08.01.22
00:04
And you are so tired of giving your love to a man who doesn't say thank you. You cook his favorite dishes, clean the bathtub, make the bed, and he sizzles bright red at the smallest of things. Creating lava out of paper cuts. You forgot the creamer. You forgot the sheet cover. You forgot to clean the butterknife. There isn't a set age, but you know, as a woman, your time is limited. Your beauty is fading. 21, 22, 23, now you're 24. You have a wrinkle on your forehead. You are scared the people in charge will see. You like to sing, you like to write poems, you like to be loud. So you go. On the New Year, when he's not paying attention. Pack up your suitcase with shriveled up scarves and sequined laced dresses. Hung over from the party, lost in a trance of a bottle of champagne and no resolutions, you tell him you're picking up some coffee, but really, you run. Hold Los Angeles in your hands. Feel the Hollywood sign brush your skin and bones. Can this city love you the way you used to love a suburban man? Or will it break you the same way he did? But all you know, is he didn't even try to stop you when you left. He didn't even say goodbye. The plane takes off the runway and you're in the air. Somewhere between California and everything you used to be.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
