You are not supposed to like me. See,
here's the deal. You're an educated city boy and I'm an uneducated
hick. You're attractive, and I'm subpar. You're straight. I'm gay.
This is supposed to creep you out. When I told you I had a straight
crush on you, you weren't supposed to say, “Oh, that's cool Jacob.”
You were supposed to turn your cute little head the other direction
and walk away. You were supposed to never talk to me again for fear of
catching my disease. But instead, you became particularly nice to me.
Saying hello, and waving emphatically in static every time we crossed
paths. I even tried to avoid you, but you came bouncing back
precariously into my life. You broke off cookies for me. You strummed
the guitar. You picked up quarters for me when I dropped them on the
floor. I always have to lift your self esteem when you awkwardly ask
me for life advice. When I ruffle your hair and squeeze your knee,
you don't seem to mind. I thought you were supposed to kill me. You’re
too kind, please, next time. Just be plain cruel. Go away, I
love you. That is what's expected of you. Quit confusing me you
straight boy hipster. You're fucking with my mind.
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Jacob Woods studies sociology at Hamline University in St. Paul
Minnesota. He is addicted to taking creative writing classes and might
major in that as well. He keeps a blog at Good as Gay where he blabbers
about LGBTQ soup things and other intellectual matters that concern him.
Bay Laurel / Volume 1, Issue 2 / Winter 2012