too much

i came
into the restaurant and sat down,
waiting for you.

you told me that ypsilanti was too much,
too congested
too confusing
too “this-is-why-no-one-comes-here.”

the spinach artichoke dip was too much
unmixed seasoning, too much
spinach, too much
artichoke, too much
dip.

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.

 

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