The chosen

I’ve been called the ‘catalyst for misery’ and ‘the most fascinating woman’, and I’ve been told if they can’t have me they’d die (and tried to, or faked it… I’ll never know) and I’ve been offered to be the middle of a sandwich by a pair who saw nothing north of cleavage, and I’ve been everything for someone else’s desire. I’ve been manipulated, lied to, and cheated on. I’ve long been the undesirable for anything more permanent than a quick dick dip, obligatory fuck, or sympathy. The ‘better than nothing’ and the receiving end of ‘had to talk myself into it’. I’ve been the poster child for ‘fat chicks need lovin’ too’, and the ‘you’re too big to date, but I still wanna get me some’. And I’ve been the careless drunken ‘when’re ya due’ calloused hand on preteen chub, the held in the night and the barely escaped fright. I am the #metoo. I’ve been the one time, I’m done, fist bump goodbye, once more for old times sake slaker of thirsts not my own. I’ve been the best friend, and the unrequited. I’ve even been the vixen. But never have I ever been the chosen.

k.d.w. July 2017

(edit Jan’19)

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