Regrets / Rejects

“I have no idea how to pronounce your last name”,
He says,
And I giggle uncontrollably with the absurdity of his declarations,
Mid-conversation,
That have thus far left me stranded.

“I have a huge crush on you”, he had begun,
Only days before, mid-transaction,
Mid-workday,
And I blushed and stammered an
“okay?”

Two days later we found ourselves lost in his car,
His rantings quiet yet heavy,
As we transitioned from workplace to diner to bookstore to my apartment,
His nervousness apparent throughout.

Regrets run through my blood,
They flow in and out as I try my best to just breathe.
But everything is rushed and boys fall in love with me constantly,
And I’m left to wonder what I’ve done to trick so many souls
Into thinking that I’m a decent human being.

I don’t want to hurt anyone.
All these vulnerable hearts,
Their owners present them to me like food for my BPD on a silver platter.
And I consume, greedily, like the ravenous soul that my own insecurities transform me into.
But I don’t want to hurt anyone.
The days following the nights before,
My lungs clench with the knowledge that
Another boy likes me. Another person is attracted, attached,
Willing to spill all of their secrets and confessions. Willing to share all of their wealth and their love and their respect.
And I reflect
On what little I have to give in return.
A person spurned and burned by many,
Abused and used, brutally taken for granted and
Taken advantage of,
The love and trust I have left to give is
Few and far between.

So I lie in my bed, lying to myself,
Equipped with the knowledge that I have made another mistake:
I have allowed a precious heart to fall for me.
Only this time, this was a bigger mistake.
How will I face him at work?
His, whose secrets now lie locked behind my eyes,
Spilled only in confidence while I cuddled this morning in bed with my best friend.
How will I see him in an hour?
He, who is, technically, my supervisor.
What will I say to this tender heart
Who loves me so dearly
After only a month.

collector of reference

The constant flow of television across her screen
Causes her to question her own mortality (detective shows),
Morality (comedies),
And If She’s Even Worth
Anything At All (BPD).

They fight like a married couple,
That must be why everyone thinks they’re married,
She surmises,
She surprises herself with these helpless feelings,
And her new astounding ability to take deep breaths to calm her anger
When they’re mid-discussion.
The deep breaths, though,
They leave her depression full-throttle,
And anxiety’s tight grip on her heart
Causes it to beat so quickly.

She just wants to escape.
That’s how it always goes.
But she cannot escape the relationship.
Any relationship.
Because the way it always plays out
Is Due to Her.
Her BPD. Her fear of loneliness,
Of worthlessness,
Of simply being Left Behind.

So what does she do?
She pushes them away first, of course.
Won’t even let them get close.
Self-sabotage, she believes,
Is the only escape route where she’ll be in control.

But is it worth it? A life of loneliness?
Maybe she should just face her fears.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow, after a few more hours of TV.

252

in my dreams all I see are PLU’s
and Facebook status updates.
old friends drift through the pages of my mind,
dusty with memories concealed by self-hatred;
“she must not talk to me anymore
because I’m awful”.
at one point, a nightmare keeps me tightly in its grasp;
I wake up a dozen times in my dream,
only to actually wake up screaming
that “I’m trapped, I’m trapped in my dream
forever,
can someone please just wake me up?”

yesterday I drift through a bookstore with an acquaintance from a previous life.
he asks me questions and I answer them as honestly as I can.
books fill our arms as we walk back to his car,
and as we pass by a stranger he says
“you both look like readers”.
I hear those statements everywhere, as we wander together.
“you look like friends”, one person’s glance reads, and
“you look like lovers” says the sentiment behind our cashier’s statements.

what do I look like, alone, though?
friendly? lonely? sad?
once, an old friend said she tries not to look sad when she walks by herself.
she’s worried she’ll be attacked, if she looks too sad.
as for me, I’m fearful I’ll be threatened, if I look too happy.
but happy or sad, it’s
“smile more!” or
“that’s what I like to see, keep smiling”.

why can’t people just leave me alone,
with their assertions into my life, into my dreams?
can someone please just wake me up from this awful nightmare?

premenstrual, part two

A box of vegan gluten free macaroni and cheese
and some homemade vegan pudding later,
Where do I find myself?
Caught somewhere between loneliness and wanting to be alone,
There is no comfort when the discomfort stems from
Seemingly, nothing at all.
How many TV series have I binge-watched since moving here?
How many hours have I spent staring
At the same words, never moving,
On a single page?
Nothing is meaningful anymore.
Everything is the means to an end.
But what’s the end?
I know now that there is no cure for loneliness.

premenstrual, part one

my stomach too full,
tear ducts too empty.
thoughts too heavy,
and bangs too light.

depression seeps from my eyelids, turning irises green,
it’s not the summertime anymore
and yet my anatomy continues to bloom.

when will I find my purpose in life? I wonder,
freezing legs and burning toes buried beneath layers of sweatpants,
too many blankets.

when will my hair grow out? when will I be able to hide
again?

when will I finally escape these endless arguments,
anxiety-inducing disagreements,
painful encounters and reminders of
transgressions passed?
worrisome, I fear I’ll never sleep again.
fearful, I worry I’ll sleep forever.
nothing is certain,
and yet every possibility is terrifying.

guide me home, oh sweet ghosts of mistakes from my past,
at least from your familiarity, comfort can be drawn.