Sunday, April 21, 2019


I got home from work today, and after not having seen each other for at least three days, my mother commented on the fact that my top was not long enough to cover my belly. I am 28 going on 29 in two weeks, I have a tattoo that stretches along my spine, I rarely even wear bras anymore (I have small breasts so thankfully I can afford to do this) but my mother still polices my clothes. Consider me amazed. I just want to get married and get away from here. I'm done, I've done enough advocating for myself at the very least, if not for other people. I just want an agreeable husband, who would watch similar Netflix shows, who reads some books that I do and some that I don't. I want a husband that maybe has a few throwaway tattoos, that don't even mean anything. A husband who understands the terms intersectional feminism and emotional labor and agrees with the expunging of criminal records of black and colored folks for marijuana use. I want someone who will never police what I say and wear and do. We can live in a small apartment, it doesn't matter, I'll cook and clean. We won't have kids because the way I see it, climate change is at this point still irreversible and I do not want my kids to have to see the end of the world within their lifetimes. We'll use public transit and laugh and make up stories about the other commuters that we see. We can hang out with his family if they're cool, or we can just both not hang out with either of our families if his has also been toxic. God, I'm just so done.

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