The Postmodern Love Manifesto-Malicia Frost

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I made a fool of myself at the museum of arts
standing in an empty display case, trying to look intellectual,
You came by and patted my head, saying
“maybe when you’re a bit older, honey.”
I walked home in a blind rage, thinking
“art is stupid and self-ridiculing”

I made another Spotify playlist
dedicated to Your complete ignorance of my unexplored magnificence
And I know You hate metal (can’t stand the throaty screams and the satanic finger gestures)
But I can’t help but associate You with the things I like, You know? Even though it’s all wrong, shooting cute origami birds with a a machine gun

Still, as You walked past me in class today
I silently put away my phone,
diverting my gaze from the constant stream of homo-erotic manga
I feed to myself to avoid the insight that life might have no purpose
Our constant search for meaning leads us nowhere
renders us cold and senseless

“You’re not paying attention,” You say, slamming my fingers with the pointer stick,
but the truth is, I’m thinking of You
in between the scrolls on my Facebook-feed
Press like to avoid terrorist attacks
and 13 toxic relationship habits you didn’t know you were displaying
Yeah, I’d even count You
-You!
among my most common fantasies
along with the one where I have sex with my favorite horror antagonist after he’s sewn my slit wrists back together

If You knew of this, You’d say I only love the idea of You
and that I don’t actually want You
that I, like Shakespeare, am just using You to dignify myself
and maybe You’d be right

I, on the other hand,
would say that You are okay
and I could put up with You
imagine the two of us –
You, sound asleep, bloated with the severity of adulthood,
and me, lying beside you,
incompetent, sex-crazed, young and disoriented,
silently jacking off to pictures of manga boys with embellished dicks

Even though You claim to understand where my aching need comes from,
You’ll never have all of me;
You’re already sharing me with hundreds of imaginary beings,
thoughts, and incidents,
some of which occasionally seem more important than You
Don’t ask me to lay my heart out for You.
I’m a woman of an boringly romantic nature,
I only write love letters to concepts
delusions
and vague ideas of events that will never take place
I’m the girl they write books about
Telling You how hard I am to love
I’m a conquest, a triumph,
And a worn-out societal concept
But more importantly, I’m a woman who knows I’m worth as much as any man
(Even You.)
I’ve got a hundred and thirty six ideas of how the world might end today
and trillions of ways that I can prevent it from happening
But today I’m thinking of You instead of saving the world
You’re the “obsessive” to my compulsive disorder,
the “I” in bIpolar
and I will grant You a part of my anxiety –
which is also a kind of love.

Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her writing can be found at her Malicia’s Malebolge.

3 thoughts on “The Postmodern Love Manifesto-Malicia Frost

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