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Asshole


I am not the person I used to be.


My bones protrude against the skin on my body like proof against the words they were plastered in. I sleep under four blankets & have my sister’s number on the emergency dial. Some people call me an asshole. Because no one likes to be told they’re wrong. Because most men don’t like to be told “no” & most women are too afraid to say it.


So I say it for them.


But we all eventually learn. We learn to read our books in private & listen twice when people call us intriguing. We learn that men who hold our hips & criticize their width are men who need an anatomy lesson. We learn that the kisses they leave on our necks are roses on empty graves.


Sometimes, we become their graves.


But I learned to be okay. To keep love in my heart & kindness on my tongue & my needs a mystery from those who can not fulfill them. I learned that things always get better. That God is perpetually present, & He is the most One worth investing in.


I used to bleed love on the corpses of cold people who gave me absence in return, so I wrapped my heart in label stickers & chose to see another day. I have been on both sides of many spectrums, & I still wonder why men act like my body is any of their business.


Nevertheless, I learned that if being an asshole means being strong then it’s our individual responsibility to be the biggest assholes we know.


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