Star Fuckers

On the stage
behind the screen
that projected our images like celestial dust
we had group sex.
It was meant to be a game.
Not to procreate.
Just to have fun,
like children in adult suits.

I announced myself as a groupie.
Practical. Romantic. Promiscuous and playful.
I rise
to redeem the groupies.
And he, of course,
was a famous musician.
One of the requirements.
A Frank Zapp of my dreams.
My very dear friend.
The groupies helped them find beds.
Not just sex.
Sleep.
Tenderness.
I didn’t do as much as the rest.
But Robert Bland taught me with a glance,
something about men
I was never able to write about myself.

My boyfriends were better behaved.
They invite you to be declined.
I am a terrible friend.
I leave people out.
I forget them.
I get overly involved when someone is lonely,
miserable,
ill.

Progress is an odd idea,
isn’t it.

Things are better,
I wish,
I think.

Tell me less.
Take care of me.
Make me laugh.

Things don’t transfer.
We used to think we had the wrong body.
You don’t have the wrong body.
It’s the world that got misassigned.
Or the software.

When you finally learn something,
no one’s listening anymore.
Too old.

Actually deal with them
not dismiss them.
Shout away.
Shout me out.

There should be an app
to see everything you ever liked,
in reverse.

Men are the ones
benefitting from dating apps
their egos inflating like weather balloons.
Girls liking their profiles all day long.
Buzzing validation.
No nectar.

The only way to go on
is to give it all.
To give love,
above all else.
To stop thinking about problems
or the distrust that follows manipulation.
None of that matters
if you can give love
to everything around you.

I think that’s the hardest thing.
To live among humans.
It’s hard.
There are days it feels like
living with demons.
They feed on your pain.
They rejoice when you’re on the floor,
crying,
asking for love.

But what kind of life is that?

Still
you can’t give love
without a little discernment.
You have to discern
between the good-hearted
and the toxic.

But it's so hard
to live among humans.

I never liked it.
As a child I wanted to leave this world.

Now there’s less time left.
And the day of my death
I will be happy.
Because that will mean
no more pain.
Pain ends, Lidia.
Nothing matters anymore.
Maybe you’re with your daughter, Karina.
Maybe with your parents.
Your siblings.
Your cousins.
All the others.

Is that what I really want?
Or is it just
the Nothing?
Maybe when we die,
we just see light.
Love.
And then
nothing.

But if that’s the case,
what are all those people talking about
with their near-death experiences?

You’re born
and they rip you from impermanence.
But luckily,
this game of life is not infinite.
We’re only here to learn.
As much as we can.

Like going down a slide.
It’s scary at first
that first drop.
But if on the other side,
there’s a smiling face,
you trust,
and let yourself fall.

That’s how it should be
with every life you choose to live.

It makes sense
that this nightmare repeats
until you learn your lessons
and keep evolving.

But I was never a good student in school.
I did okay
because I hid in the teachers.
I respected them.
I tried to be better.
Even if my brain
wasn’t the brightest.

I can’t believe the stupid things I did.
How easily I was influenced
by every movie I watched.

I remember when I saw Babyface by that freak
that guy who makes movies for weird people.
I’ve always liked weird things.
I was born like that.
A little bit gay, in a way.

I like men more than women
but I’m a little lesbian
in the way I dress,
act,
move.

I’m not as feminine as other women.
And I feel pretty strange.

I’m almost 42.
I should be able
to say and do whatever I want.

But I still limit myself, sometimes

I don’t think about you as much anymore.
I’ve already forgiven myself.

Forgiven myself
for all the men I wanted.
I don’t know if love is the word.
I don’t know if I loved them.
Maybe I just wanted them a lot.

I think
you can only truly love your children.
Your grandmother.
Your brother.
Your father.
Your mother.

But those men?
I just wanted them.

And more importantly,
I wanted them to love me
more than anything in the world.

That’s how we come.
Crazy for men.
And we die crazy for men.
Because they never love us
the way we want.

What lunacy.
This whole program
we’re running on.
So bizarre.

I don’t know why it’s like that.
Must be some mad instinct
that pushes us to reproduce.

I don’t know.

But the only thing that matters now
one nail drives out another.

And I’m ashamed
that I spent so long
with an idiot like you
someone who doesn’t know how to feel.
Doesn’t know how to show love.