poem: stop hoping and stop hurting

stop hoping and stop hurting get

out of your head and accept

the very aesthetic and terrible life of always

being alone.

i guess i look good in black, anyway, even if

it’s always metaphorical (i can’t sell myself so

cheaply, sorry). but there is truth

in the long singular days of staring

out the windows for a human kindness that isn’t there

not for me, anyway, because i

am something else, maybe, though without choice or reason.

the problem with falling in love

with people who are nice to you

is that they were just

being nice.

how am i supposed to explain: eye contact that makes me human is

so rare it’s like sex and your smile is brilliant anyway, so it’s

a perfect mental fantasy.

only the grey between the spinning hells in my head and

what is always happening to me in reality

is choking me up, my neck bound by wildflowers and cheap masculine

ribbon. but if i stop the dreaming there is

no point

so i will be miserable for ever, i guess

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