Apr 4 (edited) • Poetry/Writings
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.
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Wasn’t sure I had one in me today. Then this happened.
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