secrets

I am perfectly repulsed
by the idea of kissing you
or merely resting my face against yours,
in this venue of 200 people
I would rather have any one of them
than you,
even the man who continues to yell
all sorts of profanities, when nothing has started yet
and has a trace of white
drawn onto his nostril,
or the man who is getting
a bit too familiar with me
and my dress, which is tighter and more stretched
than I usually like
and is touching the back of my kneecaps
with his own
yet, I would probably prefer to kiss
the girl who made a crazy dash for the
lead singer onstage, and now stands,
in just her panties and bra
because at least she is vulnerable.
I wish to grab a face, full in my hands,
and give them something meaningless,
something for them to remember me by
to see if I could remember you.
But the man who touched me earlier,
already found someone else
and no one could really love me anyways,
especially when I am feeling like this,
not just covered in my own sweat
and everyone else's
so much that it is as though I am wearing tights
feelings of dirtiness so heavy
that I am sure to never forget it
but because, here,
in this theater
with a crowd shoving me and suffocating me
and grabbing me with their greedy bodies
I am being suffocated by thoughts of you
and I am sickened with grief
and emotional vomit leaks out.
I just can't figure out why anyone would love me
or pretend to love me
while the purple and blue and red lights
shine the truth onto our skin
yet I cannot see you, for you are so crushed
with your secrets.
It's much worse-
than this.