tired of being clever

I guess what surprises me most
is how surprised I was.
I let my guard down. because he fucked me, I thought that meant he wanted me. every man I have been with has somehow managed to disappoint me by thinking with his dick. I always think they're different, that this will be the one to break the mold. I always end up wrong.

I wrote this in the art center, just before my bike ride home: I brought you presents
you broke my heart
I said "I love you"
you said "I know"
you once consumed me
now I dribble down your chin
unnoticed
unwanted
unsure.

He bought me a movie ticket. he bought me food. I told him that I hated him. he actually looked hurt.
I am doing that thing my sister said I do. I have put up a wall and have cut myself off from my emotions until I'm in a place where I can deal with them. Sometimes that's minutes. sometimes it's years.
"your inability to think ahead never ceases to amaze me." I was so mean to him, almost every chance I could get. but they were true things. they were all true things.
he takes it. he always takes it, with that mona lisa expression. never can tell what he's thinking. hard to know when he doesn't, either.
so angry. so hurt.
I feel my brain's blockade go up.
I need better than this. I need passion, and foresight, and initiatory openness. someone who will talk about sex. someone who notices the freckles on my eyelids. he told me that I'm not pretty. I'm cute. and I resent that.
I hate his eyes because I loved to look at them. I hate his stupid sooty eyelashes and how soft they were. I hate the lines in his irises and how they bisected each other and how distracted I would get by them. I hate his lips and their fullness. his slightly meso-american features. I hate them. I hate his long thin fingers and the way they'd dance across me. I hate his playfulness. I hate his obedience. I hate his goddamn freckles and the way they lay across him like galaxies. I hate his strong legs and his ribcage and everything else I'll never touch again. I hate the way he kissed me because it was better than everyone else, ever.

but really I hate that he wasn't willing to do as much for me as I was for him.
I hate that he didn't want to share everything with me like I wanted to with him. every inconsequential event of my life. every drawing, every dream, every drama. and I wanted him by my side for everything.
I hate him for not wanting me the way that I wanted him.
I hate him for letting me think, even for the briefest of moments, that he could.
I hate him for being close to, but not quite, perfect.

and behind it all, I know it's not that I hate him. I hate me. I hate that I need someone to share myself with. I hate that nobody that I want, wants me. I hate all my self-pity and how little good it does. it's gotten me nowhere good.
and I don't do what I say I'll do
and I just disappoint myself
and I'm unreliable
and mostly I just wish I could die and leave the water un-rippled.

but I can't.