A garbage bag is like a good man. Ready to hold you (your trash), ready to stretch for you (your trash) and always smelling of cherry blossoms.
I made the last part up.
A garbage bag is like a good man, because a good man will conform to your needs, like the bag around the contents i.e. garbage.
A garbage bag is stoic and unadulterated by the garbage that it holds, moved and shaped by its contents yet simultaneously separate; willing.
In a way a man is therefore like a garbage bag, and love is the trash inside.
I sit waiting sadly in my stinky room in the stinky college dorm, hoping that someone will at last swipe right to my very poetic and thoughtful bio.
I am neither a man seeking a woman, nor a woman seeking a man, the bio continues. Rather, I am garbage that is looking for a bag.
Or a garbage bag looking for love.
Or something like that.
I walk past the aisles of garbage bags in the local dollar store and I sigh sad deep sighs of painful understanding. To sit upon the cold aisles, treated like nothing but a mere disposable container for even more disposable things - here is where I feel most understood.
Some people are gay, straight, bi or trans. Some people aren't actually people, but otherkin.
I suppose one could call me the garbagekin, waiting for my bag.