Eye Contact

Like a stabbing alarm

I remind myself:

​

Eye contact  Eye contact.

 

To stand out too much

is a sin with no forgiveness.

 

I try to see you as a person,

but in your place I see a

human shaped mass

of judgment and discomfort.

The looks of disgusted bewilderment

that I have too often witnessed,

sting venom directly into the areas of my heart

where my bleeding ego rests.

 

I force myself back into

our shared reality.

 

Eye contact  Eye contact.

​

I wade in the waters

of your glossy apertures,

staring at them with

the piercing power of

a launched arrow

through plate armour.

This is how it’s done, right?

Oh God, do I have to do this the whole time?

 

Like a puddle turning into an ocean,

all of the errors of my etiquette

grow as they drown my mind

in cold salty depths.

How should I have my arms?

 

Eye contact  Eye contact.

 

I shouldn’t have them crossed,

should I?

 

Eye contact  Eye contact!

 

Will I be forgiven

if I hid my hands in my pockets?

 

Eye contact!  EYE CONTACT!

 

Did I laugh the right amount

at that joke you just told?

 

EYE CONTACT! EYE CONTACT!

 

Wait what were you even—

 

EYE CONTACT! EYE CONTACT!

 

—saying?

 

Somewhere in this ocean of decisions

I sailed into a storm,

and as I see you walk away

with a visage of barely hidden regret,

I take time to think about

all the details of my being

that are wrong.

 

I remember when I used to have fun.