Women wake up in the morning. We get dressed and as we prepare to walk out the door, we hope that today isn’t the day that catcalls and hands grabs by men don’t turn into physical assaults/rape. All in the name of rejection.
Ask any woman around you how often they get harassed. The “aye girl” and the grabs in the club. The panic attack that hits our chest as we hear a car slow down at any angle around us.
We can’t be sexually fluid or open because then, we’re no longer human. We’re property. We’re object. You somehow put the blame on us, we’re no longer victims. Our identity is shed, we lose focus. We hide and we rarely fight. We lose.
I’ve allowed too many strikes in a game I know I’ll never hit a home run in.
I open up my heart at all hours of the night for you to practice, I never see you again unless you’re lacking.
You throw darts of consistency at me for a few days to shut me up
Stroking the sense of security that I keep begging you for, accepting it temporarily.
Allowing it, because the moment I lose you, I lose pain.
It’s all I know
Yesterday, I got my heart broken. Not your typical heartbreak, I just happened to loan my heart to someone again, and for once I didn’t have the expectations of getting hurt even though I had all the evidence to.
I pretended that the roadblocks had no signs or words that read “Do Not Enter” and eased my way into a realm of emotions even I was prepared for.
Me. The emotionally distraught, and sometimes emotionally unavailable chick became the opposite of all those things for you and still was left in the dust.
Another one bites.
Went into my secret vault today.
Where I house all of the memories of my weakest moments emotionally, just to see if I was still capable of “emotion”.
Good news, I still got it.
At some point you have to say to yourself “this no longer works for me”, and stick with that declaration.
Give me all of you, always.
Or lose me, all ways.
Here, I am.
Not really the one you want to be with, and not really the one you want to be without.
But, without a doubt, you find a way to make me your emotional wingman. You take me out on dates with you to occupy your time without her. You make me engage in the ugly parts of you as a detox, and voluntarily pick me to hold all your toxins once you leave, so you’ll look replenished for everyone, but me.
I slept in your T-shirt last night.
Not because I miss you, want you, or need you. But, because I miss and need the pain that you come with.
I’m a fan of broken hearts and shattered dreams. And to interrupt my streak of happiness, I thought of the one thing that crushes me thinner than shaved “ice”.
It’s always you, you know.