584 people rated me highly

On OkCupid

And I would know who they are

If I bought an A-list subscription.

Maybe the man I’m supposed to love

Is among them

But probably not.

What they don’t know

Is that I am a mess.

I almost missed my flight

To DC yesterday:

I sprained an ankle

And barely escaped

The wrath of a taxi driver.

I’ll be in New York soon.

The Ivy League student

I dated there,

Whose parents spend millions

On horses and carriages

Believed I looked

Wonderfully

Gentle,

Confident

And calm.

Which proves

That nobody knows

Anything.

Yesterday I was grooming my horse

When a guy asked me if I was married

-I used to be.

-You have a horse! He is your husband now!

If he’s right

It’s just the next stage

Of the disease that turns women

Into cat ladies.

There’s really nothing wrong with this,

I can embrace it

Since cantering

Feels a lot like sex.

But who am I kidding?

What riding teaches

Is the need for perfect partnerships.

I still want a man.

In my dream

Last night

My body was wrapped around

A red-haired god.

We fit like puzzle pieces.

Somebody like me

With an autoimmune disease,

With a harmless thyroid

Stalked 

By confused 

White cells,

Should avoid stress.

I lost my car keys today

And I lost my mind as well.

I need a vacation from this person

That I am.

I found them both hours later:

The keys and my mind

Were hanging out in the trash can

Playing cards,

Listening to disco music.

They looked up,

I looked down,

Which reminds me of the baby bird

I failed to save the other day.

I knew I should have taken him home.

I failed

I failed

I failed.

Today I got up at an ungodly hour

To be tested as an Italian teacher

For mostly blonde kids.

Silvia would teach me the drills.

In the car that would take us to the park

She started explaining everything.

Her accent felt like home.

-You are from Rome.

-Yes! 

-Well, I’m from Rome as well.

-What neighborhood?

-Balduina.

-Noooooo! Me too!

Our mothers are

Shopping in the same supermarket

Right now,

Evaluating chicken thighs

And the freshness of arugula,

While we sing silly songs

And get hugged by slightly neurotic,

Yet wonderful,

Five-year-olds,

My memories of home

Fading.

Is there anything

More delicious

Than raspberries?

Some men are

But I have forgotten

Almost everything

About those penis-equipped

Beings.

My life revolves around

Highways

Horses

And women.

In the equine universe

Men are rare.

When they exist

They live secluded lives

Like the Wizard of Oz.

All these female creatures

Are quite lovely.

Well, almost all of them.

Not everyone gets

What I’m trying to do

So I get some bitterness,

Some jealousy,

Some disgusted looks.

But in the last three days,

Looking for horses,

I met three valkyries.

I could write a novel

About each of them.

My landlord has girlfriend problems

Which means I have to wait

A little longer

To be freed from this heat.

Once the AC comes

My brain will work again,

My chest will fill with love

To be spread

In the four cardinal directions.

When I play my bass

I have trouble keeping the tempo

And I hardly know anything at all.

Do I still deserve love?

Men seemed to desire me once

Now everyone’s scared

Or jaded

Or doesn’t understand

All these things that I am.

I don’t mind this loneliness

Because it makes me angry

And anger is good.

Oh,

I see.

PMS.

I must have lost track of time.

So I might not be losing my mind.

But then I look at the evidence

And wonder.

Living in a city

Where you have no friends

To speak of.

Your first boyfriend

(The first lover,

The one you were with for five years)

Unfriending you on Facebook

Because you expressed surprise

At his change of status.

Your ex-roommate’s hate.

Men whose interest

Is inversely proportional

To yours.

A woman who treats you like a horse

(Minus the petting).

Being an artist

Means pissing everybody off

And dying alone.

My 4th of July

Has been so hideous

It feels right.

Self-pity fits me like a summer dress.

104 degrees.

After visiting piglets

And newly hatched chicks

I find refuge at Starbucks,

Sweat freezing on my skin,

Drinking drinks that will shorten my life,

Watching a man scratch his ass.

I’m wearing a blue shirt,

A sweater with red and white stripes.

I realized that as I was locking the door.

Let them think I care.

Truth has fled.

Behind lovers’ eyes

Lies the usual thirst for power.

As they leave

I wrap my tail

Around diamonds and gold.