Bad Taste

I have bad taste in guys.
I chase men running away from themselves
And convince myself they are retreating from me.
You spend your life under construction,
But it’s your twenties when there might not even be a foundation claiming your space–
Just rocky terrain and a deed tethering you to the rubble.

I have bad taste in guys.
Not bad guys,
Not Flesh tainted in tattoo ink,
Breath doused in the aroma of whiskey.
No, my sabotage is more subtle.
I’d rather ruin myself softly than make a scene,
Would rather my end be embers than flames.
I have affection for shadow men,
who only appear at certain times of day.
My head reels from mobilizing defenses for games I never wanted to play.
Breathless, I weave intricate webs around stark thoughts,
Persuading myself a thousand stories before sleep seizes my surrender.

I stumble upon closed doors and knock as if the locks will unhinge for me.
They didn’t lock to spite me.
His defense mechanisms predate our meeting.
It isn’t that he isn’t into me,
It’s that he is so absorbed in his own universe
He cannot see me past his own chaos.
I tred light years ahead of the intimacy he cannot provide.
He isn’t trying to hurt me,
Only to salvage himself.

I have bad taste in guys
I don’t want to reorient my geography when learning to love my landscape.
Because I am so addicted to being unloved that love is the most terrifying of beasts.
Abandonment is my expectation,
It stings to fathom anything more.
The familiarity of hollow arms,
Mushy insides dyed black and blue by betrayal,
Question marks as placeholders for experience,
It feels better than the anxiety of losing the body wrapped in my embrace.

I have bad taste in guys,
It think it’s because I haven’t acquired a taste for myself.
I wait for and on no one.
No calendars or alarms are reserved for them.
I would rather be so cool I am a blizzard
Seeking other men’s winters
Than risk hoping that there is a spring who wants me.

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