Rant in Gm

No one will ever love you like I do. This is not a threat. Nor is it a statement meant to be read with malice. It is simply a fact. One of the few simple truths that I know in the core of my being filed away between “The sky is blue” and “the world is round.” Isn’t it funny that you hate me for it? We hurt the ones we love. But isn’t it more of a universal truth that we really end up hurting the ones who love us? What better target than an easy one? Sure, you could aim for cans on a fence but why not first shoot at the twenty-foot, bleeding, heart shaped, balloon right beside them? I would be hard to miss. But what do you care about love? For you it’s a fucked up social construct invented by greeting card companies. It’s a tool for you to get what you want. You think me weak for loving you. And I am, I am. But I reiterate, no one will ever love you like I do. Sure, in the future after I’m long gone, others will come along. Who knows, maybe you have them lining up already. Are you auditioning potential lovers? Testing them, seeing how far they will go for you? I went to California. Now what? Now that you’ve tossed aside that shriveled orange called Yul, the one you sucked all the juice out of, who’s next? Will it be Top Hat? One of the perverts? No. Someone new? Well, whoever it is, I can guarantee they will never love you like I do. They will lack my panache. In my eyes you are everything you’ve always wanted to be and more. Once you kick that to the curb you will have to deal with expectations. You will have to deal with guys who would think it nice if you lost ten pounds. I don’t only love you for those ten pounds; I love how you feel about them. I love your insecurities and how you “despise” everything. I love your bunions and your ruthless disregard for anything that falls under the heading of normal. I love the way you laugh at your own jokes even when they aren’t funny. How nothing is taboo and how no topic, no matter how inappropriate, is ever inappropriate. I have never tried to change you or make you better or hold you back. I observe you. I prop you up and keep you comfortable so that you can perform for me. So you can hurt me, surprise me, make my life interesting. If I had a million dollars I’d give it all to you. I’d love nothing more than to watch you piss it away. To bask in the joy and pain it would bring you. My idol, my monster. I’ve fucked you every color of the rainbow, on every surface and in every hole as you have me; but now, as it comes to a close, as your tornado makes its way to other farms, as you remove your tit from my mouth, the pale world takes over. The crystals unglue and fall to the floor, the costumes get packed away, the pasties get sealed back into their Zip-lock bags and thrown into the bottom of the make-up case and all of it gets taken away by a stranger with his tail wagging, his confidence temporarily intact, proud, like he’s won a prize. And he will love you for a while, maybe forever, and your flaws will charm him, and your duplicity will torture him but I know, from the depths of the filing cabinet of truth, that he will never love you like I do.

~In Constant Care of Beautiful Monsters