wrenched out of some familiar life-patternA Poem by Philip GaberI never get the girl I like. I always get the gangly, angry girl with guileless eyes and stringy hair who has a tendency toward passivity. Or the gaunt, hyper girl with a nervous giggle and a brittle smile who is prone to sulking. Or the thin, vague girl with a black eye and a loud laugh terrified of clowns. Or the tiny, slippery girl with unruly hair and a bulbous nose who smells strongly of mothballs. Or the pudgy, depressed girl with a cleft chin and a silly grin who carries a concealed blade. And then, one day, it dawned on me. Maybe I never get the girl I want because I never became the man I was supposed to become. Because I wasted so many hours and days, even years, doing exactly the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing. Like smoking pot instead of doing my homework. Working as a dishwasher instead of going to college. Sleeping in instead of waking up. F*****g instead of committing. Committing instead of f*****g. Drinking instead of not drinking. And I guess if you ever wanted to toss a little psychology into all this mess you could probably explain away my behavior by saying something like people like me with weak social bonds are prone to self-destructive behavior, and I wouldn’t argue with that, either. Or maybe the reason is even simpler than that. Maybe I unconsciously choose these girls just so I can reject them; because it’s always easier to reject somebody if you don’t like them, especially when you’re rejecting them to get even with the multitudes who have rejected you because they didn’t like you. Could it be that? Or maybe I’d rather not be with anybody. Maybe I prefer living a dreamy, solitary lifestyle, in a dark one-furnished room and kitchenette trying to remember when I was smiling, handsome, and young, and wasn’t carrying around this burden of sadness I can’t seem to escape. Could be that, too. © 2024 Philip Gaber |
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Added on June 18, 2024 Last Updated on June 18, 2024 AuthorPhilip GaberCharlotte, NCAboutI hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..Writing
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