Wasn’t sure I had one in me today. Then this happened.
Someone is Going to Pick You they said and I was so young I smiled a smile of the truly stupid, instantly imagining the many possible Prince Charmings who would line up for me. This one would be blonde, and rich, a work-aholic who could afford to buy me dresses and shoes. That one would be less, but more attentive all dark hair, dark eyes, dark mood. And I would play this game for hours. Days, weeks, years passed. So may hands came and went. Touching, rubbing, pinching, pulling, everything but. Picking me never seemed to be an option. I waited, growing old, growing fat, growing inpatient. The I grew tired, angry, and indifferently independent. I want to go back to the moment of broken promise. This time I wouldn’t smile and drift off into dream. This time I would smirk and spit In their face, tell those liars to fuck off, to just leave me alone.