The Same Way

The same way seems sensible,

my regular route down the dark and dangerous dirt path of the human experience.

Why try to change my habits,

my expectations?

Hope is not,

and has never been for girls like me,

you know.

I knew a man once,

who said he loved me with his whole heart,

and every inch of his nether regions,

so I drove myself mad,

just to love him even harder,

just to feel normal,

just to be like all the other girls who pin all their hopes and dreams on a hopeless man who promises the world but can’t even stretch to a summer weekend in Skegness.

The same way seems sensible,

but it’s so restrictive and painful,

my skin itches like I have bathed in bees when I think of him,

and I am only soothed when I surrender to the truth,

imagining her by the bath tub (that is now inexplicably full of crystal clear water),

waiting with a towel and a warm embrace.

The same way seems like it will drive me insane.