To: Myself, From: Myself

Keep your shrill voice quiet, you’re disturbing the men at work.

Actually, it’s preferred you don’t speak at all, honey.

“Go get me a beer, baby,” he’s saying.

You should listen to him. Just do it

even if you wish you didn’t have to.


You don’t have to

but, no one has told you, yet.

You owe him nothing.

You belong to yourself.


I want you to read the novels you set down

because he told you, “Reading is dumb.”

I want you to wear your velvet dress and doc martens

even if he cringes.

I want you to focus on school and listen to good music,

Even if he’s partying, and says, “Jazz is stupid.”


I need you to take care of yourself.


Does it feel good?

The wind is dishevelling your hair

and he’s nowhere around to tell you, “get it out of my face.”

You’re talking about film, coffee, mission trips, spirituality

and he’s nowhere around to interrupt.

You’re wearing your favorite dress

and it feels soft, brushing your legs.


You’re taking care of yourself.


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