oh no, he had six boyfriends

I am starting to think I can only be happy with, say, four partners or more

endlessly worried one person will never be enough

that one person will never understand me

the way four people split the weight.

four or more people, well, they could all understand different parts of me

the anxiety, the depression,

the lunatic personality

the quietness and the distant behaviour.

I don’t expect an orgy of bodies massing in a California king-sized bed

(I would probably actually hate it)

it’s more

I want the comfort of turning my head

and seeing him, and him, and him, and him, and him –

all these men undemanding of just my sole devoted attention

because I worry I will buckle ten times out of ten if I try to be a devoted husband to one.

how are you still single/any guy would be lucky to have you/

you have more relationship experience than I do

I keep myself awake at night, thinking.

it is so very frightening [so scary]

pondering if you would ever be loveable enough for just the one man

and, in the mirror, if one man will ever satisfy you.

…and we won’t be talking sexually.

I get asked, what do you look for in a partner?

and first – I guess he needs to make me feel comfortable.

(I don’t need to say, but first he needs to be a boy)

comfortable for a chair is how it supports your posture, how it cradles your butt

but comfortable for a man is becoming too many layers,

is becoming complicated and stressful and a man isn’t three men.

or maybe I am discomfort personified.

(let’s not get ahead of ourselves)

making myself comfortable is like making myself into a gap in space, and in time.

and maybe I have a broken picker, and maybe it’s not a simple fix

the men I have dated in the last few years were science experiments

and each one backfired, failure (and we wish at launch)

one of those guys I still care for, but I think I could only ever date him again if…

say, if, and just hear me out here,

I could date him and four other men.

to balance it all out – him, for one part of my soul,

and someone to keep me sane, and someone to support me in writing,

and someone to get me out of my comfort zone,

and someone to take me on road trips because I want to go on road trips.

but never mind all that.

what could I offer five men, let alone two or three?

I sure as hell couldn’t offer them a healthy sex life.

(one day I would get frustrated with him again, and dump him, and dump two of the others, and start dating three new men, and drive myself mental from the gymnastics of being a freak)

it’s funny.

I feel so strung up with time,

where would the strength and the energy for six boyfriends come from?

I would need to start eating more bananas.

(god you’re so fucking horny, reader, I’m changing another line because you can’t keep your hands in your own pants, I’m so sorry)

at least single and lonely you disappoint people less,

when you tell them you’ve been too busy to spend time with them, and they delete you,

at least you’re not losing someone you love because you won’t let them inside you.

(that one is a sex reference)

exclusivity daunts me, in a strange sort of way

like I will never so much as want sex with strangers

I think the fear will always be trauma haunting,

an evil little ghost draping itself in the sheet.

I might always be scared of imperfection - -

a man, one, might never be the comfort I’m so desperate for.

and I think society is at fault a little for convincing me I need a happy ending.

to be husband to the sort of man I won’t wait to divorce.

I am so so terrified of getting a divorce, and divorces aren’t examples of a complete failure

but I feel already enough of a failure, so realising I married someone and it’s all wrong…

I don’t know, aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

people say you start to morph into your parents.

and I love mine/and I don’t want to be them.

I want to be myself

(could I date ten men? doubtful.)

someone asks me on a date and I fucking flinch

someone tells me they want to take me to dinner and I wait for the pin to drop

I wait for someone to shake a hidden cam in my face and declare,

‘you’re on a prank show! we got you!’

like you really really did, frightened me out of my trauma boots for a sec there.

I would like to go on dates again

but there are voices in my head, worse than the tame voices from the Hulu show Up Here

I want people in my life / I don’t want them to leave when I make confessional

maybe I’m getting it all out of the way here.

(maybe I’m the one with the hidden cameras, pranking everyone,

hurting ‘em)

so am I the sort of kid that finds love, finds himself four boyfriends?

or do we keep up this dance of being vulnerable, making little attempts here and there,

but mostly – just mostly – being single, being alone, but being flirty

I love being flirty.

I will compliment you.

get back here so I can compliment you.

you’re so damn handsome.

you’re going to make someone else incredibly happy.

but me, I’m just a boy with needs of me own.

imperfectly, the drawbridge arches on its axis

up, down, up, down.

I mean, if you’re a fearless sort, a fearless dude, you can flirt back.

really flirt back.

and maybe you can be boyfriend 1 of 13 (I’m ordering a bigger bed)

                                                                                                                                                                     - Keeley Young