(no subject)
It's funny. We all think after we lose weight. After our teeth are straight. After our hair is black or blonde or we buy all the right clothes. After the people stare all the time. After boys joke and want to touch you. After sex in the upstairs bedroom. After no sex in the upstairs bedroom. After growing up. After fucking up. After all the years of learning and knowing and getting stronger. After allowing yourself to be alone. After knowing what it's like to wish and wish on candles and quit wishing by age 8. After drinking all the bacardi and knowing not to cross your fingers on the fwy anymore. After knowing after all the conversations that it won't work out. Even after all this, we're never enough. And there is never a great enough force to push the ugly and hurt and shame which has or soon will come from another person. And we just don't know what to do about it. I don't know why I thought it'd be different. This isn't tragedy. Not even close to tragic. This isn't like the 210 or africa eyes. This was just a firecracker under my tongue. A spark; a reminder. A quick singe of disappointment to remind me never to believe there is something more out there. To never believe that someone is coming to save me even if I get strong enough to not care to be saved anymore. This was just me letting somebody shove their fingers into my body and hoping for a child or a separate laundry room or maybe even a birthday dinner that I didn't have to pay for.