You are a sieve for bullshit.
The older you get, the less bullshit gets through.
Your metal fibers wind, tight, wrapping, pulling, saying no,
I’ve already let you come
and fuck up
We’re sitting at the bar that needs no name and we’re talking about the men we’ve dated before. At one point we think, you were there to make me happy. In retrospect we think, you were there to teach me.
What not to accept
what to say no to and
when to say yes.
When you are fifteen, twenty, twenty five, you deal with kid bullshit
He won’t call me, he doesn’t listen to me, we have nothing in common, he doesn’t value my opinions, I don’t matter.
You realize as the years drip through that these are things you will not stand for.
But then you begin to stand for yourself.
As all the men pass through you, you realize that they were just switches turning on, turning off,
preferences wound deep inside.
And the bullshit you can deal with thickens up.
You don’t have time for men who can’t communicate.
You don’t have time for women who won’t express themselves.
You don’t have time for people who don’t appreciate you.
Now they look you in the eyes every night, and they say
I like the bones your body was built on.
And you wrap them tight and keep them safe because
they’ve seen it too.
You scream what you know about yourself
fibers unwinding, spiraling out in front of you,
the piercing pronouncement as your
tangled mess of cords displays itself
This is what I need and this is what I want and
this is who I am.