you move up north and you write pop songs; though you’d rather just listen to them in your

childhood house.

the house was never a home, the walls didn’t keep you safe and the people didn’t look at

you kind.

what’s it like to have someone say i love you and not expect anything in return but an i love

you too ?

that’s something you’ll figure out later, if you let a girl look at you long enough before you

start waving a forced smile.

the north doesn’t feel far enough from the arms who couldn’t hold you and the ones

embracing you now are getting jagged and weak. you let them flee to a place that demands

less strength from them.

you move somewhere bigger, hoping to drown in the mass of apish souls.

day by day, the city takes you in and maybe you don’t need anybody’s arms but yours.

though kindness is no longer reliable or available, you still seek it.

you find something else while looking, yourself. but only for a short time.

 

this life is yours and no one else’s, you try living according to your own will.

your youthful will wishes to party like your peers. drink by drink, you regain consciousness.

it feels good to lose your mind in a stranger’s inner thigh. but only for a minute.

the next morning, guilt comes back. you call up a friend.

they reassure you but not adequately and never enough.

they say “what you did doesn’t matter”, but what you need to hear is “you were never at fault

for being a child without a good parent.”

you cry, faking a newly found sadness. but the sorrow dates from a lifetime chasing love that

should have been made available from the moment you took your first breath and you cried

your first tears.

the drinks don’t fill you up anymore and they seem to hurt more than they heal.

inebriation feels like alienation.

from now, you’ll chase the gaze of women who’ve lived thrice your allotted time, searching

for a spark of lust and mountains of empathy.

you’re losing momentum and authenticity. you’re no longer sure you ever had either.

for every kind word, you get two disapproving looks. for every gaze, the knife of hatred stabs

you twice.

the math quickly adds up in your mind – though you were never good with numbers – it’s a

losing game and the faulty player pays in pride.

you swear you’ll stop yearning for external validation.

from now, it’s cheap thrills and quick wits and you pray the combination will finally make you

interesting enough to be stared at without having to stare first.

move on up, you tell yourself. you desert the country.

but you’ve found yourself before so you don’t quite know what you’re looking for this time.

you just know you don’t have it yet.

hopefully you’ll finally find self love at the other end of the earth, it’s a costly price to build

confidence.

stay careful you’re not taking a trip to bridge the gap between amour-propre and vanity.