An Explanation

Bryn scurries to class

Leaving me once again alone with

Bennett, the long term boyfriend

A sludge of mixed schedules, run-in and intos

and the fact he’s in love with my roommate

have drained all typical small talk for our

strangely large amount of private moments.

So how’s your love life, Ariel?

I guess we’ve come to this.

It’s ok. The usual.
Oh, you have one?

The accuracy of it’s statement makes me

unable to take insult to its subtext.

Well…

i like guys.

Tall damaged deep thinking guys

Who like skinny jeans

and ironic notes

and poetry

which i write.

and they read every line

inserting themselves between them

and sometimes they’re right

but usually i splice shards of sensations

with moments and men

fossilizing ephemeral feelings

that rarely fit anyone’s truth

even my own

the stew simmers
bubbling my blood vessels
and leaving my fingers clawing across my shell
because soon enough
they think the poems are about them

when they’re really about me

you doesn’t mean you

it’s just an energy

fleshed out air and atrial migraines

and when i rhyme to him

it’s either fictional

or about things

i’m not ready to admit to myself are true

so i write more

and they leave

and i write more

and they return

and i write more

and they yell at me

and i keep writing

until there are no echoes of boys or syllables left

just a giant X

crammed in crimson across this love corpse
you're asking me to describe

but i keep tripping
over subtle stubble and unsilenced sensitivity

hoping that one day

i will plummet so hard

that my pencil shatters

leaving me with something more than material.

I don’t think a lot of people have that problem.

Me neither.