Gina Clingan

Call me crazy, but I swear, I can’t help but see the entirety of my childhood reflected in your face. When I look at you, I can’t help but feel a little homesick.

Thank you for keeping me from drifting away from myself, or drowning in anyone else’s expectations.

We live in a society that, as it has been made even more evident across the United States this week, desperately clings to this ideology that a woman’s primary purpose is to be a mother.

What you are telling me is that his few moments of pleasure are worthy of my entire lifetime of trauma.

If it did, I would write you and tell you about all of the miracles that found a way to light up the darkness that came with your absence.

Time continues to pass, and the seasons continue to fade. I guess I just never thought our friendship would.

So hold me hostage
somewhere
that makes me appreciate my own pulse.

Just like that, everything will be so much better.

The least you could do is pretend to be afraid and run like the rest of them did.

You shouldn’t have to beg your partner to take you out once in a while.

Surprise them with a gift.

You sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Gimme, gimme, gimme! I am not your mother.