Mellow as the Ocean.
When people ask me how my love life is going
I’m just like:
my mom’s passive aggressive way of telling me to get my shit together:
over facebook message:
“if you want to go to India, you have to make the $$ to get there, and the easiest way to do that is with a college degree… :-)
”
fucking condescending smiley…
why does she always have to be right??
what i would say if i had enough self worth
in september, you discovered my warmth. we smoked hookah in the zen garden, you told me that you appreciated my body heat under my comforter.
in october, you beckoned me from across the room. i squeezed next to you on the couch where there wasn’t room, you put your arm around me.
in november, we danced. you slowed me down and held me, you let me kiss you like a high school slut in front of everyone.
in december, you ate three tabs and climbed into my bed. you took off only your belt, i held you until you were hard (you were embarrassed, but i enjoyed it). i was falling off the tiny dorm bed, and didn’t sleep a single second. i hadn’t been that happy in a very long time.
in january, we had terrible drunk sex with will ferrell in the background. the next morning, at 7 AM, you came to my room to make sure i was okay. no one had ever respected me like that before. i literally wrote a poem about you.
in february, i got too drunk. you scratched my head, played with my hair, and promised me that i would be okay.
in march, i tripped and you showed me the universe.
in april, we ate mushrooms and didn’t leave my bed. then we ate mushrooms again because we didn’t want it to end. we did everything we could to fight the impermanence of happiness. everyone knows the result of that battle…
in may, we hugged goodbye, i couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you for 3 months. i closed the door and ran down the hall crying; somehow i knew that it would never be the same.
in june, i laid in bed.
in july, i laid in bed and cried.
in august, i sat on the beach everyday for 2 weeks and asked the ocean why i wasn’t enough for you.
in september, you didn’t touch me.
in october, we got tickets to a concert in Boston, it was the same music that you played me when you showed me the universe. i danced and danced, you never showed up. i found you with her afterwards, you never looked at me like that. you kissed her on the couch in front of me, she touched you like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. you kept saying nice things to me, i think because you knew you were hurting me. i tried to be strong for you, because i love and respect you. i ran away so that you wouldn’t have to watch me break.
in november, you might have looked at me. i told you “i love you” over a text message. i told you that i’d do anything for you, and that i was so happy that you were in my life. you didn’t say it back, you said other stupid and irrelevant things instead. i hate you.
in december, i mentioned the freshman boy that i fucked. you told me he was a keeper. i know he’s not a keeper, he’s nothing like you. i didn’t even fuck him.
it’s not january yet, thank God. I still have time to write the next stanza. if i was good at keeping promises to myself, i would tell you all of this in january. i would remind you, because you don’t seem to remember: you started this, not me. if i kept it going for too long, you led me on the whole time. i would tell you how much it all meant to me, how much it still means to me, because i’m not sure that you ever knew. january has to be different- i can’t entertain your emotional stuntedness anymore; i have to move on from whatever this was that you refuse to acknowledge.
i know that you loved her the whole time. just because i’m strong enough to take all of it doesn’t make you any less of a cunt.
