It's not a teenage thing, they tell me.

It's an ugly thing. Grown thing.

Corruptible thing.

Love. Love, love, love!


Disdainful. Indifferent.

Like so much trash; my feelings

discarded upon the floor, like so much dirty tissue.

I cannot help, but wonder

what is love? If it isn't a young thing.

Pretty thing.

Pure thing, on your arm.


Never me. Not Pretty. Not Pure.

These fat thighs, the white fingers of a giant

These porcelain pot-belly.

This heart; that felt love already.

Used Thing. Corrupted Thing.

Grown Thing. Have I become love?


He always says, "you're a wonderful person... but."

But, but, but-

an awful word-

I'm just not for him.