Paint Job

I passed by your car the other night

getting lost in town, 

looking for parking,

and I had this sudden urge to just kind of 

well

key your car

But the crazy thing is,

You did nothing wrong

to actually deserve that

I wrote so many pages about you it's ridiculous.

How do I make a concise summary of all the sludge that came to pass?

So many zingers I want to deliver,

mixed in with personal details, which I'm hesitant to share

I like to think of you as a waste of my time

But perhaps I was more a waste of yours

And I take great pleasure in the fact that I let you down:

    disappointed you:

    wasted your time.

Because if I disappointed you

    by being overly available

    and then savagely cutting you out

There's a chance I made you feel something.

It would make me feel very justified 

if I put a very small tear in your equally small heart

You're one of those wanderers who is truly lost.

All you know is that Cool is the thing to be.

And what even is cool?

When I looked at you, I saw a purpose for myself.

To stick around and help you grow - to help you

while you deconstruct yourself 

    wipe your slate clean

    and recreate yourself

        - even find yourself.

That was not my purpose,

       I see in retrospect:

my purpose was to realize you have no desire to grow,

and then get out.

Even the most average of things is destined to reach its end

You know what?

I don't even like you anymore

    If I ever liked you.

I actually miss your fluffy bed

    and your cuddle couch

    and your record-shaped coasters

More than I miss you.

---And I suspect it's the same for you.

after all, you liked fingering my fucking legging side pockets

more than you liked fucking me.

I bet you think about those side pockets.

I often question whether you are human at all

It would've been nice to know you cried over me

--at least once

But without asking I already know you didn't

It's not your fault your emotions are small and manageable.

       It just happened to you

        It's really quite tragic.

You will never feel strongly of anything

        attachment

        possession

        jealousy

        ecstasy

        ...love

Maybe something challenging will happen to you someday -

Something more challenging than a big scratch on your vintage car's paint job

I pray something like that will happen

Just out of hope that it will help you grow up,

Into the man you're pretending to be right now.

I actually told you I love you

Which is kind of embarrassing now

Except that I should never be embarrassed that I feel so deeply

Unlike you

I cried over you five too many times

And objectively, one time would've been too many

I don't think it was ever love,

it was just that subtle rush

that came from kissing you in the swimming pool

that one night

alone

under the leaves

under the sky

All told,

Losing you

Kicking you to the curb

turned out not to be as hard as I thought.

I spent months anxiously trying to be into you

---and ultimately failed

It was so easy to get over you ---

But impossible to forget the ridiculousness of it all.

Casual

I wish I could be casual about it;

I wish I could master that

As if it is something to be mastered.

To be a master at this

    is to be very skilled

    at hurting myself.

    And other people, too.

But I'm sick of waiting for that

    one.

    perfect.

    person.

To the point that I would be with a thousand half-perfect people

    to entertain me while I wait.

I'm sick of building my character through patience.

    I want closeness

    the feeling of being wanted

    the power of occupying someone's thoughts

        anyone's thoughts

        everyone's thoughts

What good is the wait

    when I can have half-perfect right now?

I do it Over and Over

 I wasted so much time thinking about you:

    time I'll never get back.

You should be flattered.

You should also be surprised, though,

Because surely you know 

That you are only mildly interesting.

I know I'm surprised.

Surprised that I assigned such hope to something so hopeless,

once again.

I mean, I guess I do it all the time

-over and over-

And I'm shocked anew each time.

I do it because of the longing

the wanting without having

reaching, grasping

gasping

for ultimate and all-consuming connection

It's a hope that I hold onto

even though all it does is hurt me.

And I know this.

And I've known it all along.

Flashes in the Pan

 Don't flatter yourself.

We were never friends

        Any more than we were lovers

        (And we were never lovers either).

We are just convenient acquaintances

    who partially enjoy each other

        every once in a while.

And no matter how many times we reconnect,

we will always fall apart.

Our baseless relationship

    washing

        away into exactly what it should be:

Nothing.

Not even a firm cutoff

with closure.

Just a slow, gentle washing away

Every time we fade, I miss parts of you.

You have these bright shining moments

    -flashes in the pan, if you will-

that disappear as soon as they surface

And then you move in to kiss me

without ever telling me why.

That's the part I'll never get.

I thought you saw me the same way as I saw you.

Drafting a Note

 As I draft a note expressing remorse and asking for forgiveness,

A Short Poem for a Crappy Person

 This poem is going to be short

and probably shallow

and stupid

and a waste of everyone's time

and just generally unpleasant

        in reflection of the time we spent talking

        which was entirely unpleasant

            and a waste of my time

            

            and perhaps yours too

And I just want to say is 

All you have is a nice body

And I guess some charisma

But you have no drive

No follow-through

No ambition

And I have no time for that.

Funeral

 My dear,

I can't even have a funeral for you - 

    a day where everyone says nice things

    and where people offer sympathy

    and say

        "this must be so hard for you"

          or

        "anything we can do"

    and where I can bury you

                and grieve you

                and move on.

Instead, people say things like

        "this might not be the hardest thing that ever happens to you"

           and

          "I've been through hard things, too"

And I have to - get to?

      see you every so often

       so that I can never quite move on.

I failed you and blessed you in one single action

I lazily surrendered the life I gave you

        to someone else

        who will never understand what they took from me.

Much love xoxo