A flock of birds
nestle
together
in the cold night, their warmth shared. Rabbits gnaw on grass
in groups, each looking
out for one another. The white
glow of streetlights illuminates the path of a couple
returning to their shared apartment that always smells like curry. It's small, but it's just the right
size for all their fond memories together. And then there's me. Alone
in my room with just a heater to prevent the shivers. But no amount of electric
heat can warm my cold soul that longs to escape
the freeze
of isolation.
What's brutality? Brutality is having to go to the mall, see couples with interlinked hands, and for a brief second, have to bite your lip to stop the tears. Brutality is realising you haven't touched a female in months, maybe years, and it feels
traumatic. Brutality is realising you're in and out of psych wards, spending thousands on mental
health care when a hug would
cure it all. Brutality is falling
in love with your 49 year old psychologist
just because she's nice to you.
There are no canyons deep enough to engulf the feelings loneliness, rejection, and inadequacy that come from inceldom. True incels
that were born this way. They say there's somebody for everybody
- a darn lie. There
is nobody for a 156cm ugly poorcel. This you and I both know. Love will never
come my way, and the bulk of my life, as I sit as a 28yo male, will be spent single, unadmired, and unwanted. It doesn't get easier from here on out. It gets worse as I age. This is the timeline
of misery.
Does that give you some insight into what it feels like to be an incel? Maybe this will:
Nobody for the five foot freak. Nobody. I am a nobody.
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