Free Diary of a Human by Eliza Lentzski

 
    DIARY OF A HUMAN
     
     
     
     
     
     
    0.1               ode to winterson
     
     
    I have known women and they have known me.  I look for them in all the wrong places and end up with more than I should. 
     
    The first, was the unsuspecting, the woman with School Girl skirts and her hair in a blonde ponytail.  Blue Eyes, rosy cheeks, and a bumble gum tongue that twisted tales beyond her 21 years.  She was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted out of life and how to manipulate those around her to obtain it.  With a boyfriend by day and a lover at night, she stumbled to my door because I was eager to give her that which he could not.  She only visited by night and was gone before the first rays of light shed evidence of her unfaithful crime. 
    I think I was attracted to her initially because she had something that I cra ved. Presence. Power. Respect. All of these qualities she drained from me, but not before she unknowingly taught me how to weave my own web. 
    I didn’t quite care that the phone only rang on the weekends, or that she never stayed the night; I knew it was not to be a love about which poets write.  Instead, she played Teacher and I her eager Pupil, not only instructing me on how to touch and please her, but also how to become her. 
    And I did.
     
    Number Two was my first experiment – to take all that Blue Eyes had taught me and put it to practical use.  Young, naïve, fresh, and searching for something stable – I called her Fragility.  She placed me on a pedestal and showered me with admiration and tenderness, but I was too hardened by my past to melt over her words and tears of love.  Before I left her, I ruined her life just enough.  Just enough so she would never forget me, but just enough so she would get over me. 
    And that’s the whole idea, isn’t it?  To make your individualized mark on those with whom you have contact.   Men have the selfish gene.  They shoot their seed into the next empty hole, hoping it will take root and multiply into the next generation.  But women have sharpened claws, dipped in drama. Emotions are fleeting, but scars are forever.
    I suppose after Fragility, I felt invincible.  I believed I had the tools and skills to entangle even an untouchable.  And so I pursued La Femme 2.5. We had been acquaintances for nearly four years and friends of friends had said she was interested in diving into my side of the pool.  However, when faced with the opportunity, she balked.  My ego still hurts from La Femme .
     
    Number Three, the girl I nearly fell for, came as a result of La Femme 2.5.  Number Three was a little trickier; her background was more extensive than my own.  She had been labeled a “player” and a “gamer” and had been known on and off campus as having had quite a number of partners in her pockets.  She invited me out, not as a date, but rather the opportunity for me to meet others in her circle.  My friends teased that I was “back on the prowl,” not knowing how much La Femme had stung me.  I kissed Number Three that night . I’m not sure why, but perhaps I needed to prove my own proficiency at her well-rehearsed game.
    We dated, but it was never what I wanted it to be.  And although I never told her I loved her, I still selfishly clung to a relationship that I knew wouldn’t last.
    When I finally broke it off to pursue other conquests, it broke her, and I became something different altogether.
     
    This is that story.  This is the diary of a human.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    0. 2 CAST OF CHARACTERS
     
     
    There’s a girl who lives on my street.
    She blankets her neck with knitted wool scarves and heats her fingertips with hot chocolate on brisk evenings.  Her eyes pierce my flesh far too easily.  She stares hard at the forms that pass her by, unnoticed, as she sits easily in the corner café, Madame Bovary her spicy date.
     
    But my moon is in Gemini.
     
     
    There’s a girl who lives on my