Disconnect. The outside looking in.
Watching bruises fade without being replaced.
Watching updates and RSVP's pop up
that don't include me. Jealousy. It's an
ugly color on my ugly face. Unnecessary, too.
I know that. I'm not alone, I’m not cut adrift,
but knowing and feeling are two different things.
And I'd cut my arm off before I'd tell you.
Deal or don't deal. Accept it or not. This
is poly. This is what you signed up for.
This is the medicine you signed up to take.
So don't complain when it sours your stomach.
Don't cry when there's nothing to cry about.
Stop watching. Stop comparing yourself.
Is that one prettier? Is that one better in bed?
They're both younger. Can't fix that.
They're both skinnier. Can't fix that
while you're shoveling comfort cookies
in your face. What does he see in you?
Something. So give it up with the fucking
pity party. Ride it out, go to sleep. Send
a text and wait for the agony until he
texts you back. Pathetic. That's what
you wanted, right? To need. To want.
To yearn. Well, here it is. You want. You
need. You yearn. And you have to share.
That isn't his fault, or yours. It's just
the way it is. Do you want it, or don't you?