404: Connection Not Found

Tonight, just a poem and a song recommendation. Thanks for reading:)

The song is Modern Loneliness by Lauv. Is it revolutionary? Perhaps not, but there have been a good many times in my life when I put this song on loop and had a little cry. A note: It is NOT meant to be listened to while reading the poem. They aren't paired like cheese and wine (as if I know how to pair cheese and wine).

Without further ado, the poem.

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today is a wednesday in february

In the basement of the Kennedy Center,

we are studying the style of “Being Lonely.”

Modal verbs and conditional clauses.

Finally, something I don’t have to bullshit.

I don’t have to wait for two comments,

And then comment. On their ideas.

On loneliness, I have my own.

The style of being lonely

is day-old mascara,

fixed in a spotted mirror.

The style of being lonely

is drawing attention to your tits

while your dark undereyes droop.

The style of being lonely is Lana del Rey:

losing weight

smoking cigarettes

keeping a diary

chipped nail polish

tinsel in the winter

cuts, slow and sharp.

To be lonely is deeply fashionable, deeply tragic, deeply human.

A message from my iPhone:

“We noticed your steps have been low for the last 18 days.”

Hard data to prove my loneliness, yet

How could you not know?

My cheeks are chewed raw, bloody.

My jaw has to unlock each morning.

My back is tense, my shoulders tight.

I think I might throw up.

But different throwing up from when I blacked out last weekend.

I brought home a reusable bag of vomit with heels in my hand.

Then, I told my sister that I loved Honeycomb (a secret).

The masses consume media to feel catharsis

or grief

or sin.

Maybe just to feel anything.

Yesterday, I started reading

The Virgin Suicides.

True romanticization

of the American girl tragedy.

If beauty can’t last,

it must die

perfectly preserved.

Have you ever sobbed on the bathroom floor at work,

cold wet tiles pressed against your cheek?

You cry because corporate America doesn’t understand

what loneliness does to a twenty-four-year-old girl.

Maybe someday you’ll understand.

For now, filtered sun falls on dirty wrangler socks.

A blue claw clip sits in frizzy blonde hair.

YouTube plays while I eat Takis in bed.

the video – “so, you want to cosplay poverty”

the topic – “the sad white girl”

the concept – “movie porn”

the audience – “people out of touch with plight”

and me – missing class, missing out

a 5am wakeup after a 3am bedtime.

my nightmares include:

being stalked.

men undressing me.

the night I ran away.

my teeth, falling out.

eyes, stinging.

empty. silent. still.

lonely.

lonelier.

loneliest.

as my friends enter relationships

that I am not capable of having.

because who wants to date an alphabet soup girl?

ABC, BPD, OCPD

bipolar II

generalized anxiety

CPTSD.

simmer on low.

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And just like that, another blog post is written. I should definitely be studying for my grammar exam tomorrow rather than be here writing a blog post that no one will read, but you tell me which is more compelling: a poem on the state of modern loneliness, or conjunctive adverbs...

Yours Truly,

Macy