I stage it. You’re supposed to think we’re in love

via picture.  Look at us.  Looking each
at an other.  It’s a rude thing to ask  
“can I stick my dick inside you?” I’m eating
to keep from saying the other rude things.  
Did you have trouble walking through
the hallways in school. Did you have trouble 
asking for a padlock.  Eventually
I did it.  I was wearing gym clothes
under overalls and a t-shirt.  I thought it looked
like jeans and a t-shirt.  Really I’ve been ruining
my own life, bleeding from go-nowhere vein things.  
I don’t know if there’s something wrong with everyone,
but it’s somewhat helpful to think “oh my brain wiring’s
making each day such a struggle.”  I can imagine
being a real human, but I can’t quite embody it.  
I look in the mirror and I’m a little drunk
and my eyes are such a pretty color.  
We’re play acting.  I am.  Did you like it.  
Do you like what I’m doing.  
I said I’m pretty goddamn sure
I have aspergers.  And I’m pretty good
at masking it.  I can compensate.  JUST LOOK
AT MY COPING MECHS.  Here, be pretty.   Here,
be a bravery. You don’t have to think
about where to look at the yes.