Empty Little Boxes

I have people who promised they would never stop loving me telling me now that they just "can't". That it isn't in them right now. Now, when I need the support and reassurance the most, when my self esteem is balanced upon a pin and crumbling. Now, when I'm left to feel most alone. And I'm supposed to feel guilty that I want them to put aside their own problems and give me the love and comfort when I need it. I'm the one who is supposed to feel guilty for having the bad grace to fall to pieces right when they're in the middle of redefining who they are, what they are and are not capable of.

And so I'm left alone. And you're the worst offender. I wait patiently for you to text or email me and I count the empty inboxes like I count the minutes on the clock. My world is hollow again. Empty because no one finds me sexually attractive and the platonic love and support feels like it is merely a matter of form. Another pat on the shoulder. Another discretely passed tissue to wipe the snot and tears that roll down my face as my heart breaks again and again and again.

Because I don't learn my lesson the first time. No, that would be too easy. I continuously go running back to my empty inbox because that is what you've trained me to do. I run back hoping for a note or acknowledgement of my existence just as I did all those years ago waiting for a birthday card or call from my father. All those empty mailboxes and all these empty inboxes and all the time my pussy sits like another empty little box. Waiting for some sign that someone finds me suitable for something other than pity.

You all don't love me enough to nurture me. You don't want me enough to fuck me. You don't even care enough to tell me that you don't care enough. So I sit waiting.

With my empty little boxes filling with tears and sighs and self hate.

And when you come back you wonder why the sex is mean. You wonder why my words are angry. You wonder why I wander away with a blank stare reflecting my tears. It's because I feel unwanted. I feel unworthy of every man who ever touched me and, in your case, even some who haven't yet. I feel as if there is something fundamentally wrong with me that only you men can see and recognize. So I ask you to punish me. I want you to beat whatever that flaw is out of me.

Instead, you disappear.
And again I'm left with my empty little boxes...