may eight


i am not your experiment.

ooh look here’s something exciting and new and oh golly isn’t she cute and somewhat disarming when she looks right through me and, oh oh oh am i enough am i this am i that?

breathe and do it anyhow… easier said than done? sure. if everything was handed to you on a plate it would lose its meaning. there is a complete platter out there to taste from but docile was not a word they ever used to describe me.

my ex husband used to call me a tiger. my ex whatever used to call me a bohemian. i guess it’s a little bit of both. but despite their own issues, they were right. you don’t need me, another said. i guess i don’t have that ‘poor me come take care of me oh knight in shining armor’ look. not a problem for me. i’m never going to be that demure stereotype. i’m a little feisty. i’m a little sweet. i’m a sucker for a man who can slay me with just one look or grab my hand in such a way that i don’t need to say anything. that man who doesn’t obsess over societal norms, who is comfortable in his own skin and with his sexuality in that he gives freely of his affections and can ask for what he wants. some say i ask too much, some say i don’t ask enough.

i am surrounded by piles and would rather shake myself out and dip into the mud. on saturday mornings i hear birds and i want to roll over and be enveloped.

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