wrenched out of some familiar life-pattern

I 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, furtive 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 just rather not be with anybody.

Maybe I prefer living a wistful, 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.