Ultra Light Mellow Taste

Here's what I think: There are better ways to communicate with God than through a Facebook status, and if there is a God, I don't think he hates queers, I think he really quite likes us. And I think I get nervous talking about my feelings but I constantly have too many of them so I sometimes just don't talk and I think it makes people uncomfortable, but somehow, to me, that's much better than the alternative.

I think men are really scary, and I don't trust them and we, women, are in a moment right now where it's okay for me to hate and alienate a whole gender (sometimes to my own detriment) because my feelings are always met with unqualified concurrence and I feel VINDICATED in my malice. But I also know that I exist in a world with men and they sometimes have feelings and I really ought to humanize them more, and you make that really easy because you're caring and accessible and so, so human.

I walk this line of wanting badly to talk to you about my feelings and wanting to drown you, not because you deserve it (reserving judgment as to that) but because it's ostensibly better than giving half-truth offerings of my unmitigated self and waiting while you decide how to let me down easily enough that you can still get me into bed.

I hate new beginnings (and grossing myself out with cliches) and bearing it all in a slow burn of bits and pieces of me. By design everything is bite sized, and easy, and very unlike me, but none of it is untrue so I can rest my head at night.

The truth is, when I talk to my friend, and he tells me through a clenched jaw that I'm being an idiot, I take it as a compliment, because I know what he means is that he thinks I am wonderful and should not be scared to get naked. But he's older and sicker than most, bite sized is not a one-size fits all measurement, as it turns out. He's spent a lifetime on the wrong side of locked doors with brandy and heroin leaking from his bones, so he doesn't know what a bite looks like to you...

He, like you, though, is human, and so easy
to trust. It's all these people whose parents packed them a lunch and encouraged them to be great, that I can't relate to, and I could if I really tried but I don't have an interest.

Here's what I do have an interest in: Depression, twisted ironies like apathy being an interest, trying and failing to be artistic, science, lentils-I fucking love lentils, music, reading too much into song lyrics like a death-obsessed teenager, science again, spoonfuls of peanut butter, and how big the universe is and how the brain works, and how, specifically, your brain works.

I want to know you. I want more than just sex, but I'll settle for just sex because it's bite sized, and easy, for you. I wish I could know you, learn you, without making the investment of letting you know me, but you, so human as you are, won't let me do that. I, instead, have to go through the horrifying ordeal of being known just to know you.

It feels a whole lot like foolishness to buy something without being wary, so let's just fuck each other until you hate me for being so reticent. It's easy, I'm easy.