Can I have a hug?

Can I not be pulled away from?

Can I be weak, and in pain?

Can I have any physical connection that isn’t sexual?

 

Can I not be afraid, of the casual flirting,

with the barista behind the counter.

Can I have a small piece of the love,

Shown between a girl and her friends.

 

She goes to embrace another she,

A group of besties, inseparable from each other.

 

Can I not be avoided like the plague?

Can I think of anything fucking else, than

carving my face

like a Jack-O-Lantern

with a combat knife?

 

I just want to feel loved,

In a world that refuses to tell me what that means.

 

Guys shy away from emotion.

 

Girls shy away from the guy who has no handle on his emotion.

 

Other people’s bullshit.

Their insistence on routine, and pleasure from

wherever and however they can get it.

 

If I live under the idea that everyone who sees me,

Sees me as a threat.

Intellectually, physically, sexually. That’s not me.

But I put myself in that box anyway.

 

There are times it’s completely involuntary,

and I know this isn’t what I want.

 

There are times it is voluntary,

and this is exactly what I want.

 

Then, there are times where I am unable to tell the difference anymore.

I grab my man-bun with one hand,

And beat myself senseless with the other.

I bounce my face like a basketball,

Between my fist and a brick wall.

 

I want to cleave my skull open with an axe,

sometimes metaphorically,

sometimes physically,

sometimes I’m not too sure.

 

Is it too much to ask?

to love a mind,

which refuses to love itself.

which can’t even make a decision,

even simple ones,

because I wanted to make the biggest one

for years.

 

Staring, Standing,

Directly in front of death’s door.

 

Begging someone to push me through.

Begging someone to pull me back.

 

Is that too much to ask?