The Fall, 15 (259.)

Screeching wanna-be Lotharios
rake their fingers across their keyboards,
their verbs homonyms for their nouns,
these reaching fiends
are the sorts of people
you’d probably avoid in a cafe.
They think they’re cool,
they think they’re attractive,
but they’re really just
desperate and
stuck in their ways.
I might be one of them.
I don’t type like a fiend,
and I try not to be critical,
but there are times when I wonder
if I’m not just a rake,
only making haphazard connections
in the hopes of naked vulnerability.
Emphasis on the naked.
Perhaps I’m not as bad as I say,
and this started as a critique
of internet incels, anyway.
It is now that I remember
I don’t have enough money to be a total rake,
and I have too much heart to be a libertine,
and besides,
I don’t drink very much at all.
I miss physical intimacy, but there are other
ways to connect with people.
Ask questions, share stories.
Getting to know people
doesn’t have to mean
that we disrobed.
It’s taken me this long to figure it out,
but I
need to treat everyone as friends,
and treat them well,
before I try to build
romantic bridges.


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