I need to write, I ache for it. It’s been months. Maybe 6?
I think Iv been afraid to write, maybe for the first time in my life.
Iv been afraid of what would spill out or even that the spilling wouldn’t stop.
I will inevitably cry because “my big girl pants” don’t always fit right and WELL, I’m scared.
I’m scared of what I know Iv hidden.
I hear…
Grow up.
Stop being soo sensitive.
Don’t let him have the control over your emotions!!
I GET it! I GET it!!! Be a fucking adult and get over it.
I don’t want to get OVER it, I want to be healed of it.
I don’t want it to have “never happened”. I want the bitterness to turn sweet.
Like amber honey coated memories. Memories that made me who I am.
I’m not going to stop loving fully. I’m not going to stop being passionate.
Hell I probably won’t stop yelling either. I am not a fucking tailor.
Cinching in here for you and cutting away that for him.
I’d rather be the “cat lady,” which may or may not kill me. Because I’m allergic to cats.
Ladies even my OBGYN told me if a man doesn’t treat you right kick umm to the curb!!
(Advice from the lady who see’s your vagina must be sound right?!)
Lets do our selves a favor and listen to her advice. Okay? Okay…