She stared
At her hands.
The lines
Crisscrossing
Her palms,
The black
Nailpolish,
The scar
No one would
Notice
Unless she
Pointed
It out.

When she
Was younger
She thought
She had no use
For dating
Or love,
And as she
Takes out
A mirror
And her black
Lipstick,
She thinks
Of how
Poetically
Ironic
This fact is.

She remembered
Where she’d been
As the teacher
Drones on.

Every failed love,
Every mediocre kiss.

How prude
She was
At one point.

And she smiled
At the change.

Tucking away
The mirror, she stared
At her leggings,
Bones aligning
With her own
Printed onto
The fabric.
Femur,
Patella.
Tibia and
Fibula.

She smirked again
As she
Remembered her
Copy of
Grey’s Anatomy
That she read
“For the puns.”

Puns he
Laughs at.

Warmth
Spread through
Her chest
And she remembered
Her dilemma.
The smile
Vanished
As the teacher
Asked
If Kaepernick
Was right.
She mindlessly
Raised her hand
In agreement,
Proud that
Despite her thoughts
She managed
To explain why
She agrees.

With a nod
She’s left to
Her thoughts.

His smile,
The way the two
Of them
Said they
Were sociopaths
And smiled at
One another
As if they’d finally
Found comfort
In an otherwise
Comfortless world.

And she snickered,
Remembering their
Friends rolling
Their eyes.

One of them
Sarcastically
Referring to them
As love birds.

If only he knew.

She tried
Not to groan
As the warmth
Turns to heat.
To words
She’s too scared
To utter.

She wanted
To scream
As ants
Crawled
Under her
Skin.

Everyone
Makes love
Out to be
Something great
But all
She felt
Was dull
Pain.

She squirmed
In the plastic
Desk,
Her Converse
Squeaking
Against the floor.

A few heads turned
And look away,
Disinterested.

If only they knew.

If only
They cared
Enough to
Help.

She imagined
Opening
Her mouth
And letting
The ants out,
Thousands
Upon thousands
Falling
From her tongue.

Congregating
On the desk’s
Scratched surface.
Massing into one,
Leaving her body
Pure
And unbothered.

But she couldn’t.

There were no ants.

There was only one
Phrase
Swimming
From her
Subconscious
To just
Behind her
Forehead.

“I love him,”
Her mind shrieked,
Itching like
Bug bites
Behind her skull.

Her fingers curled
And relaxed
As small legs
Flowed over her
Tendons.

She blinked,
Remembering
How she closed
Her eyes
And kissed him
Next to
Several
Collections
Of poetry.

“There could be
No better place,”
She decided,
Smiling
To herself.

She recalled
The way
His palm
Felt against
The bare skin
Of her knee,
Trailing up her
Thigh
And stealing
Away her breath
As the ants
Grew wings
And fluttered around
Her stomach.

“The ants,” she thought.
“They’ve colonized
My whole body.”

It was the only
Explanation.
None of this
Was her,
Couldn’t be her.

The girl
Who found love
In dogs and books,
Least of all
People.

“It’s a parasitic relationship,”
She determined
With ice cold logic,
But not cold enough
To rid her body
Of infestation.

But as the bell
Rung and
She left the hallway,
She saw him.

He found her
Like he always did
And he smiled.

Her legs lost feeling.
She smiled shyly
And looked away
As color flushed
Her cheeks.

“Just the ants,”
She assured herself
As she hurried away
On legs made
Of dirt piles
Warm from
Basking in the sun
On a hot
Summer day.

She sunk into
Her chair,
Exhausted
From
Contemplation.
“It’s so unfair,
I never asked
For any
Of this,”
She muses bitterly.

But that’s the thing
About love:
No one
Asks for it.
No one asks
For itches
They can’t scratch
Or to be electrocuted
By a single touch.

They don’t ask
To be hypnotized
By lips
And
They don’t ask
To stay up late
Thinking about
Them.

They don’t want
To imagine the feeling
Of falling asleep
With their arms
Around them,
Or vice versa.

They just can’t help it.

Because love
Doesn’t discriminate.
It takes us all,
No matter how
Unwilling you may be.

Trust me.

I know.