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.
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.
I’m a fucking robot.
Input and output.
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.