Virgin In Her 20's

This ain’t no poem. 

Do you know what it feels like to have people love your words but not you? All along I thought these words were me…Maybe they are maybe not. Either way people just like pretty sentences. I’ve had people tell me I’m pretty. And then they left. Sometimes they found someone prettier; other times they didn’t. Either way they didn’t stay.

I can’t make a person stay. Especially if they don’t want to. That wouldn’t be smart. I’ve had people tell me I’m smart. And then they left. They never found someone smarter… at least not in the canonical sense (Phi Beta Kappa, Summa Cum Laude, UPenn, Yale, PhD blah blah blah). Still, I don’t feel smart. I’m in a PhD program at Yale where all my professors say I need to work on my writing. None of them know I have over a million views on youtube for my writing. People tattooed my writing on their biceps and shins and calves…most people will never see these academic papers. So you can imagine how ironic I find it that its my writing that’s lacking. I’m a fool. I hope all of you know this. I’m a fool. Why you anonymously ask me questions on my formspring like I’m Dear Abby or somebody is beyond me. Have you not read my poems? Clearly I’m not exactly excelling in the love department. I think most people just want to test the bounds of my commitment to transparency. You do it for kicks but understand this is my life. Nothing about it is trivial. Please if you can’t love me than respect me. Respect my desire to be authentic and praise me for being so even though you can’t be. 

Anyway you can’t make a person stay if they don’t want to. That would make me a dictator not a partner. I’m trying to have grace which is not a characteristic of dictators. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I care too much for character, for honest admission, and courage but grace is the attribute I envy most. I’m not envious but I am lonely. A lonely dictator. 

I’m beginning to wonder if it really comes down to sex. I’ve never had it. I’ve done everything else except for absinthe, and cocaine, and shrooms, and e, and heroine, and all the other lush opiates. Basically I’ve felt around in the dark for stuff. Sometimes I did it with the lights on. Sometimes I used my mouth. But mostly I like people. At least I used to like people. Now I dunno. People don’t care anymore that they are human and everyone around them is human too. They use it as an excuse rather than a call to greatness. “I’m sorry…Well I’m only human!” Shut the fuck up! You are HUMAN for the love of mankind. You aren’t some twittering blue footed boobie wandering around on a friggin island. You are not an ape. You are a man. You are a little god. Why settle for being less than that? But I’m meditating on grace. 

My mom told me that boys won’t commit to me because I won’t have sex with them. I wanted to think more of boys. In particular I wanted to think more of him but what can I say… people are apes. Well,apes don’t even like to have sex that much. Ok, people are chimps. And people are chumps. And people are cheap…. and I love them. Don’t y’all get it..my words are the most precious thing I own and I spend all my words on you. Sure there is cowardice there but there is also kindness and there is potential so much potential and life beyond measure and stories that need honoring… Just wish y’all saw the same in me. If this sounds like self-pity, a bit of it is. If it sounds like martyrdom I’ll take this shit down right now. Just wish people saw me differently. I’m a poet because I’m a person…not the other way around. I’m not just here to tell you about love. I’m here to feel it too. 

And I’ll probably loose hella followers after I post this. But my friends will feel me.