One of my classes has theater seating with little desks that two people share. I’m sitting by this huge man, who really should have a little desk all to himself. I don’t want to seem ungenerous but he just sprawls out like I’m not there.

So in a profoundly machismo gesture, this morning, I marked my territory with a pencil. It was carnal, feral, aggressive, and distinctly unfeminine gesture - more than a mere assertion of "First come, first serve" etiquette.

I’m familiar with life’s overlapping territories, like sidewalks, movie armrests and overhead bins and the subtle, shared space social negotiations when someone, say, introduces a laptop to a crowded library table and we all must  shuffle our stuff around or when someone desperately needs the only charger.

THEN, Friday morning big-guy starts this SUPER awkward conversation. To be clear - up until then - our ‘relationship’ had been blessedly non-verbal.

Let me tell it poetically..

He said he saw me signing in and timed it so I sat by him
he hoped to get to know me, and perhaps to ask me out.
They pass around these student info sheets, so we can form study cliques
and after a little bit, he smirkingly mentioned that he’d memorized my number.

Now, I’d barely even noticed him, I thought seating was left up to whim
before he could ask me out - I pointedly told him all about my boyfriend.
Now I’m sitting by a refrigerator-size guy who’s subtly giving me the eye
and as for his excessive use of space, I think he’s being passive possessive.

Monday morning before class, I’m going to catch the TA with her coffee and ask,
to change my seat to somewhere, anywhere, with someone, less transgressive.
I’ve been in classes, for years on end, I’ve been hit on and I’m not against making friends
but you have to know how to begin and not be so open, sneaky and aggressive.

I feel no enmity, just an awful awkward-ity and I don’t want him next to me.
Like the air-head I can pretend to be, I took a pic of him, disguised as a selfie of me.
If I’m ever concerned or slightly alarmed, I always manage to send a selfie to Charles.
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Songs for this:
Messy by Lola Young
Every Breath You Take by Committed
Walk Like an Egyptian by Awaken A Cappella
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Charles, a 55-year-old 6'4" retired NYC cop, has been my escort, driver, security and surrogate parent since I was 9 years old.

He told me he liked me
while walking in gym
I knew that he did
but to shy to say I didn´t like him
there are pins on my bag
bright color in my hair
and I start to wonder
¨how could he be so unaware?¨
I thought I was obvious
I though I was clear
but now he thinks he´s in love with me,
a lesbian queer

In seeing it all shrink about
My soul speaks mountains from a needle
For all the pointless pale attempts to wash out human pupils...

My glow is sealed with humble healers,
Ones who won’t get lost or wheel this
Realness in any kind of form/mess
A million messages sung, secret.

I can’t tread sand that hides,
Pretend I understand the croaking lullaby
Believe that we work for fun and always die...

When work is wild and worthy with time
I can’t sign, or stay silent,
With stars around me pulling brightness
Awkward -

Stay gripped by the kiss
Of wide window spirits...
Woken, can’t make a liquid stiff -
Stay outcast where the open love is.

I try to speak, and my tongue tries to run,
and tends to trip when strong words come.

The rhythm and pace of his steps taste
like sweet songs that almost land with grace—
into your ears. But hopefully, you hear
the plopping of boots that my tongue tied loose.

Even when he trips and falls,
know that his words still risk it all.

When his dance becomes daring,
and his stutter turns to swearing,
his beat becomes apparent—

because no words, and no walk,
no pucker nor path
could portray the way my tongue trips up
taking to you at last.

If it was incredibly uncomfortable, there is a big lesson behind it. You are growing.

It's never been like this before.
Not as far as I can remember.
Your words, your mind, your voice, your smile...
Familiarity, down to strange details.

The way I feel I can read your mind as you debate an approach.
The way you likely notice me, pretending to not notice you.
Yet we both avoid meeting a gaze as the distance closes...

Smile, greeting, small talk, laughter...

...Touch....

And time stops - if for at least a second.

...Breathe, smile, banter...
A few seconds of silence and I've tripped on the tension.

Quick diversion. depart.

Experiences can be beautiful, fun, uncomfortable, awkward and embarrassing at the same time.

Math is where we first met
I observed you from my seat,

Occasionally glancing at the door
Thought you were cute and cool

Oh no, you caught me staring!
Then... things took a weird turn
Suddenly you started reeling
As if having diarrhea and burn
Like a fish out of water, uneasy
While miming weirdly at me

Your eyes pointed at my paper,
Then a series of stupid motions
I had to lip read; you said “answer”
You gestured to copy my solution

Oh crap! Stop goading me please…
My emotions, bordered love and hate

Infatuation, now, transitioned to regret
You ignited an inner battle I can’t take

My grades here weren’t that high!
God, I’m no good with numbers!
I tried protesting, but your eyes…
They were pleading… I surrendered