doesn’t land; babe— i’m dead inside.

bro.
please.
say it with your full chest.
say it so i get all misty eyed and shit.

nah.
see—
i want to cry.
but honestly,
respectfully—
you’re late.

i’ve already been fucked up.
damaged goods.
oddly chill about horrific shit.

this ain’t new.
this is tuesday.

i learned from the very beginning—
crying's for bitches who get rescued.
blanket.
teddy bear.
someone saying,
“what happened, sweetheart?”

lol.
i cried once from sadness—
instead of rage,
and got told to shut the fuck up.

yoooooo but—
what were they gonna do?
rescue me?

lol.
never.
not once.
no one.

nah.
i just stood there.
learned that love comes with
a knife in your fucking back.

imagine—

my dad called me a wench at 8.
like full on meant that shit.
in front of another grown-ass man.
just standing there.
not even embarrassed.
no real reasoning bro.
nobody said shit.
wasn’t even the wildest part of the day.
definitely didn’t cry.

then flash forward:
this dumbfuck told me flat out:
get the fuck out of my house
over and over and over:
all january
with my baby.
yo
it was so bad
my mom had to sleep over
because he got more violent
the more we realized he was a predator.

you want me to cry?—
my actual fucking brother
deadass—
looked at me 36 hours after
getting mocked by men
trying to explain the—
”i fell down the stairs”
ER report—
my dude, no hesitation—narrates that:
i’ve never had a job.
that i brought the chaos home.
and of course:
he totally gets why my husband bailed.
“why should he support you?”

because yeah—
why would he stay
while i worked pregnant
scrubbing toilets to keep us alive
while full prepped to spit in my face?
(twice)

righhhhhhtttttttt.
cool.
thanks for fucking being here crew.

baby—

i didn’t learn my times tables or grammar.
none of it.
total blank.
still catching up.

spent
a whole
ass childhood—
fleeing
without shoes—
dead of night—
because
some truly wild and violent shit
6 years old.
showed up to school
next morning like,
“wuddup fam.”
pencils out.
let’s fucking go.

you think i’m irritable?
yeah girl.
maybe i am.

babe. i wish i could cry.

but like—
a week before my kid popped out
my husband busted my whole ass lip open—
gave me two black eyes.
i literally wiped off the blood,
picked up the vacuum,
full pregnant belly.
and went to fucking work.
told them i slipped on ice.
lol.
next.

did you know—
some random ass dude
trying to hit
told me
the way i say
“he strangled me”
with zero emotion—
was fucking scary.

lol, i know bro right?

wanna laugh?
i flew a loser to italy
thinking that bitch was proposing.
instead he openly talked shit.
in the middle of the street.
about how i was dumb af
to think he would want to marry me.
(he was actually an L)
babe—
i’m saying
after getting dressed for a ring
literally tears streaming.
zombie walked
full-scale berated—
loud af down the cobblestone—
while tourists wandered by.

(babe i full on sobbed in public that time)

so when you say all the meanest shit you can think of?

you think that lands?

bro—
i wish it did.
truly.
i wish i could feel it,
instead of just—
that’s white noise.
that’s elevator music in hell.
like eyes glaze over.

and i remember every time i’ve heard this shit.

i used to reach out.
just a little—
just to see if it was safe.

not to be pathetic.
not even to fix shit.
just to feel something that wasn’t
dead air
or a fucking threat.

and what’d i get?

“i hate you. like really, i hate you”
“my life is better without you.”
“don’t ever speak to me again.”

word?
tight.
cool story.

my dad’s been threatening to kill me since i was 5.
L O L

bro—
i was driving up the canyon
passing a donut to a baby
dog barking in the back
car full of kids going to summer camp
bro.
trying to hold it the fuck together.

and you hit me with
“you’re the worst thing
that ever happened to me.”
casually.

lmao
pass the aux cord, bro.
i’m not even mad.

it’s just comic.
the way people
really wanna make you cry.

i’m just trying to survive y’all
without driving into a tree—
full speed.

but that’s a joke to you.
like when you called the pd—
and i looked for a building to
jump off.
i mean that literally.
had to call a friend
to talk me down.
**wuddup girls—
you saved my life.

but that’s my problem.
not yours.

nah.
you’re all reruns.
same script.
different mouth.
intentionally cruel.
cold and indifferent.

truth is—
i’m not asking anymore.
not for help.
not for softness.
not for anyone to understand
why the fuck i turned out like this.

because if you really knew—
if you actually knew—
you wouldn’t ask why i’m a fucking bitch.

you’d ask
how the fuck i’m still alive.
how i didn’t turn in to an evil ass hoe.
how i still get up
and handle shit
with a baby
a dog
all the bills
and no one that gives a single fuck.

me?
never cheated on NOBODY.
not even
lil fucked up texts.
ever.
it kills me to hurt people.
even as they’re fucking me.
so i don’t lie to get my way.
even if it feels ugly.
say it;
full heart—
when i’m hurt.
still love.
still try.
still say that shit out loud.

i’ll bleed in front of you.
i don’t give a fuck.

you can’t hurt me with cruelty.
that’s the fucking standard bro.

you broke me because you loved me.
that was unique.
that fucked up my day.
that broke my heart.

that had me sobbing bro.

some people get
soft landings.

me?
i get rage.
shame.
a fuck-you list.
and then
another tuesday.
just like this one.

who’s next?

baby—
you’re just the most recent
“dude who needed to see a girl cry to feel alive.”

god bless.