I Am Woman, Hear Me Scream

A sense of separate – alone, independent, autonomous. They ask if I’m still in love with you. The only answer I have is that there was never a you; not in the sense of you, that is. Because the indicative use of you was never a necessary action. Because my heart drops from cage to stomach at the mere thought of a you, dripping rainbow droplets down to the base of my spine where they gather and rush back up to my eyelids, throwing sunspots on a dreamscape never slept on. Because sometimes these sudden tidal waves crash rhythmic hot and stinging over me I drown in want a fire in my lungs.
–a breath
–to live
–for myself
–I die to hope to rise.
I beg pheonic beg faceless gods for my right to choose.
Who I love and maybe it will be a you.
But for love is fierce.
And there is no you ready enough yet.

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