Packing Boxes

Friends turn away, 

in on themselves 

as a fulfilled item 

with their one 

and only that completes them. 

They disappear 

as they mix with other cliques with children 

who are at the same age 

in society's eyes. 

Smiles abound when I show up with a partner, 

and behave

and fit 

and can have my own life 

with this partner, 

but I can’t look away 

from caring with my loyal 

greying paws for the friendship that came first

as I’m replaced by a queue-jumper

and I have to stand aside

and smile saying “I’m happy for you

that you’ve married your best friend”,

tears roll down the walls of my heart

that sticks, trying to turn back the beats and say, 

friendship with me matters too, and I 

can support your children if you pop your bubble. 

I feel very alone, and 

I rush online to swipe for

any partner, 

but

that expects to be prioritised in a self contained bubble 

as my whole built environment 

that’s in my face and cramped,

so I crash out as aromantic.

People nod and say, 

good for you 

to be happy being alone. 

Not that I said

I had no need of care

and importance in a friend’s eyes.

Just don’t close in the walls 

of boxes that pack me up

to build an isolated home with. 

But to explain is a strain that 

becomes a meowing whine from a 

crate too rigid, 

designed to domesticate me. 

People nod and say, yes

it’s hard to make friends as adults,

and go back to their busyness, 

or is it back to their own business 

that I scream is to look outwards once again.

Can I allow myself

above the societal expectations, 

but I feel the walls 

of society’s mold 

of acceptable set choices,

tick boxes of not applicables, 

to end up being alone 

with bills and chores for two as time ticks 

unless I partner up 

with someone, 

anyone, 

but then I’m packed into boxes again.

#amatonormativity #aromanticism