On repurposing one's self

"I might be old, but I'm someone new," she said.

What it is like to suddenly become yourself at 30?
I am an adult without a history.
That girl in those pictures is not me.
She's a component piece.
Outside of her dyadic unit,
she has no function.

When the unit broke,
she thought she might just put it in the back room
with the rest of the sentimental junk
that she never used anymore
but didn't have the heart to throw away.

But some parts can be repurposed.
she opened the unit carefully,
No need to do unnecessary damage.
she held back the cover,
inside, a mess of wires, shortened circuits.
Rusty gears, loosened screws.
How was this thing put together in the first place?
It's a wonder it ever worked.

I removed my parts.
I am repurposed.
Reduced, reused,
recycled.
New.

Lazy poems

Most people
make poetic lists of things they are
afraid of.

They start small.
Spiders, they say.
Cliffs.
Plane crashes.

Then they systematically move to what
actually scares them.
Losing you,
for example.

I see it coming from a mile away.

Those people
should write better poetry.

A list of things I hate.

Her smarmy fucking face
Fucking 19 years old.
What could you possibly have in common.
Presumes to know everything about me because she read Oliver Twist.
Fuck off.

What the fuck is wrong with me.
The entire department would fuck me, but not you.
What the fuck is wrong with me.
I'm short and pale and brunette.
I've got a nice ass.
I'm too old.
I'm all used up.
Do you imagine my tits hang to my knees.
Do you imagine my shriveled pussy dry like sandpaper.
I have a grey hair.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see wrinkles and crow's feet.
Fuck you.

I hate it when you touch me.
Stop putting your fucking face in my hair.
Don't bury your face in my neck.
Don't kiss my head.
No more goddamn hugs.
I hate it when you touch me.

Go ahead and talk to her.
Teach her all the things you know.
She'll be glad to know them.
She'll recite them like a trained monkey.
Her eyes will dazzle for you.
Your friends will high five you.
What a nice tight piece of 19-year-old ass.

Fuck you.

Lucky

I was having a pity party
and you came.

And so did Leigh
and Sara
and Kris
and Laurel
and Katherine
and Jason

"To my big brother George,
the richest man in town."

Significant Other

I think I love you
p less than point oh five
Not that I have any data
with which to calculate
my test statistic

I think Sternberg's triangle
is on to something.
Love involves my head
and my heart
and a surge of vasocongestion to my vulva and vaginal structures.
But without getting into why,
his theory is difficult to test.

Lee's styles of loving
sound nice
but they are fodder for
women's magazines and
self help books.
That's just silliness.

Attachment theory
and neuroscience
have some good ideas.
You make me feel good.
An increase in oxytocin!

The Supremes nailed it.
Whenever you're near
I hear a symphony.
But I cannot quantify it.

Still
your laughter correlates highly
with my own.
I could test that.
Operationalize by counting
the number of laughs
when we are apart
when we are together
Now I have empirical evidence!

I love you
p less than point oh five

A list of things I hate.

I am going to make a list of all the things I hate.

hugs
being wrong
giving strangers the benefit of the doubt
texting
emotional vulnerability

the fact that none of those things is as bad I originally thought.

I hate her, probably.
I hate her because she's so nice and likable.
I hate her because you said she was exquisite and then she broke your heart.
I hate her because you laid in bed for a week afterward.
I hate her because you talked about quitting school again.
I hate her because of that vacant stare in your eyes sometimes.
And I hate her because after the worst of it was past, and you asked to see two people for five minutes, I was the one who went to you.
She refused.
I hate her because sometimes I think that's the only part you remember.

I hate you because I love your hugs.
I hate you because of your remarkable, fearless capacity to ask about
anything that sparks your curiosity.
I hate you because you make social interaction look fun.
I hate you because sometimes my phone buzzes while I'm in a meeting
and I have to fight the urge not to drop everything and see what
ridiculous thing you have to say now.
I hate you because I can tell you anything and you will give me a hug
and make me laugh.

I hate you because this friendship was going so well.
I hate you because I probably shouldn't tell you all this
Even though you are the exact person I usually tell stuff like this to.