I’m too good for them

I created this story around why I’m alone 

I convinced myself that it’s because I’m too busy for a boyfriend 

Or a girlfriend 

Or friends 

Or a cat 

Or a plant 

I’ve convinced myself it’s too much responsibility 

That I like being all that I’ve got 

That I’m enough 

I tried to hide behind feminism and say that a woman doesn’t need anyone That I can be independent 

That I can be by myself and still feel content 

But I don’t really know how this story ends 

And I’m not at all satisfied with how it’s been going 

I convinced myself I’m too good for them 

That they’re beneath me  

That my intimidating intelligence is why they have yet to inquire about the things I like And all that I aspire to do and accomplish before comfortably retiring at the age of 45 like a  boss ass bitch who didn’t let nobody become a distraction 

But I can’t help but feel I’m missing out on all the action 

And it doesn’t even feel like I’m living 

Because telling this story is lying to myself and all I’ve been doing is hiding and wondering  what is it about me that pushes them so far away? 

It started with them pushing me away but as time went by, I had pumped my ego full of  gasoline and I was miles from reality 

Because what other story could I come up with to keep me from constantly crying? What other comfort could I offer up to those mascara stained tears cascading down my  cracked cream foundation covered cheeks? 

How could I explain to my family that maybe I don’t have anybody because something’s wrong  with me? 

Because I’m not too busy for a boyfriend 

Or a girlfriend 

Or friends 

Or a cat 

Or a plant 

I’m just scared that the moment I have something, there’s a greater chance of me losing  everything 

Because when I choose to engage I pour my heart and soul into those around me And then my heart disobeys and gets much too invested 

And I end up crying  

with a razor on my bathroom floor trying  

to clean blood stains out of grout and wondering where I went wrong this time And why I’m alone again

And I convince myself I’m much too good for them 

And that they’re jealous of me 

And I put on a power suit and look in the mirror at my pudgy belly and my swollen red eyes And I go outside and puff until I’m higher than my GPA 

And I eat my dinner and go to bed thinking about the big future I’m gonna make for myself And how I don’t need them 

Because I’m too good for them 

And they can kiss my ass 

Because I’m not sad 

I’m not depressed 

I’m just too good for them 

And I don’t need their love 

Because it’s beneath me 

And fuck it 

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it