Go Away, I Love You by Jacob Woods

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. 

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