Addicted to You

Never mind it now,

that you’re stuck in my mind now and

forever and I fear I’ll never get you

out. Fuck. What am I supposed to say? Say my feelings

went away, that I’m not

plagued by dreams of you and your embrace

illusions of us

entangled

in thoughts of me and my pride and the ache of my

dysphoria,

dismiss it if I can and take it like a

man.

Want you to call me your boy

friend? more than friends, your beloved, your boytoy? Fuck it just call me

‘mine’

Take me, own me, dominate me, don’t leave it up to

me to seek you out and tell you all the ways I want you to

ruin me

punish me

play me like an instrument—

real gently.

I remember the feel of your hands intertwined with mine,

push against myself and try to

unremember, always push it too far

in my memory.

I’m no longer a romantic; hope lays among the wreckage.

Pick through it if you wish and give me a heads up

if you find anything.

I’m no longer so accommodating; life has made fool enough of me

and I’m no longer sweet or loving,

or soft or

femme

and I no longer give a shit what you think of me…

Do you even fucking think of me? Is this my curse alone to carry?

That doesn’t seem fair, that I should have this ghost

of you hanging around me, gaslighting me when I think that maybe

I’ve

remembered

correctly.

Am I wrong, or did you ask me to rearrange my entire schedule

just to be with you, ditch ‘senior ditch day’ just to kick it with

you, and did I imagine that you would stand behind me

just barely touching me, or are you just

a fucking

tease?

Were you supposed to treat for lunch, or did I make that up?

Like my pictures; take it back.

Were you looking at me, thinking about me

when I wasn’t standing right there next to you, or were you

trying to confuse me?

Straight up fucking ghosted me,

radio silence, static in your wake,

hole in the fucking wall you blew through,

never to be heard from again, and I get to sit in that

rejection for no good reason,

ignored

unfollowed

deleted

like I never even existed

guess I kinda didn’t cause that girl you knew was a figment

of a false reality—

a boy trapped in girl’s clothing. So, you wouldn’t want me anyway and I

should be satisfied with that conclusion as a

resolution to this fucked up nothing between us.

You’ve never met me: JD, and you probably never will,

not that you could care

less, and I wasn’t good enough for you as a straight girl

it’d be naïve to think you’d want the queer version of me

pathetic to entertain any fantasies of me and

you.

If I could eternal-bliss you out of my fucking mind I

wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

I’d pay you anything to cut this out of me,

this parasitic knot in my stomach, this gnawing in my chest.

Leave me bleeding on the operating table, at least I’d be free of

you.

But I just keep running in fucking circles, cause all

straight roads lead to dead ends

But wait, aren’t you the guy who’s supposed to

give it to me straight?

But if that’s true

than why were you so vague?

Why dance around my feelings, avoiding any—

actual decision making?

Take it easy on me baby.

I didn’t sign up for mind games; I don’t want to play.

Take it back, won’t you please,

all the fucking things you said to me, and the way you used to look at

me and the way that would light me with a burning need

to hear my name

on your lips.

I’m a doll at your disposal.

Dignity? I don’t know her. Put me on my knees—

I’ll beg to be mistreated, used, forgotten, just for a taste of what

I’ve been longing,

building up for so long now,

most likely it would be disappointing, but I’d still thank you for

the disappointment.

You’re my ultimate forbidden fruit,

tempting garden full of food, ever receding from my reach,

so thirsty for this

perfect painting, I can’t run my hands over.

Maybe it’s the tease that tempts me. Maybe I’d grow bored if it were easy,

if I didn’t have to salivate

before someone would feed me.

Maybe I crave deprivation subconsciously, and maybe I’m attracted to

heart ache,

heart-break

maybe I want people to pulverize me just to satisfy the prophecy

that no one will ever love me, and maybe

I’m just mad at you, ‘cause you don’t have to deal with me,

but I still have to deal with you.

I’m tired. I want

to want a tender love, wish there was enough hope in my

shriveled little heart to want someone in my arms, believe there was

someone who could make me

whole—

fill the holes

blown in my sides, patch the leaking with beautiful promises,

and I wouldn’t have to wonder if the promises were

lies.

I wish that fantasies weren’t soothing.

Maybe I can wean myself off them, or maybe I should just quit

cold-turkey,

deal with the shakes and the irritability. Maybe the fever

will burn you out of me.

How long do love withdrawals last anyway?

Never mind it now,

I won’t think about you anymore starting now,

and maybe with enough discipline, I can manage the cravings

and maybe I just have to live with this gaping fucking hole inside me

for the rest

of my goddamn life.

Fine.

Fine!

FINE!

I give up. Did you hear me!?

I said I fucking give up! I don’t want to want you anymore.

I don’t want to miss you anymore,

I don’t want to think of kissing you anymore.

Release me. Please. Have I not

paid enough?