no thanks


My legs have closed and the connection I crave got locked inside. I have the keys, they’re jingling on the jeans I wore a few days ago. This writing thing, him, the life I choose it’s all getting under my skin. I’m not looking for advice, or sympathy, or someone to understand me. I’m just trying to write. My body aches. My stomach is bloated. And my boobs are swollen which isn’t so bad. There’s a monkey taking up all the room on my bed and well, the mice, they’re warm and cozy.  There’s no lesson here. No words of encouragement. But, when I was a kid I remember getting my first tea set. It was white with small pink flowers painted on. It would give me so much joy that I’d sneak into the bathroom when everyone was sleeping and fill the little tea pot with water. Then under…

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