“The look of love alarms/because tis filled with fire” -Blake

It is easier not to love.

I have searched like a Labrador abandoned for one to call my own. My dog was dumped by the side of the road for being less than a purebred. I have looked for a family. The one I gave her was insufficient but I loved her.

I loved. My dog, my sister’s cat, the horses. Others, who I stayed away from. Doing my best to keep myself safe from love, I suppose. Keeping them safe from me.

The only spell I can cast consistently. Feigned hatred, a simulation of one who believes she deserves better. The girl who loved love, but gave it up for the sake of those who deserved it more.

We follow the same old social scripts without meaning to. I rejected him, and I said ‘I am saving you’ but he did not hear me. I mocked him except I did not mock him, but close enough to the story he expected that it would hurt him, close enough to make him into the kind of man I believed he wish to be. Forced him to assimilate. Played my part.

We all have a part to play.

Internally is where the conversation takes place. Disability and sex and gender and culture and I am not as good as them, not as good, you should be with them instead, don’t you think so?

Every girl perhaps thinking, he would surely be happier with a girl with a smaller stomach than me. Every man thinking, I can make her stay with power, but she will be drawn to the man in the room with the biggest….bankroll dick ego. Whatever.