This diary entry is for all the woman who feel they are too much. It’s for all the times men have showed up in our lives empty handed and selfish. It’s for all the times our feelings have been disregarded. This is for all the times lovers were almost but not quite.
I can’t cheapen myself for you,
so when you tell me I’m wilding or buggin
because my reaction makes you uncomfortable,
I know the one who is afraid isn’t me.
I also know that my New York attitude may come off as aggressive
that I am brash and snarky,
so often i choose to keep my version of intimacy to myself
and show men the demure smile of
“Destiny – i can be your friend but I am way too much for you”.
I’m too much for most men it seems.
You see apparently, the problem isn’t that I’m asking for too much,
but by me asking in the first place I’ve suddenly done too much.
So I should just be casual, we hang out whenever, talk whenever
but what about when that whenever turns into 7 months and then a year and a half and
and still we are having the same conversations
and the same frustrations
and still I’m cool as hell
and still you fuck with me
but still I am not a wife made
still I am yet a mother made.
But you’re right, I shouldn’t “press you”.
You should recognize yourself that
I am a certain type of woman and
I have given you my time.
So act accordingly,
because if I am remembering correctly
I do not go out and seek men.
You sought me –
I love your apologies,
“Sorry for wasting your time”.
And me – naive and kind told you that you didn’t
when I should’ve told you that yes, you did.
You deluded yourself into thinking
I was the type of woman who opens her legs
to men who do not show up for her.
That I was the type of woman to
lay on your bed and watch you smoke blunts
That pizza and heated make out sessions
would be fulfilling enough to keep me around
and I loved that part-
don’t get me wrong.
But I need more.
So when you hit my phone,
and this part is for all the men who think
they’re gonna pull up beside me and tell me I’m wavy and ask for my number mad smooth and think it’s gonna be easy-
Perhaps I am not an easy woman.
But what does the universe say?
That which is easy is trash and unfulfilling
Something like that.
You see, I want dates
and picnics and for you to remember.
My favorite flowers and surprise me with one after work.
And I want you to FEEL when we’re arguing because you can’t imagine not being on the same team as your partner.
I want you to see me and see
your friend, a wife, a mother.
I am not a child.
And no longer will I accept these childlike antics from men.
The urge to push and run when things get
itchy and uncomfortable.
One of us must be brave and fuck-
this time can it not be me?
I want to be caught too
in the web that is our friendship built on trust and love and laughter
and a smidgen of us in the corner of the function talking shit about people’s outfits.
You see I’m not asking for much,
but I will ask.