boy I used to like

Dear boy I used to like,


   At the time I could have looked at you for hours,

talked to you for hours,

if only you had given me the time.

And I thought you were so funny,

so funny, in fact, that I chose to ignore too many things.


Like the fact that you thought it was wrong

for a man and a man, or a woman and a woman

to get married as if love was a crime.

As if love was a choice.


And how you looked at me

when I told you I didn’t want kids, and then asked,

“Why?” as if my plans needed justification.

“Because I want to be rich,” I replied, half serious.

“If you don’t have a child, your money won’t mean anything.

Without a child or a family, you can’t be rich.”

And while your argument seemed beautiful,

somewhat romantic, I wondered,

why you were telling me that I, on my own,

was not enough to live for.

That my own company and love

would not be enriching at all.


And how you thought my love for myself was arrogance.

My love for my personality,

my hair colour, and small nose,

is not arrogance.

In fact, it is with this same love

that I stupidly thought I loved you.

Love is not arrogant.

Love is not a crime.

But to love someone who is against

every single thing I believe,

and who is foolish enough to think

that I would admire myself in order to appear superior,

is a crime.

It is a crime to give up who I am

just because I liked your beard,

or your put-together-ness,

or the way you made me feel like more.


Dear boy I used to like,

   I think that if I were to meet you today

I might look at you in only disgust.

And I guess I can only have my morals

and my “arrogance”

to thank for that.


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