The Ranting of a Mad Man

I am not the one to be touched.
I have made this so
over years of active inattention to physicality.
I spend my days in avoidance of contact
all for the purpose of protection.

It works like this:
when one does not wish to touch me
– and why would anyone? –
I shan’t ever feel rejected
for none will ever have gotten past
my constant defense.

This plan
has been executed flawlessly
for years and years
and years
and years
and I watch as people I have introduced
hug and kiss before me
and bear children
before my eyes.

The system has worked
somewhat beyond expectations.
The safety I’ve insured has surely maintained my health
from a thousand cuts
and kept me hardy in the face of all the wilting rejections I have so far missed.
I am stronger, no doubt,
from all that I have deflected.
All the hugs I am saved from,
all the kisses in my rear view…
certainly I am safe now.

Perhaps it is time
to finally lower the guard
and allow a bit of touch,
if only once.
Is it safe yet?
Do I dare?

.

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