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I

Girls reciting my poems like Future verses. I get so much love now. I require copious amounts of female attention in your absence. It’s nice to be held. And it’s nice to be pursued by beautiful women. But of course you know that. I could say I’m sorry for cheating. But we both know you’re the one who left.

And I miss you when you’re around. A nice heart and a white suit and a baby blue sedan. And it’s like I’m kneeling in the sweat lodge again. And I’m pleading through the dark for your hands to come on top of me and into my heart. Into my bleeding Midwestern Heart. Like Conor Oberst or Drake. You know it belongs to you. 

I’m writing this poem while driving on the freeway. It’s safer than drinking. Knees on the wheel while the stars scream and twirl. I’m going faster and faster and this is really happening. And oh baby it’s a privilege. It is a privilege to love you. I know my sweet girl is always with me. Because to love you is a long drive inside a car.

And I guess I’m just calling to ask, baby do you love me now? Because they play me on the radio?

II

Behind the sadness is rage. Behind the rage is this. I’m swimming in a creek in rural Michigan. My new girl doesn’t make me wear sunscreen. I’m picking up water in my hands like a cup and watching it slip between my fingers. 

A stopped cock is hard twice a day. In reality that means nothing. The prose is mid and so is the love. But at fast food drive-thrus I still think of you. And I can still smell you on my sheets and on my arms. I think it’s a pang that lasts forever. I’ve learned I can withstand it.

And women no longer own the void. Now it belongs to men like me. I’m like a tiger in a cage. I’m mother fucking John Doe. I approve this message. Getting in touch with the divine has saved my life. Because now men like me can say Me Too. 

III

I went to the lodge again and this time my mom came out. She knew I was hiding my vape in my boot. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Single moms get a raw deal. Convulsing on the muddy floor while my sponsor pours more water in because he wants me to feel this. He knows that she’s dying. He’s singing and I’m praying and the Lakota are screaming and I’m all alone with my mommy on the floor.

After my first one I cried all night long. I thought only of you even though mom is dying. I can’t help it. Mom can’t help that daddy ran out when we were kids. Single mommy working at Payless while I lit frogs on fire in Michigan. This is what we do. We are Michigan men. We roll around in filth between bouts of heavy drug use and thinking of you. California is always changing but Michigan is always. Big blue skies and poisoned water. 

They’re singing and I’m gripping my sponsor’s hand hard this time. But he’s busy. This is sacred. And I’m so scared. I’m a man but I’m always so scared. Mommy says pain is inevitable but suffering is optional. She learned it because she’s Buddhist. And I’m mother fucking John Doe. And I love looking at pictures of you. It’s a privilege. When you smile I believe in everything. And this is why people move to the ocean. I’m biting the mud and my memories are falling apart. 

IV

Moving on is cope. And we don’t have to talk. I can be angry in silence. And you can do you. I’ve been repeating to myself that you did nothing wrong. And that it’s okay for me to feel how I do. It’s okay that I wish you were dead. And it’s okay that I want it to be gruesome. Because I am no longer causing you harm. And we haven’t spoken in months. 

I believe in silence. I believe in love. I never have to let you go if I grant you your freedom. Years spent searching for what would be enough for me until I realized I can let my mind decay. It’s okay if I never make it. It’s okay if I never leave Michigan. I was never going to be everyone’s favorite anon. I was never going to be yours.

I have almost four months off liquor. Not much has changed but I live underwater. I watch bubbles float over my head. I’ve made a home in the mud. I think Ophelia must have been a man. Because women shouldn’t die for love. And I would kill myself over and over for you. Maybe wherever you are you’re watching me. Maybe my writing puts a smile on your face. We’ll be together someday. Even if that day is long gone.

V

I wanna be famous for falling in love. That line like many is stolen. I would never lie to you. But to be honest I’m running out of shit to say. And I want to be more than a Delicious Tacos knockoff.

I pooped in the pool at summer camp once. I did it because I was having too much fun. And I was so troubled at home. I went to the hospital. They put me in a bed. I think even then they knew I was an alcoholic. But it was fine because boys will be boys.

I wish you would let boys be boys. We really are like this. I’ve been writing for over a year now. And things changed until they stayed the same. I know writing won’t fix me. But if you look in the mirror every day you won’t notice as things change.

The social worker said we practice in the light what we need in the dark. I’ve been focusing on my breath. Like how I always told you to breathe into it as I went in. Your legs over my shoulders I wish I could kiss your thigh. What I wouldn’t do for your bloody tampon on my floor. 

Hearts get bloody because they’re filled with blood. Vaginas get bloody for other reasons. I get called a hack on the internet on a daily basis. And it’s fine because I know I’m not alone. But I hate him because he’s stealing my e-girls. You always said enough was never enough for me. And I think people like to watch John suffer.

The party went on without me. And I smoked cigarettes in my mom’s backyard. I still refuse to kiss the ring. And it’s fine if they won’t have me. Fuck them. They’re possessed by clout demons while I’m trying to talk to angels. They danced in California while I kissed your neck on park benches. I guess I never thought you’d go there too. 

But for better or worse I’ll be here if you need me. I promise I will always stay the same. I was never destined for stardom. And I could never play the game. When you piss on a fire it writes sentences in smoke. And you take your little bit of clout and let it run through your fingers like water.

VI

Playing with her tits while she listens to Oasis. These are the moments we don’t get back. I wish your Instagram smelled like you. Because to be honest I would smell it all the time. But that’s not something I could ever tell my buddies. They say feeling nothing is in but then why is feeling in everything? They never snorted cocaine off the small of your back. But then again maybe they did. 

To be honest I would have said anything. But I think you forgot it’s a long flight back to Michigan. And sometimes I just want to take my dead dog for a walk. And fuck it maybe I will. I’ll drag him down the hot Ann Arbor asphalt and leave a hot red snail trail. I’ll walk him until my feet get sore and everything starts to smell. Things we do to feel nostalgia. Like when I visited you in California so you could break up with me face to face. And I had to tell my dick to fall back asleep in the backseat of the Uber. I know nostalgia’s gluttonous.

And sex is disgusting. It’s a good thing I don’t have it. I don’t know if sex is what I would want from you anymore. I actually don’t know if I even know what sex is. I want to squeeze your waist. I want to sit you on the countertop and read you Tolstoy. I want you to forget all the cruel things I ever said to you. I want you to forget the look in my eyes when you had become disgusting to me. When I wanted you gone. Would you let me know if that is something you might be available for? 

VII

It’s something I wish I could forget: when you became disgusting. When the things I used to cherish became feces. When I wanted to make it hurt. I wanted you to know I didn’t love you. And it was cope but you believed me. You believed that your eyes and your smile and your laugh and your body had become feces. It’s one of the greatest regrets of my life. 

But this is a happy story. And today I’m feeling hopeful. And I’m just calling to say I’m doing okay now. And I have no more hate in my heart for you. I got a new sponsor. And I got a 6 Month Chip. And to say my mom still asks about you. Because she says you’re the daughter she never had. And that I fumbled a real one. 

And I’m calling to say do you remember the road trip to Indiana? How your fingers would crawl up my forearm like ants? And your smile was so sweet and earnest? And your blue eyes looked like heaven? I want you to know that I have never loved anyone that much. No one has ever loved anyone that much. I want you to know that how I saw you that day was the real you. The you I choose to remember. 

I’ve had a reckoning with God since then. He came and visited me by the lake. And you won’t believe it but he nestled my head into his chest. And he stroked my hair the way you used to. And he told me I would be forgiven. And we would be absolved. He said the trials we went through were from the ancestors. And that we had passed. And that things would be still now. Because in heaven everything is fine. 

My little Lois Griffin. My sweet girl. It’s you, it’s you. It’s all for you. In my mind you’re happy now. You’re in your autumn sweater. And you’re finishing your degree. You have a boyfriend who takes care of you. And your family loves you again because I’m out of the picture. I can’t blame them. I get why they didn’t want you with a generation-defining artist. They just had grandkids on the mind. 

And people hate when I talk to my readers. Hi readers. Did you know all of this actually did happen? And I’m writing about a girl that exists? Who has to put up with me putting this on the internet? But what else do you do when the love of your life moves to San Francisco? And your number’s blocked? You experiment with new ways of being pathetic. And you find something that sticks.