I could tell I was going to lose the race, somehow

And, I was over. It was bad.
I was writing poetry, calling
them little seed, and listening
to mid-00 music in the dark,
underwear, no socks.            I didn't want to.

masturbating to something melodrama,
like, and twee, *I'll tell you one thing,
hold on, hold on, to the ones you love*
that's not fair, masturbating and listening
in the dark and crying self to sleep.         We didn't even pull out.

*and, I'm always competing with cishet men, even when I don't think I am*

and, I could tell

I was going to lose

*I didn't want a race, so***