I was the boy in school that ate lunch alone.
I used to struggle with bouts of anxiety.
And I still do.
I am sensitive.
When I was younger I would cry
because I was afraid I would
never amount to anything.
I have had sex with women I wasn’t attracted to.
I called them mercy fucks.
I had a nervous breakdown on Sully Road
in Centerville, Va.
I didn’t speak up when I should have.
Sometimes I still don’t.
I watch The Travel Channel and get depressed.
I am still angry with my mother.
I hate cutting the lawn.
I make toasts to the women that didn’t appreciate
me when I was with them.
Once I got so drunk I sobbed until my whole body hurt,
then I stumbled into the kitchen
and ate a cold pop tart.
I lick the batter out of the bowl.
Although I recycle, I am not environmentally conscious.
I do it because it doesn’t require much effort.
I don’t make small talk because,
I am no good at it.
I am a Christian.
I’ve never voted and I’m ashamed of it.
I pretend to care about politics.
Sometimes I forget what I was going to say mid-statement.
I don’t think roller coasters are fun.
Sometimes I over think too much.
And that makes me no fun.
I cheated on that exam.
And I didn’t feel guilty about it.
I am still nursing my wounds.
I want people to like me.
I’m afraid to be alone.