never do.
I never learn.

So I sit back
And I allow myself to think
I'll never be loved
I'll never be loved.