To Lease A Car

I’m in the tornado screaming “I’m flying!”

Her disposition changes by the day and

I’m but a scared farmer, no meteorologist.

I wait and I pray and adapt to the conditions.

This is the exhilaration I starve for when she’s not there.

Her affection catches me off-guard,

like the wasp nesting in my bag of mulch

that stung my finger first thing in spring when I dug my hands into it.

What followed was utter euphoria,

pain so addictive I found myself hoping for another wasp every time I touched dirt.

Threaded between her fingers,

I’m a yo-yo,

the kind that lights up as it’s hurled

towards and then away from the hand that yields it.

I wait for the pause in the push and pull

when she forgets I’m in her hand and

holds me, warm, just for a moment.

I’m sitting here stuck on a puzzle that

I want to give up on already,

yet there’s a larger being inside me that

needs, yes NEEDS to win.

I surrender and collapse inward as

the sweat drips off my nose and puckers

the cardboard tiles over and over again.

This is who I am.

I scavenge for the tiniest glimpse at affection.

Like pigeons picking apart puke,

pecking away at the patina left on concrete.

Erasing the memory of the previous night

in their own way, the best they can.

Walking to the bus the next morning,

she sees the mess they couldn’t eradicate,

pinches her nose and looks away.

A starving lion, I collapse in the savanna.

Nary a moment to take my last breath before I feel her gnawing away at my flesh.

She only wants me when I’m already down.

She only wants me when I’m leaving,

the man at the harbor, tugging at the line,

pulling the boat back into the place it settled.

So I cut the line and leave the dock,

searching for her in other women’s bodies

and wincing just as hard when I find the pain I so desire.

The sirens sing and without a moment of

hesitation I leap into the rocky depths.

They say you need to abstain,

I’m of the camp that you need to surpass the pain.

Get so scarred up that I can’t feel anything

and only then will I stop pinching the fire.

Like parents shoving booze down their

children’s throat until they throw up,

I chase and I chase until my knees give out.

When they meet me I’m an infant.

Not yet old enough to know self-protection,

full of love for every drop of sunlight and

every passing stranger’s smiling face.

They use me up,

turn me into a bitter old man and leave,

citing the changes as if a squeezed-out

orange would look the same as one still on its tree.

When I was a child,

no more than 5 years old,

a group of boys dared me to lick a spot on

the wall where a dog had just pissed.

Ever obedient, I complied

and was left confused when they shunned me for lacking self-respect.

Each woman I choose puts me through these trials.

I throw myself into them, taking any chance to prove myself

as they grow disgusted at my lack of self-worth.

The truth is I’m in love with limerence.

It started as a child, tiptoeing around the house all night to spy on my parents.

I would hide at the stairwell and watch them eat dinner,

scurrying back to my room at the slightest

squeak of a floorboard as to not get caught.

Love is a one-sided game with the highest of stakes,

my entire life on the line.

If I can’t come close let me stay

just out of your sight,

make myself scarce but at the same time

ubiquitous lest you ever need my help.

I’ll never be old enough to lease a car,

but I’ll keep the porch light on for you.

Just in case, just in case.