my skin is shrill as i pound pedals through midnight garden, wanting to punch the plump stars for making me feel too much of something when there’s not enough space on this evening. i know i’m in love with him because i can’t even look at him, can’t stand him touching me, have whole hours without humming his name. earlier, a boy said hallo, excuse me and i stopped and he said, you’re beautiful and i could have sworn or lectured or ignored but i smiled and said thank you.
i shouldn’t have gone. the babydoll friend said to leave him and his buddies alone, cut him out, and she’s right. i’ve been drinking too much, not sleeping enough, filling up my nights with kisses from a boy that messages me just to tell me i’m a bright, shining star and it’s a good time to hear those things even though we both know we’re sharing a cocooned, temporary space. everyone thinks he’s crazy but i See him, i like him. and that’s why i can’t fuck him.
last night i got drunk, it was my birthday and i was radiant with happiness and i took the boy home. and after i washed some dishes and cooked some tofu, i let him feel me up and it was nice, it always is, but this time, shit! my guts shrunk with frustration: it was my birthday and i wanted to be with the man i love
i threw my bike down. there were people in the park. the park where we got drunk for the first time, when i refused to kiss him. there was a chinese lady powerwalking, listening to something zen, while i sat on the curb and panicked. my fingers throbbing, my throat thick, chanting his stupid fucking name. the grief ripped me up. this is why i don’t look at him. this is why i don’t think about him. this is why getting me a birthday present was a cunt move. i’m torn before smoothing the frayed edges of my heart and smiling like the good girl my mama raised