It’s OK to not be OK…

I don’t get it.

It’s past hurting for us. It’s beyond anger and sadness.

We have nothing left to say to each other.

About this…

It’s a type of numb neither of us know.

Usually I welcome the numb. But.

I’m afraid it will make me bitter.

Allowing myself to step into it is allowing myself to become consumed by it.

The numb.

I’m a fucking robot.

Input and output.

I smile.

I sing.

I workout.

I google how to twerk to keep things interesting.

Everything feels like a deflated balloon.

I’m turning my body over to science because it won’t do what it was meant to do.

I don’t care what they do to me. Just fix me. Make me work. Make my uterus hospitable.

Viable.

MW