into the restaurant and sat down,
waiting for you.
you told me that ypsilanti was too much,
the spinach artichoke dip was too much
unmixed seasoning, too much
spinach, too much
artichoke, too much
i catch feelings
like i catch viruses.
rarely and aggressively.
i felt a type of way when you told me
i was cute, but you destroyed me
when you told me not to shave my head.
i was joking about not wanting hair.
i want my hair.
but not everyone has wanted my hair, and
no one ever made it a point to want my hair.
the last person i was with made me lay
by her side and fuck her
so that my hair wouldn’t get on her face.
she didn’t make me feel like i existed.
i miss all of them, but
i hope i won’t have to miss you.