The Reason Why I Could Never [want to] Love You

For certain reasons, this is a work of fiction. Partially.

No longer does the feeling of love fill the sores of exhaustion in my want. Want now belongs to me, and it fills me up so full, that there is no room left for an unfamiliar presence of any kind. Hear me now, I have given up on what everyone seems to be dying for. What I thought I should always strive for no longer resonates, and what used to be a sickly bug sucking independence from my neck is now a reminder that solus is my cake. More delicious than the sweets I would sneak into my room at midnight as a kid after tricking the padlock with two bobby pins and a fork, all alone I would sit in my room and shove the cosmic brownie in my greedy mouth. With my lip commissure curled under my earlobes, I place the wrapper at the bottom of the bathroom garbage full knowing it would never be found.

This momentary greed is the one percent of what I am now, I am all greed, all greed for the sweet, sweet aloneness and lack of repercussions from anyone. I am in my dark room, eating what I want, writing what I want, and the padlock of connection or love is no longer a task I deserve to put in my way. When I let someone see me, I am the same kid being punished for taking the cosmic brownie. Forced to sit board straight at the edge of the bed for 12 hours. No sleep. Nothing to eat. This is the same feeling I get when someone attempts to love me. Watched and punished for existence, how fucking disgusting. Not a single person could argue that any love is worth that, so instead I sit here wanting loneliness and neglect the only comfort I knew and know until my last breath exits with blissful relief.

Rubbing my truth into paper should feel better than it does, but I am only now angry and bitter. A beautiful part of my humanity is willing to show me this spite; I love them with no shame. Something women often lack the privilege to do. If I were a white man boycotting useless love while fostering lucid love, you would not be so shocked at my giving up. You unconsciously place this role onto me, this loving doting role that caused my mother to go insane and my grandmother to become possessed by a demon licking for a Christian woman fitting her glossolalia role too perfectly. Lucid love is the becoming of self, one which many are scared of.

I am terrified, I must admit, there are voices

what if

what if

what if

but no.

I cannot.

I am much too exhausted.