am

“why are you single?” he asks

this is the part where I am supposed to show him how much of a grenade I am. The part where I am supposed to tell him why no man has kept me. why I haven’t turned myself into something more manageable, something safer to bring home, something prettier and uncomplicated. He wants to hear that I have been waiting for him. That he is now the hand to hold me. That he can make me forget about explosion, about who I was before him or any man. I cannot be a woman alone. A woman alone is a grenade. When she is alone and lonely she will burst. What is a single woman if not an object waiting to burst? Why would I want that for myself? Why haven’t I given a man the power to quiet my burst? Don’t I want to be pretty? Don’t I want to be easy? Don’t I want a man to save me from myself?

“just am.” I answer.

He never texts back.

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